Initial commitHEADmain

6 files changed, 31900 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d7b82bc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,4 @@
+*.txt text eol=lf
+*.htm text eol=lf
+*.html text eol=lf
+*.md text eol=lf
diff --git a/75969-0.txt b/75969-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c43651d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75969-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,12513 @@
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75969 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  SCISSORS
+
+  _A NOVEL OF YOUTH_
+
+
+  BY
+
+  CECIL ROBERTS
+
+
+
+  NEW YORK
+  FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
+  MCMXXIII
+
+
+
+
+  Copyright, 1923, by
+  FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
+
+  All Rights Reserved
+
+  Published, March 29, 1923
+  Second Printing, April 14, 1923
+  Third Printing, June 29, 1923
+
+
+  Printed in the United States of America
+
+
+  VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY
+  BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+  TO
+  H. C. BRODIE
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+BOOK I
+
+EAST
+
+
+BOOK II
+
+WEST
+
+
+BOOK III
+
+GROWTH
+
+
+BOOK IV
+
+LIFE
+
+
+BOOK V
+
+THE NEW WORLD
+
+
+BOOK VI
+
+EAST AGAIN
+
+
+
+
+BOOK I
+
+EAST
+
+
+
+SCISSORS
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A cold spray blew over the deck of the steamer as it left the calm
+waters of the Bosphorus, making for the open and wind-swept expanse
+of the Black Sea.  Although it was springtime, and the promise of
+summer had made Constantinople a city of warmth and cheerfulness, the
+wind cut through the shivering crowd on the deck of the
+Austrian-Lloyd boat.  A north-easterly gale was blowing from the
+Russian Steppes, and at intervals, through mists and clouds closing
+and parting, the passengers caught glimpses of the Anatolian coast
+with its long mountainous barricade rising from the surf-beaten strip
+of shore.  In lee of the deck-houses there was also a nurse, a
+fresh-complexioned English girl, in charge of a boy of seven,
+evidently the son of the Englishman and his wife.  The Captain of the
+steamer, an Austrian, regarded the strange party from time to time,
+for it was rarely that Englishmen came to this part of the world, and
+seldom were they accompanied by their women folk.  Impelled by his
+curiosity, he approached the tall stranger who had now risen and was
+surveying his fellow passengers with amused interest.
+
+"You make to Trebizond, sir?" he asked, in broken English.
+
+"No, for Samsoon."
+
+"Ah--then you are of those who make the harbour there.  It is a good
+scheme.  The English have much wisdom, but it is a terrible land," he
+continued, and swept his hand expressively toward the grey coastland.
+"Barbarians there--Turks, Armenians, Greeks, Syrians, Circassians,
+Kurds, and some Americans, they go everywhere, like the English.  Ah,
+a terrible land."  He shuddered and drew his fingers across his
+throat, and then rolled his eyes as if the country transcended all
+words at his command.
+
+"Do you know Asia Minor?" asked the stranger.  "I am going to Amasia."
+
+"That is inland--a place of the wolves, the bandits--no, I would
+never tread that soil.  It is enough to sail the sea.  The Black
+Sea--ough!"  And once more he shuddered.  "The lady--is it that she
+goes there, and the child?"
+
+"Yes, I have business in Amasia."
+
+"That is the illness of the English,--business, for this they come to
+these lands.  They are great fools, and brave fools, sir!  The sea is
+more safe.  I hope soon never more to see this coast.  I will live in
+Vienna.  Ah! one can live in Vienna, but there!--"  He gave a short
+laugh and then went about his work.
+
+But as Charles Dean leaned over the taffrail and watched the flowing
+coastline dimly streaming into distance, it was not without a
+stirring of deep interest.  This was the classic land of great
+adventure; they were near the coast of Phoenicia; behind that range
+was Sidon, looking towards Palestine.  This sea had seen Jason and
+his Argonauts searching the coast of Colchis for the Golden Fleece.
+All the ancient world of the Greeks was here, and the tides of
+barbaric splendour had swept over that land; Greek, Roman, Byzantine
+and Ottoman rulers had shaped its destiny.  It was the great
+battlefield of the world; the Greeks sailing for Troy, the Ten
+Thousand, had all known that shore and the mountains still slept by
+the thundering seas as in the days of Alexander and of Caesar.  Peak
+after peak of those mountains with their historic names arose and
+looked inland, the mountains of Ionia, Ida and Casia, of Bithynia,
+Pontus and Paphlogonia; violet and blue and amethyst, they stretched
+like sleeping animals in the March sunlight, clothed with a forest
+growth and fringed with pine trees.
+
+So all day long the little steamer went along its pathway of foam;
+during those hours, Charles Dean and his wife were sustained by the
+excitement of their entry into a new world.  The last four years of
+their lives had been spent in journeying from city to city, from
+country to country.  Amsterdam, Berlin and Bordeaux had held them for
+a short time.  Eastwards then Charles Dean received a call from the
+trading company employing him, this time to Constantinople.  That had
+been the pleasantest of all their sojournings in foreign lands.  The
+city of mosques and minarets, with its beautiful gardens and golden
+sea, had seemed like a dream from one of the Arabian Nights'
+Entertainments.  And now the gradual extension eastwards of business,
+was carrying them to Amasia, the city unknown, dwelling inland behind
+that great mountain barrier.  It was a strange life, yet not without
+its fascinations.  Mary Dean insisted upon accompanying her husband.
+She had the choice of remaining in England, but she swept it aside
+unhesitatingly.  Devoid of fear and devoted to her husband, she went
+with him from land to land.  With them also went their young son,
+John Narcissus Dean.  Narcissus! exclaimed everybody, hearing the
+name.  "Yes, Narcissus," answered handsome Charles Dean solemnly,
+while the light of humour danced in his grey eyes; and then followed
+the story of that honeymoon in Naples, when Mary, after seeing the
+famous statue of "Narcissus listening to Echo," had pleaded with her
+young husband, assisted by a Jew curio shopkeeper, for a copy she
+coveted.  "But I want a real Narcissus," whispered the young man,
+pressing her hand quietly, while the Jew dusted the expensive bronzes
+on his counter.
+
+"You shall have one--if I can have this," she answered roguishly.  He
+nearly kissed her in boyish ecstasy.  "Done!" he cried--"and we'll
+call him 'Narcissus.'"
+
+Charles Dean was not only a man who kept to his word, but also to his
+joke.  The announcement of the birth of John Narcissus at the
+historic manor of "Fourways" filled old Sir Neville, the grandfather,
+with delight and protest; a boy--excellent, Narcissus--preposterous!
+But Charles was obstinate, Mary amused, and Sir Neville protested
+anew.  It was like Charles--independent, obstinate Charles, who had
+always been so irrational.  It might have been expected of a man who
+had thrown up a diplomatic career to breed horses, which he could not
+afford to breed, who had married penniless Mary Loughton, his
+land-agent's pretty daughter.  Charles had always been the fool in
+contrast with Henry, his level-headed elder brother.  Sir Neville did
+not protest long,--he died one month after the coming of the
+grandchild with the freak name; and although all babies seem to look
+alike, many ladies, calling on the young mother, vowed the child was
+a veritable Narcissus--so handsome, so bonnie, so--
+
+The new baronet made one formal protest, but Henry knew well he could
+do nothing with his odd-minded brother; still, as uncle, head of the
+family, and sixth baronet, he felt he had some right to protest
+against "Narcissus," if not for himself, then for his own boys, who
+were cousins to this piece of Greek mythology.  The young parents
+only laughed, and John Narcissus, as if seeing the joke, gurgled
+whenever he was shown the statue and told to grow up like it--not
+altogether of course, for the statue proved to be cracked over the
+left breast, where the dealer had carefully kept his thumb.
+
+Sir Henry, annoyed, kept aloof.  When he heard that Charles had
+ruined himself and lost "Fourways" in a mad scheme to sink a shaft,
+over-persuaded by a gang of company promoters, he declared he was in
+no way surprised, shrugged his shoulders, and waited to see what
+would happen now.  The sale of "Fourways," its contents and its
+horses, must have been a hard blow for Charles, but he certainly gave
+no sign when he called to say "Goodbye," before taking a position as
+continental agent offered him by an old friend.
+
+"And--the boy?" asked Sir Henry, unable to make himself pronounce the
+ridiculous name.
+
+"He is going with us."
+
+"What--all over the Continent!" cried the astounded baronet.  "You
+can't take a boy there--why not send him to school?"
+
+"He's too young--we want him--and I don't believe in preparatory
+schools."
+
+"Crank!" exclaimed Sir Henry to her ladyship when his brother had
+gone.
+
+Thus came John Narcissus Dean to be swinging his sturdy legs on a box
+aboard an Austrian-Lloyd steamer bound for Samsoon.  He was a fine
+boy, well matured for his seven years, and already he had a manner of
+command which made a slave of his devoted nurse Anna, a big
+fresh-coloured country girl, one of the small group that had
+gathered, seven years before, at the foot of the staircase at
+"Fourways."  Anna had never intended going to Asia Minor, which she
+looked upon with the same horror as she did the South Sea Islands.
+Her first excursion, to Amsterdam, had been taken with great daring.
+Only love of the child she nursed and the mistress she served, could
+have prevailed upon her to leave England, for as all the peasant
+class, she had a loathing of foreigners.  But from Amsterdam to
+Berlin had not seemed so far, and then the change to Bordeaux was
+like coming half-way home, so she remained with the family, and, as
+the years went by, became more tightly bound by affection to her
+young charge.  For, however much she admired her mistress, she never
+doubted for one moment that, without her, young John Narcissus could
+not live.  She had nursed him from a baby, was familiar with all his
+complaints, and also his moods, which were peculiar and trying.
+
+It was Anna alone who could curb those terrible fits of passion which
+so alarmed the fond parents.  The child had a way of working himself
+into a fanatical frenzy when pleased by anything.  At first these
+moods had been attributed to infant naughtiness and had been
+punished, but without result.  An eminent Berlin specialist, whom
+they had consulted in distress, had said that the child's brain was
+abnormally developed.  He was to be humoured and closely watched.
+With time and careful guarding he would outgrow those storms of
+passion and ecstasy.  So Anna immediately took the specialist's words
+to heart.  Without her the child would not live.  When the change to
+Constantinople was announced, her first intention was to give notice.
+She did not object to France or Holland, but Turkey was a barbarian
+country where Christians were crowded together and shot at with bows
+and arrows, or cut to a thousand pieces with terrible knives like
+those which grocers used for carving hams.  But she could not think
+of leaving the child; and, after all, she had been to Berlin, which
+was almost half-way across Europe.  She decided to go to
+Constantinople, for the more she considered the matter the firmer
+grew her conviction that her master and mistress were mad.
+
+When therefore, one morning, seated on the deck of the steamer as it
+entered Samsoon roads, she was told by Mr. Dean that the white path,
+climbing past the squalid little houses up the mountain side, winding
+in and out like a ribbon, was the way to old Baghdad, the ancient
+city of Haroun-al-Raschid and Sinbad the Sailor, she wondered
+whatever her people, far away at home, would think when they heard
+she was travelling in these fairy-tale lands.  The only real things
+in her amazing life were John and his father and mother.  She looked
+at John as he sat swinging his brown legs on the side of a box, and
+wondered that such a morsel of life should drag her across the world
+into strange and terrible lands.
+
+The passage ashore was made in a small boat, and the adventure was a
+somewhat perilous one, for the frail craft was swept by the waters.
+They were finally landed on the beach some distance away from the
+town.  Here a small crowd of customs officials and Turkish luggage
+porters met them; then they were driven along the front of the town
+in an _arabya_, a native conveyance with curtains for warding off the
+sun, drawn by one horse in the control of a Turkish driver.
+
+And now the irresistible glamour which the East throws over the
+hearts of all who venture into her domain, entranced the small party
+as it was driven for some two miles along the edge of a sandy yellow
+beach into the town of Samsoon.
+
+The buildings were low and inelegant; the streets narrow and filled
+with that accumulation of smells and filth that are to be found in
+all cities under Ottoman rule.  But there was, despite these
+disadvantages, a definite charm in the little town of forty thousand
+souls.  Samsoon is the one accessible port lying on the fringe of a
+tableland containing the richest cornfields and tobacco country of
+the world.  The city itself was built at the great gate of the
+mountains over which the roads wind through the few low passes along
+that impregnable coast.  It was the gate of that great historic
+highway running through Turkey in Asia, along which all the traffic
+had rolled for centuries.  It was traffic that had scarcely altered
+in any detail since the day of the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid; the
+sight which met the eyes of Charles Dean and his family was one that
+had greeted the traveller for the last ten hundred years.
+
+As the _arabya_ climbed up the steep road leading to the centre of
+the town, it breasted a stream of traffic coming down from the high
+pass.  Young John shouted with glee as the solemn camels trudged by,
+their bells tinkling, their backs loaded with great bales of
+merchandise.  Wagons, bullock-carts, donkeys, packhorses, _arabyas_
+and men carrying great bundles, all seemed destined for one place,
+the block of warehouses above the harbour.  Here and there a tired
+camel knelt for rest in the shade of a wayside tree.  The drivers
+were vivid figures in their white cloaks, dusty and travel stained,
+while beside them moved, talked, and gesticulated such a mixture of
+races and colours that the eye was dazzled with the indistinguishable
+medley of blue, scarlet, gold, yellow and green gowns and cloaks,
+nearly all richly embroidered; and above all, rose the noise of
+innumerable bells in all keys, some ringing deep and slow, others
+tinkling incessantly as the donkeys wound by, urged on by cries and
+blows.
+
+Sounds, colours, smells, all mingled in this small town, along this
+crowded highway, and Charles Dean was not slow to notice the
+prosperity of the place.  Every man and animal was burdened with
+merchandise of some kind.  Carts rolled by with shrieking axles,
+loaded with wheat and barley.  The camels were weighed down under
+great bales of wool, tobacco, mohair and boxes of fruit and nuts.
+Brown-legged boys from the hills drove their flocks down the main
+street.  They had started for the town at early dawn, and by eleven
+were in Samsoon, a distance of twenty miles.  They were chiefly
+Turks, but occasionally one noticed the sharp features and clear skin
+of a Syrian youth, or the dark lean profile of a Circassian, always
+mounted and belted with daggers and pistols.  The Greeks too were in
+evidence, walking about with a superior air of possession, for they
+and the Armenians were the chief citizens.  They kept the shops and
+ran the small hotels and cafés.
+
+That night, Dean and his family slept in Samsoon, but they were early
+astir, and after a short call at the local office of his company,
+Dean, with his wife, child and nurse, were seated in the curtained
+_arabya_ with a Moslem driver urging his two cream ponies along the
+high street.  They were now travelling on the Baghdad road, and they
+had for companions on the way an unending line of betasselled camels,
+with great bells clanging as they lurched forwards, caravans winding
+slowly up the mountain side, and many _arabyas_ loaded with human
+beings or boxes, which once, to Dean's amazement, included American
+sewing machines destined for Baghdad.  There were also many
+picturesque pedestrians or travellers on the humble donkey.  For
+miles the broad road climbed up the side of the great ravine.  Early
+in the afternoon they passed through Chakallu, the Place of Jackals,
+a village in the deep valley, and twilight found them at their first
+halting place.  The town of Marsovan lay amid vineyards, orchards,
+and walnut groves.  Above the flat-topped houses towered the slender
+minaret, rose tinted with the flush of waning light.  Around the
+town, beyond the open plains, stretched the dark mountain ranges
+running north and south.  As they descended into the town the driver
+pointed with his whip to an enormous blue precipice which towered up
+on the distant horizon some thirty miles away.
+
+"Amasia," he said briefly, and Charles Dean and his wife looked at
+the distant horizon where lay the city in which they were destined to
+abide.  In Marsovan they were fortunate in finding an American
+Medical Settlement where they were hospitably entertained for the
+night.  It was with regret that they set out next morning for Amasia.
+It had been a great delight to live for a space among English
+speaking persons, to exchange opinions with the cheerful nurses and
+listen to the tales of the resident doctors.  There was even an
+English garden, a fresh, green, home-like space within the walled
+compound, bordered with cherry trees and Easter lilies.  Here at
+least was a place of refuge when the solitude of Amasia became
+unbearable, and as Mary Dean drove out of the courtyard and waved
+farewell to the little group of women gathered to speed their guests,
+she looked back with a feeling of comfort.  She would be but a day's
+journey from them, and those who know what the sound of one's native
+speech means in an alien land will realise the comfort Mary Dean
+derived from the workers of the Mission.
+
+The road to Amasia was a gradual crescendo of delight.  The soft blue
+mountain ranges towered up above the travellers as they approached
+the entrance of the gorge.  Here and there a column of smoke wound up
+the mountainside from the fires of the charcoal burners, whose little
+tents were pitched on the slopes.  It was afternoon when they entered
+the ravine along which the white road wound into the town.  Above
+them they saw the Baghdad road, on the opposite side of the ravine,
+half obscured by the clouds of dust thrown up by the miscellaneous
+traffic of carts, herds, camels and donkeys driving into the town.
+Now the plain appeared, and the vision stretched before them was like
+a new garden of Eden, a land flowing with colour, and scents from
+luxurious gardens.  The smooth, quickly flowing river tumbled over
+its weirs; they could hear the singing of the water and the creaking
+of water mills built along the banks.  The great crags stretched
+sheer to the sky, blazing with crimson shrubs in the bright, hot
+sunlight, and the further they progressed, the richer, the more
+varied grew the colours of this wonderful land.
+
+Presently with a sharp turn in the road, they emerged from the rocky
+ravine into a tremendous gorge, with Amasia nestling between the
+folds of the towering mountains.  The town itself was a maze of
+little white houses, dotted here and there in the small fertile
+valley, and stretching along the two banks of the Yeshil Innak.  A
+dozen bridges, all of quaint design, some going back to Roman times,
+spanned the bright river, and above the banks rose the minarets of
+the mosques, khans, colleges and public buildings.  The best houses
+built along the river each possessed wonderful hanging gardens
+blazing with luxuriant growths of semi-tropical plants and fruits,
+but the wonder of Amasia lay, not in the gardens or buildings, but in
+the immense cliffs that walled in the town from the outer world.
+These precipices, scarcely a mile apart, rose up on each side of the
+town to heights of three thousand feet on the western and more than a
+thousand on the eastern side.  They did not rise as mountains, but
+seemed to be walls of rocks guarding the town.  A castle stood boldly
+silhouetted against the bronze sky, perched on a frowning crag
+dominating the town.  This was indeed an ancient dwelling place, an
+old world town of wonder, where history seemed to sleep, for Amasia
+was once the capital of Pontus, the home of the great Seljuks, the
+birthplace of Mithridates the Great.  On the face of the western
+precipice there were still the five rock-hewn Tombs of the Kings.
+When Strabo wrote of them in B.C. 65, he was telling an ancient
+story, yet they remained untouched as when he had seen them.
+
+As Charles Dean and his family drove into the town it was early
+afternoon, but already one half of the place was in shadow, the other
+half blazed with sunlight streaming over the western precipice.  They
+were driven through the main street, a well observed party, giving as
+much interest as they found.  The company employing Dean had a house
+for its agent on the outskirts of the town and to that they made
+their way.  Presently they turned off from the road and went down a
+slope which led them through a beautiful garden into a small
+courtyard.  Here, their home came into view, and as the large, low,
+white-faced building rose up among the trees, they all gave a cry of
+delight.  On one side ran a large pergola built of yellow stone and
+black wood, leading to a garden which, even at this early time,
+rioted in colour.  Beyond the pergola, approached by broad stone
+steps, lay the river, bordered with trees beneath which several boats
+were moored.  One end of the house, raised upon piles, overlooked the
+river, with a wonderful view down the gorge towards the dazzling
+minarets and towers of the town.
+
+They had scarcely noticed this enchanting vista when the _arabya_
+pulled up in front of a large porch, screened with a swinging rush
+curtain.  Before it, with a smile of welcome on their faces, stood
+the bronzed Englishman and his wife, whom Dean had come to relieve.
+
+Greetings exchanged, they were led into a large, yellow room with
+French windows opening on to a verandah.  Passing through the windows
+they were confronted once more with the view down the gorge.  Tea was
+laid, and the travellers were soon exchanging the news.  The agent,
+Mr. Price, and his wife had been in Amasia for twelve years.  It was
+six years since they had had their last holiday in England.  Now they
+were going there, never to leave it again.
+
+"And to think--in six weeks we shall walk down Piccadilly!" cried
+Mrs. Price, the delight of anticipation in her voice.  "It is just
+the same I suppose--the same crowds, the same lights and hurry?"
+
+They laughed like children.  It was so good to think they would be in
+England again.  It was a little cruel to show their joy in view of
+the new exiles.  But six years away from England had filled them with
+irresistible longing.  Their questions too were all of home.  The
+political crisis--was it over?  The new Premier, how long did they
+think he would be in power?  They had a boy at Winchester--was the
+tone there still considered good?  He was sixteen--his mother fetched
+a photograph from the drawer to show them.  He was going into the
+consular service.
+
+And then Mrs. Price turned to the little boy standing beside Mrs.
+Dean.  Until now, his whole attention had been divided between the
+novelty of his surroundings and the piece of cake he held in his
+hand.  They hoped the summer heat would not be too intense for the
+child.
+
+"The poor little chap will find it lonely here," said Price, "unless
+he makes friends with the Turkish children."  Privately he wondered
+what insane motive had caused that couple to bring a child to this
+extraordinary land.
+
+"John has always been with us," remarked Mrs. Dean, as if reading his
+thoughts.  "The child seems to be quite happy without playmates,
+though of course, I devote most of my time to him."
+
+And then they passed to business matters; the two women discussed
+domestic arrangements, the men their own trading affairs.  Dinner was
+served in the long yellow room that evening.  It was only six o'clock
+and yet it was quite dark.  The light departed rapidly from the
+gorge, for the moment the sun had dipped below the precipice, the
+valley below was plunged into darkness.  But as they sat at dinner,
+and looked out westwards over the mountain barrier, they could still
+see the daylight lingering in the glowing sky.  A few stars glimmered
+in the twilight, their brightness and the light blue sky contrasting
+vividly with the black gorge and the dark running river.
+
+They were waited upon at dinner by two Armenian boys clad in white
+jackets with brass buttons.
+
+"We have practically brought them up in our service," said Price.
+"Their parents were killed in the last massacre."
+
+"Massacre!"  Mrs. Dean dropped her hand on to the table and looked
+across at the speaker--"When did the last occur?"
+
+"Four years ago--it was a bad one too.  Some squabble in a bazaar
+began it, I believe.  The Armenians here are skilful in trade.  They
+make hard bargains, and the Turks never forget the fact.  There was a
+dispute in the bazaar; it set a light to smouldering passion, and the
+town was ablaze in half an hour.  These Moslems are curious people,
+they kill deliberately, and though the massacre begins with a
+frenzied outbreak, it goes on with a dispassionateness which is
+terrible.  The Armenians immediately flocked to the bazaar.  It's in
+a walled compound with strongly barred gates.  I had been out in the
+country that morning and knew that something was astir.  The Turks
+looked askance at me and were sulky whenever I spoke to them.  On
+returning my wife begged me to go down to the bazaar and see what I
+could do, for it is wonderful the weight we English have here.  The
+Turks will listen to an Englishman, for they have never forgotten our
+Consuls and their firm, honest treatment of them.
+
+"So I went.  In front of the bazaar door, I found a horde of Moslems,
+rifles and pistols in hand, waiting for their victims to emerge.  The
+outbreak had occurred at ten o'clock that morning.  It was now four
+in the afternoon and they showed no signs of dispersing.  I knew they
+would wait there five or six days if necessary.  It was useless to
+argue with them.  Moslem blood had been shed.  The Armenians would
+have to bleed for it.  Finally I succeeded in obtaining a concession.
+They would allow the women and children to go to their homes.  But
+not the men, they said.  So the door was opened and the terrified
+women and children passed out between a sullen crowd of Moslems.
+When the last appeared in the gateway there was a rush, and I saw a
+helpless woman surrounded by a mob of angry faces.  Pushing my way
+towards her, I attempted to give her my protection but before I could
+reach her, she fell forwards, stabbed in the back, and as she fell, I
+saw that the Turks had not broken their word.  Under the folds of the
+garment covering her was the Armenian pastor who had tried to escape
+in disguise.  There was a murmur of intense satisfaction at this
+slaying of the leader of the hated community.  In all these affairs,
+the pastor is the first to go; they seek him out as the figurehead,
+and these poor leaders of a timid flock know that; you can see
+perpetual melancholy in their faces, hear it in their voices.  But
+they are brave men, and there is never any lack of pastors.  These
+two boys who wait on us are the sons of that unfortunate man."
+
+There was a long silence; then, fearing he had alarmed his guests,
+Price added in a cheerful voice--
+
+"Still, they never touch us you know.  European blood is sacred to
+them, and I have always found the Turks very docile, but if you are
+wise, you will keep in when the drums begin to drone."
+
+"The drums?" asked Dean, eager for information, although he could see
+his wife was being unnerved.
+
+"Harry," interposed Mrs. Price, "don't you think this is very trying
+for Mrs. Dean--she has only--"
+
+"Oh! please go on!" cried Mrs. Dean, "--there's no safety in
+ignorance."
+
+"Well--you can generally surmise that trouble is brewing when you
+hear the drums begin to drone.  They start at sunset and grow louder
+towards midnight.  It is an awful sound, weird, oriental.  You will
+probably hear a few of them to-night, there's always a strolling
+drummer entertaining at one of the khans.  When trouble is brewing
+however, there's not one drum, but hundreds.  They sound everywhere.
+You hear them in the streets, down the gorge, up the mountain-side.
+They sound as if Timur the Terrible was gathering his army again."
+He broke off with a laugh, "Really, Dean, I shall give you all the
+creeps--you are quite safe being English and life is very pleasant
+here, but lonely at times.  You will find even Constantinople a
+change--have you lived there?"
+
+"We have been there two months," answered Dean.
+
+"Two months!--then you will know Therapia--lovely Therapia!  We took
+a bungalow there for two months each year.  I have a cousin at the
+Embassy.  We had a delightful time--nights on the Bosphorus, gay
+little parties embarking in _caiques_, sunset beyond Therapia, the
+house parties at Buyukdereh.  Oh, it was enjoyable, but to think
+now--Piccadilly, Oxford Circus, Henley week--days in Surrey!--there's
+no place like England."
+
+With a boyish gesture of delight, he pinched his wife's arm who
+laughed gaily in response.
+
+"We are now going to leave you to talk business," she said, rising.
+"I am sure Mrs. Dean is tired and wants to go to bed, and we two will
+have a busy day tomorrow."  And with that the two women said
+good-night.  When they were gone, Dean and Price sat smoking for a
+time.
+
+"Come on to the verandah," said Price, leading the way.  "The moon
+will be up soon, and moonrise here is one of the wonders of Asia."
+
+They seated themselves in low wicker chairs.  It was so dark that it
+was impossible to distinguish anything clearly.  There was a sound of
+running water, and a muffled roar came back on the wind from the
+place where the river leapt its weirs down in the gorge.  Price's
+cigarette glowed red in the darkness with each draw he took.  The air
+was perfumed and warm.  There was something in the atmosphere which
+made the senses very acute.  It seemed as if one was waiting for
+something to happen--the singing of the stream, the wandering breeze,
+the perfume and the impenetrable darkness were all a prelude to the
+first act of an unknown drama.  The silence grew so oppressive that
+Dean felt he would have to speak or cry out.  He was about to force a
+remark to his lips when his host suddenly sat erect, intently
+listening, his face turned towards the valley.
+
+"Listen!" he said after a pause.  "Can you hear anything?"
+
+Even as he spoke, the other man heard a subdued sound.  It was borne
+on a wind which died down, but gradually its note was more insistent,
+deepening in tone until it seemed to make the darkness tremble.  As
+Dean listened, he experienced a strange thrill creeping over him.
+There was something so weird, so redolent of the strange land in that
+music as it was borne along the gorge and gave expression to the
+mystery of the night.  Such a sound it was as had been heard many
+centuries ago when the invading Turkish hordes had swept over the
+land.  Those drums had heralded the approach of Timur the Terrible on
+his devastating march across Asia, leaving a track of blood behind,
+his name sending terror in advance of his ruthless army.  The drum
+now throbbing down the gorge had the same barbaric note, the same
+sinister significance, and as Charles Dean listened he knew that this
+city of old Asia had never changed from the days when the Seljuk
+sultans ruled or Haroun-al-Raschid kept his court in Baghdad.
+
+And then, as if to add to the wonder of the night, the two men became
+aware of a slow change in the scene before them.  The objects in the
+garden grew into vision slowly.  Along the gorge they could see the
+houses and under them a chill light on the black swirling river.  The
+dim minarets changed from blue sentinels of the darkness to long
+white fingers pointing skywards.  And above the black edge of the
+precipice it seemed no longer dark, for even as they looked and
+wondered, the moon came up over the edge, round and full, with its
+white face peering over the great wall shutting in the gorge.  The
+scene before them was now one of indescribable beauty.  The little
+white flat houses, the mosques and minarets and gardens, all
+glimmered brightly in the serene light flooding the gorge.  As the
+river ran between the banks, leaping the weirs and rocky
+obstructions, it flashed silvery under the rays of the moon, and as
+if to keep measure with this revelation, the drum-beats grew louder
+and louder, throbbing in the perfumed air until the sound seemed to
+be closing in from all sides.
+
+How long they sat spellbound before this magic of the East they knew
+not, but their inactivity was broken at last by the noise of a
+footfall on the gravel below the verandah.  Instantly Price was on
+his feet, peering over towards the garden.  His companion too had
+heard the noise, and jumped up just in time to see a white figure
+turn in the path and pass from sight under the darkness of the cherry
+trees.
+
+Both men looked at one another for the space of a second.
+
+"I'm sure there's some one moving in the garden," said Dean.
+
+"No one has any right in here."
+
+They listened.  The drum droned louder than before and as the sound
+died with the veering of the wind, they heard a footfall again, less
+distinct.  The trespasser was going in the direction of the drum.
+
+Without hesitation, Price vaulted lightly from the verandah to the
+path below, his companion following.  Quickly they traversed the
+downward slope until they reached a grove of cherry trees into which
+Price plunged.  Behind him, Dean, following silently, heard his guide
+give a short cry; peering into the shadow, he saw a small figure some
+ten yards ahead, garbed from head to foot in a loose white gown,
+which fluttered ghostlike in the moonlight.  Price, running now, had
+caught the white form; when Dean came up, he turned to him with a
+nervous laugh.  As the latter stopped, he gave a short cry of
+surprise, wondering what trick the enchantment of the night was
+playing upon his senses, for there, firmly held by Price, was his own
+boy, barefooted, in his white nightgown, looking up with startled
+eyes.
+
+"John! what are you doing here?"  The father stooped and lifted up
+his boy.  The child's face wore a half puzzled expression as if he
+had suddenly been awakened from sleep and was dazzled by the light.
+For a moment or so he gave no answer, but clutched the lapels of his
+father's coat, his small frame shaking with fright.
+
+"Daddy, I had to come!  Something called me, something--" and as if
+unable or afraid to give words to the fear in his heart, he sobbed
+violently in his father's arms.  It was in vain that Dean tried to
+sooth the child; he shook from head to foot and clutched at his
+father's hand in wild terror.  They carried the sobbing child
+indoors, and when they had gained the lamplit drawing-room, calmness
+had once more come over the child.  He looked about him and blinked
+in the brilliant light like one waking from a dream.
+
+Price pinched the boy's ear playfully--
+
+"A nightmare, old son, eh?--you've been having too much cake!"
+
+"How did you get out of bed?" asked the father, looking anxiously at
+the boy.
+
+"I don't know, Daddy--I can't remember until you found me."  It was
+obvious that the child was speaking the truth.
+
+"Well, we can't have you sleep-walking like this, John.  You'll
+frighten your mother to death."
+
+"Take the boy up to his room, Dean," said Price.  "What a good thing
+it hasn't roused Mrs. Dean!  Come along, I'll show you the way, he's
+sleeping next to your room."
+
+They took the boy upstairs and placed him in his bed.  The child was
+quite calm now and his head sank on the pillow as if heavy with
+sleep.  For a minute Dean waited in the room and then stooped over
+the bed.
+
+"Will you be all right now, John?"  But there was no answer for John
+was already fast asleep again, his head buried in the pillow.  The
+two men tip-toed silently out of the room.  When they had gained the
+verandah Price mixed himself a whiskey and soda.
+
+"Drink?" he asked, with an ill-concealed attempt to be at his ease.
+
+"No thanks."
+
+There was a long silence; the two men were thinking.  Price knocked
+the ash off his cigarette and watched its end until the glow died
+down.
+
+"Is John subject to those--er--to sleep-walking?" he asked at length,
+making his enquiry as casual as possible.
+
+"No, he's not.  I have never known him to do this before."
+
+"H'm, perhaps the journey's upset him--the excitement; children are
+easy victims of nightmare."
+
+"Yes--do you think it was nightmare?" asked Dean.  His tone plainly
+conveyed the belief that he thought otherwise.
+
+"Of course!--why not?--the child has no reason for going down the
+garden."
+
+"Where does the path lead?"
+
+"To the river--there's a footway into the town--it cuts off the bend
+in the road."
+
+"To the town?--towards the drum?"
+
+Price started.  Dean had noticed then!  He gave a short laugh, and
+got up and stretched his arms.
+
+"Perhaps you'd like to turn in now?" he asked, and then as if
+changing his mind, he sat down suddenly.
+
+"Look here, Dean," he said earnestly, "I'll be quite frank--it is
+perhaps better.  You've guessed what drew the boy out of his bed?"
+
+"The drum?"
+
+"Precisely--and you're right, I think, though we may be making a
+silly mistake.  I would never have believed it myself, but it is
+certainly curious."
+
+"What?--the sleep-walking?" asked Dean.  "Because I'll say plainly
+that I'm sure the boy wasn't sleep-walking, he was wide awake."
+
+"You noticed it?"
+
+"Yes, I did--but I can't account for his expression."
+
+"His half-dazed look?"
+
+"Yes--it was uncanny.  I've never seen John look like that before.
+He seemed almost--"  Dean paused as if reluctant to use the word upon
+his tongue.
+
+"Hypnotised?" suggested Price.  The other nodded, and they both
+relapsed into silence.
+
+"I don't want to alarm you," said Price quietly, after a long pause,
+"but this thing makes me half inclined to believe what I would never
+credit.  Now, remember what I am going to tell you is only an old
+legend.  There's hundreds of silly tales you will be told by the
+natives here, if you encourage them to talk.  They spend nights
+embellishing these yarns in the khans until they believe in their own
+imaginations.  But it is as well you should know, in case to-night's
+event may be repeated.  You noticed the boy went in the direction of
+the drum?  Well, it's said that there are certain souls which can be
+allured by the _saz_--that's the name of the drum.  They cannot
+always be allured, only when the moon is full can the sound attract
+the souls of its victims, but when that condition is fulfilled, there
+is no power, save intervention by a person not under the influence,
+which can break the spell--it's a silly tale of course, these old
+khan entertainers always make the flesh creep."
+
+"But the victims--you say they are allured--where?"
+
+"I don't know, these old legend-spinners never say."
+
+"But surely there is some point in this hypnotic influence--why are
+they drawn by the sound?"
+
+"It's a mystery--as I've said, there's no sense in the whole story.
+What an ass I am to tell you all this.  It's late, hadn't we better
+turn in?"
+
+The change in the conversation was clumsy, and it did not deceive
+Dean.
+
+"You're keeping something back, Price--what is it?"
+
+Price looked steadily at his interrogator.  It was evident that Dean
+would go to the bottom of the subject.
+
+"Oh,--er, there's not much else to be told, only a silly sort of
+nightmare ending, that's all."
+
+"What kind of ending--death?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Violent--dreadful?"
+
+"Oh no, in fact, I should think rather sudden, or peaceful, that's
+how it seemed to me."
+
+"Then you've seen it?  Tell me all about it, Price."
+
+"Really, Dean, you know this sort of thing is very stupid--a
+coincidence, that's all, and I may have been mistaken."
+
+"Perhaps so, but I want to hear."
+
+"It happened three years ago, just such a night as this--full moon,
+those damned drums droning away--when my _kavass_--the fellow who
+takes me about the villages here, came running in.  He was in a
+fearful state, so excited he could hardly speak.  Had I seen Hafiz?
+he asked,--that was his son.  I told him I hadn't.  He said he had
+seen him crossing the bottom garden, going towards the river path."
+
+"Towards the drums?"
+
+"Yes, we had heard them at dinner.  They were very loud that night.
+I told the _kavass_ he was mistaken.  Hafiz couldn't have gone that
+way, it was full moon and we should have seen him, but the old fellow
+wouldn't be denied.  It was the drum of Timur, he said--no one could
+resist it who heard.  I didn't know the story then, but the old
+father was so distressed that I offered to go with him along the
+path.  So taking my revolver, we set out.  We had gone about a mile
+along the river's edge when we came to an old khan.  The drum was
+being beaten inside, so we thought, but my _kavass_ said it was
+impossible because the khan was roofless and no one lived in it.
+Anyhow, we could hear the _saz_ droning away.  So we pushed open the
+creaking old gateway.
+
+"Inside the courtyard there was a pool, and a fountain that never
+flowed.  The moon shone down on the pool which was so still that it
+reflected the stars.  Round the old khan buildings ran the galleries,
+in rectangular form.  The moon threw a deep blue shadow half across
+the courtyard, and as we stood there, peering into the deserted
+place, it seemed as if we had entered into a strange world where only
+the shadows moved.  We stood there, I should think, for quite a
+minute, transfixed by the silent beauty of the place, when the old
+man suddenly gave a cry.  I followed his gaze and saw what he had
+seen.  There, on the other side of the fountain, lay the naked body
+of a youth.  At first I thought it was a marble statue, it was so
+white and perfect in form, but the old man ran forward and as I came
+up to him, I saw the head of the youth was covered with a mass of
+loose, black curls.  The poor old father flung himself on his knees
+and gathered up the body in his arms, sobbing as he did so.
+
+"I never saw such a youth as Hafiz.  He was quite naked and the
+whiteness of his flesh was intensified by the moonlight bathing his
+body, and the head of black hair.  He had fallen sideways, with one
+hand resting on his thigh, the other clenched and stretched out
+towards the basin.  There was no sign of any struggle.  The face was
+composed, just as if he had fallen asleep, and there was nothing on
+the ground or anywhere about to suggest violence, but his clothes
+were all missing and to me this was conclusive proof that robbery had
+been the motive of the crime; no doubt he'd been strangled.  The poor
+old father who had been speechless with grief for some time, shook
+his head when I spoke of strangulation.  'No, effendi,' he said
+quietly, with a touch of fatalism in his voice, 'It is the drum of
+Timur--look!'  His finger pointed to the left breast of the youth,
+and I saw what had escaped me in the first hurried examination.  Just
+over the heart there was a short, red line, not the incision left by
+a dagger, but such as a penknife might make.
+
+"There was hardly any blood, a little stream had trickled down the
+breast and dried.  I told the old fellow that his son had been shot,
+but he only repeated, 'The drum of Timur,' and that was all he could
+be got to say.  The _zaptiehs_ searched the khan the next day.  They
+were stupid fellows, and shared the old man's conviction.  The fact
+that the unfortunate youth's clothes were never found proved
+conclusively, in my mind, that robbery had been the motive.  You
+mustn't believe a tenth of all you hear out here.  Anyhow, Dean, when
+the moon's full, watch your boy if you really think there's anything
+in the tale.  I don't.  Why should John be attracted by the drum of
+Timur, even if there were such a thing?--he's English, born in
+England!  This is a native spell and only works upon those of Moslem
+blood."
+
+The two men talked on for a short time and Price watched his
+companion closely; he was greatly relieved when he saw, on retiring,
+that Dean had dismissed his strange apprehension.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+I
+
+On the verandah, under the shade thrown by the blossoming almond
+tree, sat a boy who at first sight would seem to be some fourteen
+years of age.  It was a hot day without the suspicion of a breeze,
+and he stretched himself out in a wicker chair while he fanned
+himself with a broad, soft-brimmed white hat.  He was dressed,
+although it was only early spring, as boys in England dress in the
+hottest days of summer, that is when they are holidaying and have
+escaped the vigilance of their mothers.  A white cricket shirt, open
+at the neck, showed a chest and throat tanned to a rich brown by the
+suns of Asia Minor.  His face had the deep healthy tone of one who
+had exposed himself to the fiercest heat of the sun, but the tan
+could not hide the pink and red which mantled the clear skin of the
+boy's face.  His head was covered with a disordered mass of brown
+hair that had a tendency to curl.  The impression of all who saw
+young John Dean, was that of a remarkably handsome English boy.  The
+mouth was finely shaped, the nose straight, with a curious little
+curve in the nostrils which gave at times an expression of disdain to
+the face.  But the eyes were the arresting feature, they looked out
+from beneath long lashes, with a light in them so luminous that they
+appeared to be always on the verge of laughter.  John was now twelve
+years of age, and not thirteen or fourteen as his robust frame
+suggested.  Dressed in a pair of short white knickers, with a long
+length of brown leg showing, his sleeves rolled up at the elbows, he
+gave promise of a wonderful manhood.  For Charles Dean's whim was
+daily growing true.  This straight tall boy had a classic mould that
+followed the grace of the "Narcissus" which had given him his name.
+And to this distinction was added a manner that attracted all.  The
+boy's voice was clear, his laughter infectious; he had an air of
+command which probably was half innate and partly due to being a
+European among foreigners.  For he ruled his playmates imperiously.
+The _arabya_ drivers who gave him many a lift along the roads, the
+_zaptiehs_ whose rifles he handled, and whose stories he listened to
+breathlessly, down to the Turkish and Armenian boys of his own age,
+recognised without question his imperious will.  He was "John
+effendi" in the eyes of all the inhabitants of Amasia, not only
+because he was the son of the Englishman, but also by reason of that
+will to rule.
+
+But there was one follower of John effendi who not only respected and
+obeyed, but worshipped silently.  It was Ali, the son of the
+watermill owner.  Ali was a Turk and proud of his blood.  He was a
+year older than John, tall, and in a different way quite as notable
+as his friend.  He had fair wavy hair, always kept close-cropped.
+His whole life had been spent playing on the banks of the Yeshil
+Irmak, or the Iris as it was popularly called, and his young body was
+lithe and brown as a panther's.  When he moved it was with the sleek
+grace of that animal.  The muscles slid under their satiny sheaths
+with a suggestion of cryptic strength.  He could run like a hare and
+swim like an otter, accomplishments which quickly endeared him to
+John who was his rival in all these things.  Ali, by his father's
+position,--for he was a well-to-do, judged by oriental
+standard--though more because of his own spirit and strength, was a
+boy who reigned among his companions.  Only to one was he known to
+give way, to John, whom he followed with an intense, doglike devotion.
+
+It was of Ali that John was thinking this morning as he sat on the
+verandah.  Where was Ali now?  Probably he had gone to the mosque
+with his father, for it was nearing noon.  He wondered whether Ali
+would come round to the house.  They had planned a great adventure
+for that day.  They were to meet by the market drinking-fountain at
+eleven o'clock and then to climb the great rock on whose summit stood
+the castle.  Ali's uncle, the warden, was going to show them all the
+dungeons and court rooms.  It would have been a wonderful treat, and
+now he had been forbidden to leave the gardens because of a silly
+suspicion of his father's.  Last night they had heard the drums
+droning even louder than usual.  The sound grew to such a volume that
+the whole gorge had reverberated with it, and it had awakened him
+although he always slept soundly.  At breakfast his father had looked
+worried, and it was plain to see from Anna's nervousness that
+something was upsetting them.  His father had been in the garden soon
+after rising, and he heard him tell Anna that Achmed was like a bear
+with a sore head.  Then Anna did a mean thing.  She said, "Do you
+think that John should go up to the Castle, sir," and his father
+immediately said "No."  It was in vain that he pleaded that Ali
+expected him.  Ali would have to go alone, he was forbidden to leave
+the garden.
+
+So John sat on the chair idly swinging one leg over the arm while he
+fanned himself.  Anna was becoming a nuisance.  She had increased her
+authority ever since his dear mother had died two years ago now.  The
+thought of his mother led his mind back to the almond tree he and his
+father had planted on the grave in the little cemetery of the
+American Mission at Marsovan.  He remembered that day clearly,
+because he could never forget seeing his father as he bent down,
+stamping the soil about the roots of the sapling.  His father's
+shoulders seemed to be twitching curiously and when John looked at
+his face, he saw he was crying.  It was strange to see his father
+cry, he did not know men could do that, and it hurt him so much, that
+he had grasped his strong hand and cried "Don't Daddy!" which did not
+improve matters, for his father had gathered him up in his arms and
+pressed him to him until he could scarcely breathe.  And then John
+too cried.  He would never forget that day.
+
+If only his mother were living now, thought John; she would not let
+Anna be so strict with him, although he knew that his nurse was like
+a second mother.
+
+As he sat there with nothing to do on this lovely morning, the spirit
+of rebellion was strong within him.  Restless, he got up and ran down
+the verandah steps towards the courtyard.  In front of the stable
+door he paused, as if thinking, then swung back the door and entered.
+It was but the work of a minute to saddle his pony.  There was just
+time in which to reach the fountain and tell Ali that he could not go
+and then be back for lunch with his father.
+
+A few minutes later John was cantering down the highway into Amasia.
+He passed the heavily laden camels trudging along with their
+deep-sounding camel bells slowly tolling, a cloud of dust rising
+about their pounding feet.  Now and then a Turk would greet the boy
+with a profound salaam, but he could not help observing that the
+greetings were not so cordial or numerous this morning.  A few of the
+Turks he passed, who knew him well by sight, turned their faces away
+as he went by, and John recalled his father's words when he had come
+in from the garden before breakfast.  Had they all got sore heads, he
+wondered.
+
+In the market place he passed little groups that stood talking around
+their merchandise spread out on the ground, but he had no time this
+morning for sauntering in and out of the motley gathering.  When he
+reached the fountain, it was exactly eleven o'clock but there was no
+sign of Ali.  So dismounting, John slung the rein over his arm and
+waited.  A number of dusty _arabyas_ rattled by, evidently coming in
+from Marsovan.  Two Circassians, their coloured waist-bands gleaming
+with dagger handles, and long breeched revolvers, rode up to the
+fountain to water their horses, two superb animals which these wild
+men rode as if born in the saddle.  With characteristic insolence
+they pushed away a Turk who was watering his mule, and the angry old
+fellow went off waving his arms and leaving a stream of abuse behind
+him.
+
+It was very hot and the increasing heat made John realise that it
+must be getting near noon.  There was still no sign of Ali, but John
+dared not wait any longer, for he knew the penalty he would have to
+pay if his escapade were discovered.  So mounting his pony, he gave
+it a flick with his whip and started off at a sharp canter on the way
+home.  But he had not gone far before he became aware of a great
+commotion in front of him where the street narrowed just at the
+entrance to the bazaar.  A crowd of loose-cloaked Turks were seething
+towards the door, and a frantic yelling broke on the boy's ears as he
+approached.  Impelled by curiosity he urged his pony forward and soon
+reached the fringe of the mob.  As he did so a Turk caught hold of
+his rein and forced the pony back on its haunches.  The frightened
+animal immediately wheeled and kicked out, scattering the dense crowd
+left and right, and when the boy had managed to rein in his
+frightened mount, he saw that he was hemmed in by the crowd, with his
+back to the wall.
+
+Even then he was not aware of the danger in which he stood, but at
+his side in a heap, huddled against the wall, was a figure.  Hastily
+looking down John saw it was a man.  One glance told him that the
+Armenian was dead, and as he stared at the corpse, with its
+bloodstained tunic, the yelling broke loose again, and the crowd
+surged up towards him.  From the bazaar door another Armenian came
+out.  Before the man saw his peril, his retreat was cut off, and he
+flung himself behind the pony and the boy.  Mounted on his saddle,
+John's head was just above those of the crowd, and as he looked down
+upon the scowling angry mob, his heart thumped in his chest.
+
+With set face, the boy backed his pony so as to cover the terrified
+Armenian.  But the crowd would not be baulked of its prey, it was
+determined to set blood flowing.  A bullet sang through the air and
+hit the wall with a sharp thud, and a fat dirty Turk, drawing a
+wicked-looking knife from his belt, tried to get between the Armenian
+and his protector.  Instantly John raised his hand, the lash of his
+whip whistled as it cut through the air, and the man backed with a
+howl of rage and pain.  John raised his whip again, his eyes blazing
+in his tense face.
+
+"If any of you want a thrashing, come and get it!" he cried, his
+young voice sounding shrilly above the low muttering of the crowd.
+They stared at this young English boy, with his firm set face and
+defiant head.  Perhaps his courage stirred them, or it may have been
+the fury of this child bare-throated and slim, who looked at them
+unflinchingly.  The crowd backed a little and as it did so John saw
+in its midst, Mehmet, the brother of their gardener Achmed.
+
+"Mehmet!" he cried, "if anything happens to this man I shall give
+information to the _Zaptiehs_ about you."
+
+The threat had its effect, the English never invoked the authorities
+in vain.  Seeing his opportunity, the boy turned his pony sideways.
+
+"Keep between me and the wall!" he shouted to the terrified Armenian,
+as he urged the animal forwards.  Out-man[oe]uvred, the mob made no
+attempt to follow, and the Armenian and his protector went their way
+down the street.  When they were at a safe distance and the clamour
+had died away, the boy pulled up his pony to give the man time to get
+breath.
+
+"Oh, master!" cried the man, "my poor brother!"  John looked down at
+the Armenian.  He was a man of about fifty, thin, with black
+straggling hair and pinched cheeks.
+
+"Was that your brother?" asked John.
+
+The man nodded his head, choked with tears.
+
+"How did it begin?"
+
+"A boy stole a ring from our stall.  He fled into the street and my
+poor brother ran after him and was beating him when the father came
+up--Usef the butcher."
+
+The Armenian shook from head to foot, and John waited while he
+gathered his breath, then they moved on again.  After going for about
+half a mile, the Armenian stopped and clasped the boy's hand.
+
+"Young master, God bless you for this!" he cried, kissing the boy's
+hand.  "I am safe here, my home is near by.  I shall never forget
+you, young master," and kissing this time the boy's knee, he turned
+and disappeared down a narrow courtway.
+
+On the outskirts of Amasia, John realised how near he had been to
+disaster.  His courage was sinking rapidly, no longer sustained by
+the excitement.  Whipping up his pony he cantered up the home drive
+and rode with a clatter into the courtyard, and as he did so, he saw
+that his thoughtlessness had betrayed him, for his father, hearing
+the sound, came out on to the verandah.
+
+John stabled the pony, and then entered through the dining room on to
+the verandah where his father sat waiting.
+
+"Well?" was his greeting.
+
+John hung his head a little; he was still quivering with the
+excitement of the last half hour, but he tensed his muscles and threw
+his head up with a determined look.  Bean watching his son closely,
+saw the lithe young body stiffen, and he mistook the effort of
+self-control for one of defiance.
+
+"You know I forbade you to go out: Have you anything to say?"
+
+"No, father."
+
+"Very well,--fetch the switch."
+
+
+
+II
+
+Three days later, John sat with his father having dinner on the
+verandah, for it was a warm evening and the stars glimmered in a
+cloudless sky.  Over the western precipice the daylight had not quite
+disappeared, there was a strip of red which higher up changed to a
+light green and gradually merged into the dark blue of the night.
+They could hear the Iris singing along its bed, a deep full-toned
+note now, for the melting of the mountain snows was increasing its
+volume.  John did not usually sit up to dinner, but to-night he was
+enjoying a special privilege which his father gave him occasionally.
+After dinner he would sit on his father's knee while he was read to
+from an exciting story book--a custom of his mother's which had been
+faithfully retained.  So when the dinner had been served and the
+servants had cleared the table and shut the windows behind them, John
+fetched the book for his father to read.  As he handed it to him,
+Dean took the child's hand in his own, holding it while the boy stood
+between his knees.
+
+"John, why didn't you tell me what happened when you disobeyed me the
+other morning?"
+
+John looked into his father's face; some one had told him then.
+
+"I didn't think that was any excuse, Daddy," he said simply.
+
+As he spoke, Dean looked at the boy.  What an astounding sense of
+logic the child had!  Of course it was no excuse, he had disobeyed
+and had accepted his punishment; but it was amazing that no advantage
+had been taken of the incident at the bazaar.  For a minute there was
+silence, in which neither spoke, and Dean's hand closed tightly over
+his son's.  This boy was made of good stuff.  A great pride in him
+leapt up in Dean's heart.
+
+"John," he said gravely, "I am very proud of you.  You were a young
+Englishman that morning.  You made no excuses--which I loathe, and
+you didn't flinch in a tight corner, which makes me proud of you,"
+and with that said, he lifted the boy up on to his knees and began
+reading.
+
+John's taste for fiction had undergone a change.  Once he had loved
+tiger stories, and hunting yarns in India; now he wanted school
+stories.  It fascinated him to know how English boys lived in that
+far country where he had been born.  Their escapades at school, their
+tricks on masters, their friendships, sports, quarrels, the fagging
+and the lordly prefects, all filled him with wonder and delight.  As
+he listened to these tales, a great desire grew up within him.  He
+longed to be with them, to go to an English school.  It would be St.
+Martin's or St. David's--for all big schools began with St. something
+he discovered.  He would be among English boys there and perhaps
+share a study with one of them.  They would be great friends and then
+they would quarrel and "cut" one another.  He didn't like the idea of
+the quarrel, but it was necessary, otherwise he couldn't get hurt on
+the football field, scoring the goal that won the match for the
+school.
+
+Yes, he would have to quarrel, because how otherwise could his friend
+help him to limp back to his study, and then shake hands, and sit
+down to make toast, as in the days before they had quarrelled?  John
+also wondered what the school chapel would be like.  He had never
+been in a chapel.  He imagined there would be hundreds of boys bowing
+their heads, and the stern-faced headmaster would speak in a deep
+voice (that was really kind although it would seem terrible), and at
+his side there would be a big boy crying, a prefect--for was not this
+his last Sunday?  There would also be the pealing organ--he wondered
+how an organ would sound--and the light would stream down through the
+high-coloured windows and rest on the heads of the boys while the
+lines of the last hymn died away.  For the light always streamed
+through highly coloured windows in school chapels--that was what
+helped the prefect to cry.  It would be---
+
+"John, you are not listening--are you sleepy?" said his father.
+
+"No, Daddy--I was only wondering--"
+
+"What?"
+
+"If only I could go to a big school like that, and have friends and--"
+
+"Well, you will one day."
+
+"Oh!  In England?" asked John, his eyes dancing with excitement.
+
+"Yes--when you are a little older."
+
+"O-o-oh!" cried John, flinging his brown arms round Dean's neck, and
+wriggling his body until his face touched his father's.  "And shall I
+have a study, and a big box with my name on it--'J. N. Dean' in great
+black letters?"
+
+"Yes, Anna will pack it full with your clothes."
+
+"Oh, how glorious--and you will come too?"
+
+Dean laughed, and pinched his son's leg.
+
+"No, old son--they won't have daddies at school."  Then seeing the
+young face cloud over, "But I shall take you there.  When you are
+fourteen we will all go to England for a holiday, and I shall leave
+you at school."
+
+"And come back here?"
+
+"Yes, you see your father has to make money to pay for your
+schooling."
+
+The young arm tightened around his neck, and in the dim light Dean
+saw the boy's mouth quiver.
+
+"I don't want to leave you, Daddy."
+
+"It won't be for long, not very long," he said, "and when you have
+grown up you will be able to keep your old Daddy always by your
+side--if you want him."
+
+"I shall always want you.  There's--there's only us."
+
+There was a silence then between the man and the boy.  Dean stared
+out across the valley.  The stars glittered frostily and the moon was
+coming up behind the precipice.  But he hardly noticed that, for his
+thoughts were far away in England.  In two years or so he would be
+alone--out here, an exile, with his boy far away.
+
+The moon slowly climbed, peered over the precipice and then flooded
+the gorge.  A breeze came wandering along the night and stirred the
+boy's hair as he lay sleeping in his father's arms.  It was growing
+late, but Dean sat on, moving not, just looking down on the sleeping
+face of the tired boy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+In the shadow of one of the walls of the castle of Amasia two boys
+were resting during the hot noon-tide, for it was near the end of May
+and the summer sun was already scorching the plains and reducing the
+size of the Iris as it flowed along the gorge.
+
+Another two years had wrought a change in John and his friend, Ali
+the Turk.  They were fourteen and fifteen respectively, but John had
+outgrown Ali, both in height and breadth.  This slight period had
+further developed the English boy who now looked sturdy and thickset
+in comparison with the slim Turk.  They had climbed all the morning,
+starting out before the sun had dried the dew on the ground.  Ali's
+uncle had shown them over the castle, a treat that had been postponed
+through one cause and another until this day.  The excursion had been
+made at last because the two boys would soon be parted.
+
+In three days' time, John was setting out with his father for
+England.  Of that journey and the wonder that awaited him at the end
+of it, John had talked for months, and Ali eagerly listened to every
+detail of the new life his friend would soon be living.  England, to
+Ali, was a country of fabulous wealth, where great lords lived in
+wonderful houses; most of them were soldiers, and the country in
+which they lived was so small that open spaces were almost unknown.
+It was from John that he gained his first conception of a public
+school, which seemed something very unlike the great schools in
+Constantinople where his father would send him one day.  As the two
+boys rested in the shade they were busy with their own thoughts.
+Below them, almost under the high rock where they lay, crouched the
+town of Amasia.  They had a bird's-eye view down the gorge, and
+across to the opposite precipice walling in the valley.  They could
+see the course of the winding river until it abruptly turned from
+sight in the bend of the valley; they counted the bridges
+intersecting its silver stream, and saw behind the trees fringing its
+banks, the flat-topped houses, the slender minarets, dwarfed by the
+height from which they looked, and the patternless maze of baths,
+domes, khan courtyards, and mosques covering the narrow valley.  Far
+up the eastern precipice they could follow the winding highway,
+climbing like a white ribbon, until it reached even higher than the
+rock where they lay, and disappeared over the pass leading to
+Marsovan.
+
+As they watched and half dreamed, they heard the muezzin calling to
+prayer.  Ali straightway arose, and as if John had not been present,
+performed his elaborate genuflections, bowing his head to the ground.
+John did not watch Ali closely.  On such occasions he always felt a
+little awkward and hardly knew what he should do.  He did not wish to
+give Ali an impression of irreverence; on the other hand, he was
+English and a Christian, and felt he had something which he should
+uphold.  He pretended therefore, whenever Ali performed his religious
+exercises, not to be aware of them.  The subject was one they never
+discussed, each avoiding it with caution.
+
+When Ali had finished, he stood up and looked at John in silence for
+a minute.  His friend lay on his back, one leg crossed over the
+other, with a brown arm propping up the sunburnt face and head.  As
+if aware that Ali was watching him, John sat upright.
+
+"Ali," he said, "let's have a bathe, I'm baked!  Is there any water
+near?"
+
+"There's a stream half a mile down, it runs into the Iris, I've often
+bathed there--shall we go?"
+
+"Yes!" cried John, springing up.  They set off at a brisk pace over
+the rocky ground.  They found the stream, and as if constructed for
+bathing there was a deep pool where it turned into a rocky crevice.
+Eager to cool their sun-weary limbs, the two boys were soon stripped,
+and splashed and shouted in the clear water.  As they swam they
+seemed like silver fishes in the crystalline stream, and long
+practice had made them adept swimmers.  John who had been looking for
+a place from which to dive, soon found a jutting rock lower down the
+stream.  Calling to Ali, he mounted it and stood poised for the dive.
+As he did so, he stood up straight, cutting the brilliant sky with
+his slim brown body.  Ali, looking up stared at his friend, for
+although only fifteen he had the Asian's keen appreciation of beauty.
+Behind John's head the sunlight danced in his wind-fluttered hair, it
+gilded his shoulders and rimmed with silver the outline of his young
+body, and as the muscles quivered, the wet flesh gleamed like a
+burnished shield.
+
+As he watched, John raised his arms straight above his head, the slim
+body was taut for a moment, the muscles contracted, then suddenly
+relaxed themselves and rippled as the shining figure leapt through
+the air and fell like a silver arrow into the blue pool below.  For a
+moment the diver disappeared under a broken bubbled surface, and
+then, spluttering and laughing, John had reappeared.  Ali stood on
+the bank, shivering despite the heat.  He was unhappy and could not
+shake off a heavy sense of doom.  What oppressed him he did not quite
+know, he could only attribute it in some way to John going away from
+him to a distant land.
+
+Swimming to the side, John climbed the bank and was amazed to find
+Ali not there.  Their clothes lay together all in a heap, so it was
+impossible for him to have gone far.  There was nothing to be heard
+save the hum of insects and the soft whisper of the grasses as they
+bent under the breeze.  Ali would come back soon, he thought, as he
+lay down in the grass.  It was delicious to feel the wind pass over
+his body.  It touched him as though it delighted in rippling over the
+flesh and he felt its cool hand play on his shoulders then run
+swiftly down to his stomach, along his legs and finally make a queer
+sensation on the soles of his feet.  He let his head fall and
+half-turned on his side.  The wind blew down his back and between his
+legs deliciously.  Why didn't Ali come, where had he gone?--it must
+be nearly two o'clock, they would have a . . . .
+
+
+When John awoke he had a feeling it was late afternoon.  The sky
+above him was not such a brilliant blue, some of the lustre had gone
+out of it.  The stream sang louder than before, otherwise there was
+perfect quiet, for the insects had ceased humming.  All at once he
+realised he was naked.  Of course, he had been bathing and had slept
+in the grass, waiting for Ali!  Where was Ali?  John got up and then
+gave a low cry.  His friend too, was fast asleep at his side.  John
+stretched out his hand to wake him, when he felt something upon his
+head.  It was a wreath, twined out of asphodel, pressed over his brow
+like a crown.  He drew it off with a laugh.  Ali had been playing
+tricks.  His laughter woke Ali, who sat up.
+
+"Hadn't we better get dressed?" asked John, standing up.  "What's the
+wreath for?"
+
+"To crown you."
+
+John laughed gaily, and then checked himself, for there was an
+expression of pain on Ali's face.  His friend was now on his knees,
+his sunburnt body erect, and he was looking at him from under a brow
+half hidden with hair tousled by the wind.  John had never seen Ali
+look like that before.  The eyes were no longer those of a merry lad,
+but belonged rather to a suffering dumb brute.  As John looked down
+at him, their eyes met, and a low cry escaped Ali's lips.
+
+"What is it, Ali?" John asked, stooping, and his question seemed to
+loose a floodgate of the emotions, for Ali flung his arms round the
+boy's ankles, and sobbed as if his heart would break.
+
+Like all males, John hated the sight of tears; it made him feel
+awkward; he knew not what to say or do.  So he just stood still and
+looked down at the bowed back of his friend.  Then, unable to watch
+Ali's distress any longer, he bent down, and with sheer strength,
+lifted him on to his feet and held him just as a mother would a
+troubled child.  Somehow, John felt years older, and Ali seemed like
+a baby--it was strange, because Ali had always been so silent, so
+reserved, with a kind of hidden strength which had often made John
+admire him secretly.
+
+"I say, Ali--you mustn't go on like this,--what is the matter?"
+
+"You are going away, John effendi."
+
+"Yes, but I shall come back,--besides why do you worry so?"
+
+"You are my friend, John effendi--I would never leave you--you are
+more to me than a brother."
+
+"Thanks, Ali--we--we've been great friends, and when I come back--"
+
+"You will come back?"
+
+"Of course I shall!  I shall spend my summer holidays at
+Constantinople with my father.  He wants to take you there with him,
+unless you are there at school.  I didn't know you--thought so
+much--of me, All."
+
+"Have I not always followed you, effendi?  You are English, I am a
+Turk--but we are brothers--and now you are leaving me."
+
+He stood there holding John as if he would hold him thus through
+time.  The English boy, embarrassed, with the British instinctive
+dislike of emotional display, knew not what to say.  He wanted to say
+something that would express all he felt, his love for his friend,
+and all the happy times they had had, but no adequate words would
+come.  So he just gave a short, forced laugh, tightened his grip on
+the other boy, and then turned and picked up his shirt.
+
+"I say, we must get dressed!--it's getting late."
+
+Ali was now calm.  The storm had passed.  They made their way down
+the mountain side almost without words.  The sun had not set, but the
+town below was already in deep shadow and they could see the lights
+glimmering.  Now that the inevitable moment of parting was drawing
+near, John began to feel something of the emotion which Ali had shown
+by the pool.  It was a break in his life, this parting; the first he
+had ever made.  They had been jolly days, and although the future had
+its glamour, things would never be quite the same again.  Ali would
+grow up, and he would grow up, each in different worlds, with
+different customs.  They would meet in two years, but two years was a
+long time.  Dear old Ali, if only he could take him with him!
+
+They had now reached the fountain at the foot of the steep street
+where the ways parted.  The inevitable moment had come.  John took
+All's hand and gripped it, English fashion.
+
+"Good-bye, Ali--I'll write to you often.  We'll meet in two years."
+
+"Insh' Allah--God willing," said Ali gravely.  "I will make you a
+gift, John effendi, will you give me a promise?"
+
+"Yes, Ali--what is it?"
+
+Ali opened his shirt at the neck, and lifted over his head a thin
+chain.  At the end of the chain hung an oval moonstone; on one side
+it had Turkish characters, on the other the etching of an eye.  John
+had often seen this charm against the evil eye hanging on his
+friend's neck, but as it no doubt had something to do with his faith,
+John had refrained from asking any questions.
+
+"See, effendi--I give you this talisman.  My father brought it from
+Mecca.  It will keep you from harm, and also you will remember me by
+it.  Will you wear it always?"
+
+The tone was so earnest, and Ali spoke with such gravity that John
+nodded his head, which he lowered while Ali passed the chain over him
+until the talisman hung on his breast.  For a moment there was an
+awkward pause.  Ali seemed about to say something, but his lips did
+not move.  John feared another outburst; so gripping his friend's
+hand, he looked into his eyes for the last time.
+
+"Good-bye, Ali!" he said, and was quickly gone into the darkening
+twilight.  Down the street he felt an overmastering impulse to turn
+and wave to Ali, who, he knew, would stand watching his going, but
+such an act would only prolong the agony.  With a firm resolve he
+strode on along the way home.
+
+It was dinner time when John reached the house, and he just had time
+to wash before the gong sounded.  Seated at table he was very quiet
+during the meal, and when coffee had been served and they had passed
+out onto the verandah where so many happy evenings had been spent,
+Dean drew John down into his big wicker chair.
+
+"You are very quiet, John--anything the matter?"
+
+"No, father--I was only thinking."
+
+"What of?"
+
+"Oh--of England, and leaving here, and--Ali."
+
+
+The moon had come up over the precipice and flooded the garden in
+soft light.  They could see the river, like a silver shield where it
+turned in its course.  Not a leaf stirred in the garden, but there
+were sounds floating about the night.  From the orchard came the
+first notes of a bulbul; more distant, they could hear the musical
+rippling of the water as it sang in and out among the rocks, and
+further off, subdued, pulsating with mystery, sounded the low droning
+of a native drum.  It rose and died in the night air with its
+barbaric note insistently calling.  Calling what?--they did not know;
+perhaps it drew towards it the Moslem spirits, as it had drawn them
+on that night long ago when Timur came near, red with conquest.
+
+Dean looked down at the boy sitting quietly by him.  The moonlight
+glinted upon something on John's breast.  He slowly drew out the
+chain with its talisman.
+
+"What's this?" he asked, reading the Turkish characters--"Kismet!"
+
+"Ali gave it to me for a keepsake--what does Kismet mean, father?"
+
+"Destiny--all Moslems believe in it."
+
+"Do we?" asked John.  Dean paused before replying.
+
+"Some of us do, some of us don't," he said quietly.  Then there was
+silence again, save for the drum calling through the night.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II
+
+WEST
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+The guard's whistle sounded shrilly, and in John's ears it seemed to
+be cutting through his life as he stood on the platform at Sedley and
+felt his hand held in his father's farewell grasp.  The last carriage
+door had been slammed, the perspiring porters mopped their brows
+under the hot September sun, the train drew back a little with a
+hissing of steam and a rasping of brakes, then slowly crawled
+forward.  John ever afterwards carried a distinct impression of his
+father as he saw him that afternoon leaning out of the carriage
+window.  The tanned face, the clear grey eyes and clean-cut features
+all stamped themselves upon his memory.  The ring in his father's
+voice as he said--
+
+"Good-bye, John--you'll soon settle down,"--then the long pause, the
+last look into his eyes, and the tightened hand.  These impressions
+burnt themselves upon the boy's brain, and, somewhat overwhelmed with
+the pain of it all, he stood watching the train dwindle down the
+line.  It drew out of sight, first the long length of carriage
+windows, then the shortened perspective, until the back of the
+guard's van covered the train, finally the lamps, the two buffers,
+and a coiled up gas connection--and a long stretch of shining steel
+rails that converged to a point.  He wanted to run along that iron
+way, to catch that train, to get away from this terrible desolation
+creeping over him.  He stood, lonely and miserable, in a crowd of
+shouting boys and porters struggling with luggage.  Just outside the
+station, beyond the white palings where the ticket collector stood,
+was a waggonette packed with boys of all ages.  John looked at them
+curiously.  They were to be his companions, to form his life in the
+coming years.
+
+In Amasia he had looked forward to mingling with boys of his own age
+and race, but now their noisy behaviour and boisterous good humour
+repelled him.  He thought how much preferable was Ali with his quiet
+oriental manner.  There was also another disconcerting experience
+which depressed him--his new clothes irritated him.  He had worn
+trousers for a week now and hated them.  His waistcoat was like a
+chain round his chest and he wanted to tear the vile Eton collar from
+his throat in rage.  He longed for his loose open shirt, his easy
+shorts and socks.  There were other clothes packed away in that white
+wooden box, with black iron flanges.  John stared at his initials,
+black-lettered on the front--"J.N.D."--did they belong to him?
+Somehow they seemed to shout at him, to possess him, and the "N" in
+the middle grew and swelled until it dwarfed its companions.  John
+was terribly afraid of that "N".  Why hadn't the porter stuck the
+luggage label over it?  He recalled what that awful boy, at the house
+where his father went to dine one day, had said, when he told him his
+name.
+
+"Narcissus!  Good Lord, you will get ragged!"
+
+"Ragged--what's that?" he had asked.
+
+"Oh--knocked about--chivied."  And then, in a friendly tone, "You'd
+better keep that name quiet."
+
+John must have stood thinking on the platform for a considerable
+time.  It was almost empty.  He would walk back to the school.  His
+housemaster's wife had asked him to have tea with her.  He
+instinctively liked Mrs. Fletcher.  She was motherly and there was
+such a pleasant ring in her voice, also she was beautiful and
+probably young.  Her cheeks were very fresh, as if she had walked in
+the wind all day, and John liked the style in which she did her hair.
+Fletcher too had attracted him, though he had not been able to notice
+him much, for his father had talked to him about Eastern affairs.
+
+When John reached the school, he tapped on his housemaster's study
+door and entered.  He was in no genial mood, but full of warlike
+thoughts.  Mrs. Fletcher smiled at him as he entered and motioned for
+him to sit by her side.  There were other boys in the room, seven or
+eight, all laughing and talking with Mr. Fletcher, and John wondered
+whether he would ever be on such familiar terms with the master as
+these boys were.  There was something about the book-lined study
+which pleased John--it had such a homely look and Mr. Fletcher seemed
+all the more attractive because of his study.  The books, portraits
+and pictures were interesting, the chairs were very comfortable, and
+Mrs. Fletcher gave attention to John.  Soon he was laughing at
+something she had said which amused him immensely, and he laughed as
+only a boy can laugh.  Mr. Fletcher turned from the group about him
+and looked across at John.
+
+"Now I wonder what I am missing, Dean?" he said.  "Come here.  This
+is Mason--Rogers, Russell, Thomson, and Vernley."  He indicated the
+boys with a sweep of his hand, and John surveyed his new
+schoolfellows.  One boy attracted him, a heavily-built fellow with
+carefully brushed hair that was thick and shiny.  John saw that he
+was strong, so strong that he looked ungainly in his suit, which
+tightened with every movement, but what attracted John was Vernley's
+smile, it was so good natured, and warm, like sunshine.  He was
+pleased when Mr. Fletcher added--
+
+"Vernley is in your dormitory, Dean."  Then turning to the boy, "You
+must take charge of Dean until he finds his way about.  Now you'd
+better get along, all you.  Don't forget to see the Matron about your
+things, and chapel's at seven-thirty."
+
+John followed the boys out into the corridor.  He shivered as he
+closed the study door.  On this side of it he was in the school and
+it looked so depressingly barren after the cosy study.  He watched
+the other boys with envy as they walked down the corridor to the
+Matron's room.  Vernley was among them, and seemed to have forgotten
+the master's injunction, but at the Matron's door he waited for John.
+
+"Come along, our boxes are up in the dorm,--yours has been put next
+to mine--I'll show you the way up."
+
+Putting his arm in John's he led the way, talking as they went.  To
+John it was a novel experience.  He had never talked to another
+English boy in this free manner, and the friendliness with which
+Vernley had taken his arm gave him a slight thrill.  It was pleasant
+to be noticed like this, and already he liked his companion.  There
+was something so placid and solid about him which appealed to John.
+There was nothing Eastern about this boy, he talked without reserve
+and his clear brown eyes seemed like those of a young animal rather
+than a human being.
+
+Vernley sat down on John's bed and explained the various contrivances
+in the room.  It was a long well-lit chamber with eight beds on
+either side, bordered by two long strips of carpet.  The middle of
+the floor was bare.
+
+"It's jolly cold too," said Vernley, "when you stand on it with the
+wind blowing over you."
+
+"Stand on it, why?"
+
+"Oh, it's Lindon's fad--he's a physical culture crank, he's prefect
+here.  He makes us all strip night and morning and has us squirming
+on our backs with our legs in the air,--but he's quite a decent chap.
+You'll get on with him well."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh, you look so splendidly fit--he's simply mad on fitness.  He
+spends half his time torturing me to get my fat down."
+
+"But you're strong," said John admiringly.
+
+"Oh, yes, but it is not strength he believes in--it's what he calls
+form, the Greek ideal--he's always talking about some Greek johnny,
+and he's rather like one himself.  What's the J.N. for?" Vernley
+broke off abruptly and stared at the box.
+
+"John Narcissus--"
+
+"Narcissus!"
+
+"Yes--it's Greek too," John smiled, and Vernley laughed.  John
+noticed that he had teeth like an animal's--white and strong.
+
+"Well--they'll call you 'Cissy' for short."
+
+"Oh, please don't tell them--I hate it," he said, looking at Vernley
+imploringly.
+
+"Very well--then it'll be Scissors--that's more cutting!"
+
+"I don't mind that--what's your name?"
+
+"What do you think--there's only one name for all persons like
+myself--Tubby--isn't it a libel?"
+
+"Yes--you're not too fat.  I think you're--"  John hesitated,
+
+"Well, what--let's hear."
+
+"You're quite--splendid."
+
+Vernley laughed again in his fascinating way.
+
+"Thanks--I can return that compliment."
+
+John flushed.  He was glad Vernley had laughed like that.
+
+"That's strange, you know--saying that," added Vernley.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because most fellows never think about appearances--I always do, and
+you do.  I loathe ugliness.  Lindon's always preaching on that text.
+You'll hear him later, 'the good and the beautiful' that's his pet
+phrase.  He's beautiful enough, but he isn't good."
+
+"Why?--does he swear?"
+
+"Good lord, yes--we all do, there's worse things than that."  He
+stooped down and took a book out of the box at the foot of his bed.
+Then he glanced at a watch on his wrist.
+
+"Glory!" he exclaimed, "it's a quarter past seven.  Come along or
+we'll be late."  He hurried out, John following.  He wished Vernley
+had gone on talking, he interested him in Lindon.  What was it Lindon
+did?  Perhaps he drank secretly, or cribbed, or--John hurried on, his
+head filled with speculations.  He was looking forward to seeing the
+terrible Lindon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+I
+
+John's first week at Sedley passed with amazing rapidity.  It was all
+new to him, and enjoyable also.  The masters were such a decent set
+of fellows, and already John had formed a strong alliance with
+Vernley.  He had had tremendous good luck in this.  Vernley was in
+his second year and entitled to a study.  A small room at the end of
+the corridor was vacant, but it was only large enough for two boys.
+All the other studies had four occupants, save fellows in the fifth
+and sixth forms who had attained to the dignity of separate rooms.
+When Vernley discovered that he was the odd man out with a study of
+his own, he went straightaway to Mr. Fletcher and asked permission
+for John to share it, which was readily granted.  He and John entered
+into partnership.  So far the alliance had been a great success.
+
+It was the Wednesday half-holiday and John had just had his first
+game of football.  Exhilarated by the exercise and the novelty of it
+all, he had changed from his muddy shorts and red and white shirt,
+wallowed in the bath, and now sat stiff and tired in a wicker chair,
+holding toast to the fire, while Vernley got out the tea cups.  Tea
+was the one meal they had in private, and both boys gloried in it.
+
+John, burning the toast furiously, sniffed with delight.
+
+"I say Verny--toast is the incense of the appetite--isn't it good?"
+and he sniffed long and loud.  Vernley looked at him.  John's
+curiously turned nostrils always fascinated him, they were just like
+the faun's in the drawing class.
+
+"You ought to be called Bunny, not Scissors," he said, pouring hot
+water into the teapot.
+
+"Why?" asked John turning round in the chair.
+
+"Damn!--watch that toast, it'll be black!  Why, because you twitch
+your nose like a rabbit.  That's enough, don't toast any more."
+
+There was a long break in the conversation, filled with the noise of
+crunching.
+
+"I shall have to go in a minute--I forgot to fill Lindon's kettle,"
+said John.
+
+"Hang Lindon--he's always running you about.  I knew he would.  He
+doesn't like your being here."
+
+"Don't talk rot--he's been jolly decent to me, he was coaching me all
+this afternoon.  He's going to give me an hour at racquets
+to-morrow," said John, defending Lindon stoutly; then seeing that he
+had hurt Vernley--
+
+"I say, Verny--don't be jealous--only it is decent of him.  Why don't
+you like him?"
+
+He looked at Vernley, who shifted uneasily and kicked the fender.
+
+"I never said I didn't like him," he answered.
+
+"But I know you don't--what's the reason?"
+
+"Well--it's because you're such a kid, Scissors."
+
+"Thanks, you're a year older--but that's no reason."
+
+"P'raps not--but I knew Lindon would go for you--I said so the first
+night."
+
+"To-day's the first time he's taken any notice of me."
+
+"Is it?--he's watched you like a cat for a week.  You don't know
+Lindon--I do."
+
+"Then why are you so mysterious about him?"
+
+Vernley got up and cut himself a piece of cake.
+
+"Have a piece, Scissors?"
+
+"Thanks."
+
+"Look here, Scissors, you've said I'm jealous--well I am, but not for
+the reason you think.  You're only a kid and a green one at that.
+I'm a year older, which isn't much, but I've been at school five
+years, in a prep, and here, and I know who's who.  Lindon's a clever
+chap, captain of the first eleven, our best bat and all that--but
+keep clear of him."
+
+Vernley would say no more after that.  John went out and filled
+Lindon's kettle and returned.  His forced manner made Vernley watch
+him curiously; John was evidently upset.
+
+"What is the matter," he asked John, abruptly.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"That's a lie, Scissors--try again."
+
+John flushed deeply--"Well, nothing much," he confessed.
+
+"Has Lindon said anything?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"About me?"
+
+John was silent.
+
+"I guessed so," said Vernley bitterly, "and you believe him?"
+
+"No--I don't--and I don't understand,--and I don't want to
+understand."
+
+"But, Scissors, if--in the past," added Vernley.  He looked anxiously
+at John, who had picked up Punch and was looking through it.
+
+"Well--the past is the past, that's all.  I say, Verny, listen to
+this," he said, reading from the paper.  He had dismissed the
+subject, and Vernley sat and listened, looking at his friend with a
+doglike affection.
+
+
+
+II
+
+John enjoyed the Saturday evenings when they all gathered in Mr.
+Fletcher's study.  They sat wherever they liked, on the floor, the
+lounge, or in the windows, while Fletcher talked and his wife poured
+out the coffee.  Fletcher was a man of ideas and of sufficient
+strength of mind to carry them out.  He was never so happy as when,
+pipe in mouth, he debated with six or eight boys at a time.  It was a
+time-honoured custom for the boys of his house to come in each
+Saturday evening to talk over the school matches or any other topic
+that presented itself.  There was no attempt to make the conversation
+"improving."  Sometimes, led by a question, Fletcher would tell them
+about his travels in Greece and Italy, illustrating them with
+snapshots in his albums, or perhaps Mrs. Fletcher or one of the boys
+would sing.  The repertoire was in no way restricted.  Occasionally
+Vernley had to be forcibly deposed from the piano stool after an orgy
+of music-hall ditties or waltz tunes, and any outburst of ragging was
+quickly suppressed.  The boys were not compelled to enter into any
+conversation.  They could take down the books and read if they wished
+and sometimes complete silence reigned until Fletcher stood up,
+knocked the ashes out of his pipe and said "Time, boys."
+
+There was one particular pleasure to which John always looked
+forward--that was Lindon's playing.  There was a magic quality in it
+which held them spellbound; even Vernley admitted that Lindon knew
+his way about on the piano.  The pianist would sit down in front of
+the keyboard, wait for the preparatory hush which he commanded as a
+brilliant performer, run his fingers up and down the keys once or
+twice as if making their acquaintance, and then begin.  Sometimes it
+was Beethoven he played.  John never forgot the thrill that ran down
+his spine when he heard the _Pathetique_ for the first time.  Its
+great soulful chords crashed through him, echoing along his brain
+like thunder in a valley.
+
+But on this particular evening, Lindon was in a more festive mood.
+He had won glory on the field that afternoon; his swiftness, his
+quick decision had brought victory to his house, and some of the
+seriousness which usually invested his manner was forgotten.  It was
+the last Saturday night of term.  The examinations were nearly over.
+The holiday spirit already made the school restive.  So Lindon was in
+good spirits.  He chose Chopin, and sent the melodies rippling from
+beneath his wonderful fingers.
+
+John, completely fascinated, stood leaning on the flat top of the
+grand, it being his duty to turn over the music when the demi-god
+nodded.  Lindon started off with the _Valse Brilliante_ in four
+flats.  It was hackneyed, but not so to John who listened while the
+magic movement seemed to lift him up with ecstasy.  Then the pianist
+played _Op._ 64--he seemed scarcely to touch the keys, for they
+whirred just like the wind blowing through a leafy tree.  It was the
+speed, the superb vivacity of it all that entranced John.  Now they
+were butterflies dancing rapturously, now a spinning wheel.  Here was
+something that reached an eloquence beyond words, a joy greater than
+anything he had ever known.  When Lindon ceased, John's eyes were
+sparkling with intense delight.  The pianist, seeing his pleasure,
+laughed lightly.  The applause he did not appear to notice; it was
+John's boyish approval which he looked for and found at the
+conclusion of each piece.
+
+How long Lindon sat at the keyboard John had no idea.  His ecstasy
+was suddenly shattered by the performer who said,
+
+"Only one more, Scissors, then you can sit down."
+
+And this time it was something that stirred John until he felt he
+must cry out.  It was the exquisite pain of it.  As he watched Lindon
+he was strangely attracted; the latter was no longer smiling.  He sat
+with compressed lips and stern eyes.  The slender hands flew over the
+thundering bass and swept like a whirlwind into the treble.  The
+player's hair, shaken with the energy of his execution had fallen
+over his brow.  There was something fierce about Lindon as he sat
+there, something that made John draw in his breath with half fear and
+wonder.  He had never seen this Lindon before.  The gracious,
+laughing young hero whom he worshipped had changed into a being
+capable of great passion, and perhaps cruelty.
+
+It was the _Drum Polonaise_ which Lindon played.  It began like the
+slow murmur of thunder, and then it broke into a wild ecstatic music
+like the mad flight of a thousand horses across a prairie.  John
+wondered how so much sound and furious activity could be torn out of
+that piano, and the player's frenzy almost terrified him as he turned
+the music, but his fear suddenly changed to a feeling of dread and
+helplessness.  The second movement had begun with its monotonous
+bass.  John listened, breathless; it was the sound of that drum which
+enthralled him.  It grew in intensity and passion, it called, called,
+called with a horrible fascination.  John looked at Lindon, but the
+latter seemed oblivious of all but the page before him.  The sound
+swelled up and smote on John's ears like a flood of waters; a curious
+numbness stole over him--the drum seemed nearer now, it was soothing,
+he would know nothing soon, already feeling had left him, he--
+
+Lindon was the first to jump up as John swayed and fell in a heap on
+the floor.  He sprang from the stool and lifted up the insensible
+lad.  Fletcher and his wife were pending over John when he opened his
+eyes again.  Where was he?  He did not quite know, yet he was very
+tired.  Then he heard some one call "Scissors!" and looking up again
+saw Lindon bending over him, with anxious face.  He was safe; he
+could feel the rigid muscles of his arms as he held him.  He let his
+head sink with a sigh.
+
+"I think it's the air, sir, we're rather warm in here," said Lindon
+to Fletcher.
+
+"Carry him into the hall, Lindon--you boys stop here."
+
+"Let me take him," said Mrs. Fletcher, all the mother nature of her
+sounding in her voice.
+
+"It's all right, Mrs. Fletcher, I can carry him.  I think the porch
+would be the best place.  The cold air will bring him round."
+
+Lindon lifted John like a baby and went out into the porch followed
+by Fletcher and his wife.  He deposited his burden in a wicker chair.
+
+"Don't wait, sir, I'll bring him in in a bit--look, he's all right
+now."  John sat up and looked at the anxious trio.
+
+"Better?" asked Fletcher, cheerfully.
+
+"Yes, sir--I'm awfully sorry," replied John.
+
+"Don't worry, my boy--you've played too hard to-day.  Now sit here a
+bit with Lindon.  Ah, here we are!"
+
+Mrs. Fletcher had returned with rugs and wrapped the boy round with
+them.
+
+When Fletcher and his wife had gone, John and Lindon sat in silence.
+
+Lindon could see Dean's face in the dim light and his eyes were still
+very bright as he looked up at the sky.
+
+"Scissors," said Lindon quietly, "why did you faint?"
+
+"I don't know, Lindon--you frightened me, I think."
+
+"Am I so terrible?" the question was asked jokingly but not without
+an undercurrent of feeling.
+
+"No--but you fascinate me--you have done since the first.  It's only
+when you are playing that I really seem to see you properly."
+
+Lindon gave a short laugh.  "What a queer little beggar you are--I
+suppose the East is in your blood.  I hope Vernley hasn't been
+playing on your imagination too much--he talks about me?"
+
+"No, he doesn't," said John shortly, "and you shouldn't ask me--I'm
+his friend."
+
+"I'm sorry, Scissors--it is caddish, only--" he broke off and looked
+out into the night.  John sat in silence and waited.  He knew Lindon
+wanted to say something.  Presently he spoke.
+
+"You see, Scissors, I don't want anything to upset our--well, we get
+on fairly well, don't we?  Somehow you've made me feel--oh, I'm
+talking rot."
+
+"I suppose you've seen how I watched you," said John, "--I simply
+couldn't hide it--I'm a little fool I know."
+
+"That's what made it all so difficult.  It's not easy being a god,"
+responded Lindon.  "You've put me on a pedestal--and I want to keep
+on it."  They talked more easily after that.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+I
+
+It had been arranged that John should spend the Christmas and Easter
+holidays with his housemaster.  Fletcher had a cottage in Wales where
+he went at the end of each term to repair his shattered constitution.
+There, he dressed in a most amazing assortment of tweeds, smoked
+endlessly, loved to sit in village bars and listen to village gossip,
+and tramped over the mountains with inexhaustible energy.
+
+John spent the first fortnight with the Fletchers, after which he
+went on to Vernley's people, who sent him a cordial invitation to
+their home in Essex.  It was there that John first became acquainted
+with the amazing possibilities of life.
+
+The Vernleys lived in a rambling old house with long corridors in
+which John could lose himself.  Indeed, everything was on the
+spacious side, with that heavy, solid prosperity stamped on it which
+somehow fitted the Vernleys and all of John's preconceptions of them.
+Mr. Vernley was a broad-shouldered man with a shock of black hair and
+a tremendous voice.  Mrs. Vernley was stout and tall, talked rather
+loudly and made a draught whenever she moved, but she radiated
+kindliness.  The family, too, was on the large scale, for John found
+himself being introduced to a crowd of brothers and sisters who
+varied from being wonderfully beautiful to uncompromisingly ugly.
+
+There was Kitty, aged twenty-two, a big-boned woman, who talked
+horses all day long; then Alice two years her junior, the musical
+genius of the family.  Vernley had great faith in his sister's future
+as a singer because she was so fat.  Tod, twenty, and in the first
+flush of glory at Balliol, was the Vernley Adonis.  He had the good
+looks that wonderful health and spirits bestow.  His cheeks were
+tanned, his laugh cheery, and when he didn't sing or talk, he
+whistled.  Vernley said that sitting near Tod was like being near a
+radiator, he warmed you like an animal.  With great cheerfulness, Tod
+offered to teach the two boys how to box.  He took them up into a dim
+roomy attic, stripped them, tied the gloves on to their hands, and
+made them pound away at each other while he bellowed his
+encouragement.  At the end of half an hour, the two boys being
+utterly exhausted, he just tucked them under his arms, walked down to
+the bathroom and turned the cold water tap on them as if they had
+been two mice he had wished to drown.  They emerged from their first
+boxing lesson with a black eye each.  In addition John had a swollen
+nose and Vernley a cut lip.  When they both appeared at tea-time, the
+family yelled with delight, save Mrs. Vernley, whose motherly
+instinct forbade further boxing lessons.
+
+And here it was that the amazing complexity of life first dawned upon
+John's consciousness.  Mr. Vernley was a member of Parliament and he
+brought his friends on week-end visits to "The Croft."  John looked
+at these persons with considerable awe.  They were all doing, or
+going to do something big.  Among them was Chadburn, quiet,
+unassuming, strictly conscientious, with a fine face and a courteous
+manner.
+
+John walked with him through the woods one Sunday morning, and at the
+end of half an hour, fell in love with him; all that night he had
+visions of himself as a private secretary.  It would be glorious to
+be near him each day, to go in on a thick-carpeted floor with a sheaf
+of papers and say, "Will you sign these, sir?" or, "A deputation
+wishes to see you, sir," or "Your speech is in your bag, sir," and
+his hero would say, "Thank you, Dean; I shall be back to-morrow--take
+cuttings from the _Times_ and _Telegraph_,"  Perhaps he could
+accompany his chief to a big meeting and see him sway the crowd, hear
+him cheered in the packed hall and he would want to get up, and say,
+"That is my chief--I am his secretary."  John went to bed that Sunday
+with life revealing a wonderful vista before him, for as he had
+passed through the lounge where the men sat smoking, he had heard
+Chadburn say, "That boy's as intelligent as he's handsome."  As the
+two boys undressed, Vernley noticed his friend's elation.
+
+"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, ripping!  It's glorious here, Vernley--I don't know how to thank
+you," which sent the devoted Vernley to bed equally happy.
+
+There were two other incidents of that holiday that stood out in his
+memory for many years.  The first dawn of adolescence stirred in him,
+disquieting, but wonderful.  Muriel awakened him, Muriel the
+vivacious, sixteen, home from school in Belgium, the prettiest of the
+Vernley girls and just ready to fall in love for the simple adventure
+of it.  They liked each other at sight; she admired his slim grace,
+the brown healthiness of his skin, the fine ring in his laughter; he,
+her elusive charm and tomboyish air.  Her quick, witty chatter in
+English or French was music to the enchanted John; and she rode her
+horse like a princess.
+
+Each morning, after breakfast, three or four mounts were brought
+round from the stables, the groom waiting until the riding party was
+ready.  Sometimes Vernley and Kitty made up the quartette, with John
+and Muriel.  John sat his horse superbly, the legacy of Amasian days,
+with the result that he and Muriel were often far in advance of the
+other couple, for Vernley rolled on his seat like a sack, and Kitty
+acted as whipper-in.
+
+One morning, after a breathless gallop, John and Muriel found
+themselves alone together on the white road running through a little
+copse of birch trees.  The girth of Muriel's saddle had slackened,
+and John helped her to dismount and tightened it.  Then slipping
+their reins over their arms, they walked the horses on to the soft
+turf bordering the road.  On a barren bough a robin began to sing
+cheerfully.  Muriel gave a little cry of delight, and as John looked
+at her, his flesh thrilled with her laughter.  She was flushed, with
+her fair hair falling over two pink ears, and as she turned to him
+with her beautiful eyes, she caught him in the act of open
+admiration.  Muriel looked away, pretending she had not noticed.
+
+"Shall we mount and get on?" she said awkwardly.  She placed one foot
+in the stirrup, and John placed his hand under the other to help her
+into the saddle.  It was the first time he had ever touched her and a
+queer self-consciousness caused him to bungle, for she failed to gain
+the saddle.  The horse moved, and Muriel fell back into his arms.  It
+was an accident which John took as a gift from the gods.  He gave an
+awkward little laugh as he looked down into her timid eyes and she
+tried to hide her face on his shoulder.  The soft brushing of her
+hair on his cheek gave him courage; holding her in his strong young
+arms, he raised her face with one hand and saw the laughter in her
+eyes.  Then deliberately he kissed her lips, her soft wavy hair
+falling over his brow, her arms pressed tight and warm around his
+neck.  It was a moment's delight, with no passion in it--only youth
+discovering youth and thrilled with the wonder of it.
+
+Almost gravely John helped her into the saddle, and they started off
+at a canter.  The wind whipped their faces, the superb vitality of
+the horses seemed to flow through their bodies.  Ahead lay the wooded
+country and the chimneys of "The Croft."  John remembered that white
+strip of road, the birch-tree copse and the laughter in Muriel's eyes
+evermore.  In the years that followed he was to love, but it was
+never quite the same, there was more intelligence in it, more
+consciousness, more passion, but not the quick edge of sharp surprise.
+
+
+
+II
+
+John's Christmas at "The Croft" was his first experience of life at
+an English country house, and he saw there how money and leisure
+could make existence almost ideally tranquil.  He learned too, the
+patrician order of things.  Hitherto, humanity for him had only been
+classed in nationalities.  He had recognised, of course, that mankind
+itself was divided into the rich and poor, those who did what they
+wished, and those who laboured as they must.  But he now saw that
+Society was more subtly divided; it had its rigorous caste systems,
+and he was living in the strictest caste of all.  The county type
+that he met at "The Croft" was something distinct.  It spoke very
+definitely of humanity as "the masses."  Clearly they were a slightly
+inferior people, to whom a duty must be performed.  They had to be
+kept in their places, taught to recognise superiority and to render
+homage without servility; in return for this recognition they were
+rewarded with the influence and interest of those who controlled
+their lives.
+
+Down in the village John found that, as the guest of the Vernleys, he
+was somebody.  The villagers touched their caps to him, the
+postmistress was effusively polite.  All this seemed strange at first
+to John, for accustomed to the deference of the Moslem before all
+Englishmen, he had conceived a socialistic idea of the position and
+powers of all who spoke his native tongue.  After a time he grew
+accustomed to the patrician attitude.  It was so easy to assume the
+air of command, to know that servants, even English ones, were there
+to serve, and that one could be perfectly polite to them and forfeit
+no respect or authority.
+
+He admired the young squire manner of his friend Vernley--the way in
+which he obtained all he wanted.  The whole country-side was his, the
+farmhouses all gladly opened their doors at his approach.  The name
+of Vernley was powerful.  The next thing John realised was that the
+name was loved.  The Vernleys had lived on the land for generations,
+and their knowledge of every family on the estate was unique.  They
+knew the hereditary tendencies of Farmer Jenkins' children, the
+constitutional inclination of the Wichsteeds to bronchitis, the
+wanderlust that was in the blood of all the Wilkinsons' younger sons.
+John's friend too was intimate with all the village boys.  He played
+cricket with them, called them by their Christian names, and assumed
+leadership in their midst without any rivalry or jealousy.
+
+This was new and strange to John; but it all seemed part of the
+landscape.  The village people were the natural possessions of the
+Vernleys, just as much as the fine old copper beeches in their drive,
+or the splendidly level lawn and flower-bordered terraces.  It had
+always been so, and there was no reason why it should ever change.
+The village church, with its tombs of dead Vernleys also showed that
+their religion was a family affair, looked after by the vicar who
+held his living by appointment of a Vernley.
+
+Comfort too was so visible in that home.  There were solidarity and
+security in those massive oak doors under the stone portico.  The
+heavy carpets sank richly under the feet; one felt majestic ascending
+the broad staircase with its crest-panelled pillars.  The bedrooms
+with the blues, reds, and greens of carpets and eiderdowns and
+couches had a solemn splendour, particularly after the coldness of a
+school dormitory.  It gave John a peculiar sense of pleasure to watch
+the maid in the morning enter his room with the hot water.  The
+copper water can gleamed as the felt cover with its monogram came
+off.  The curtains as they were drawn, fell back in heavy beautiful
+folds, and his bed was a massive thing built to endure for
+generations.
+
+John revelled in all these things so new in his life and he looked at
+Vernley closely when that young gentleman expressed no particular
+delight, no pride of proprietorship.  John, of course, was careful
+not to show his ecstasy.  He accepted everything without comment, but
+secretly he exulted.  Life was going to be pleasant enough with such
+splendid traditions and beautiful houses.  He would spend his days
+visiting friends; he would find such a house himself, and entertain
+large parties.  The wine should stand richly in beautiful glasses, as
+it did on the Vernleys' table at night time, discreetly lit with
+shaded candles in the silver candelabra.  He would find servants as
+well trained, a butler as majestic, and the stables at the back of
+his house should be filled with superb horses, flawlessly groomed.
+
+Dreaming in this manner one night as he lay in bed, he suddenly
+started with a recollection that his home had once been like the
+Vernleys.  He had seen photographs of "Fourways," and heard his
+father speak of Tom the groom--a splendid beater or loader.  With a
+thrill of discovery John recalled his inheritance; it explained so
+much, his joy in these surroundings, the feeling that somehow he was
+at home again among the Vernleys.  This was no new life; it was the
+old life, the one his father had known.
+
+And then John realised how much he had lost.  The mention of family
+misfortune had formerly conveyed nothing to him.  He had been quite
+happy in his home at Amasia.  There was nothing wanting, and he had
+often wondered at his father's ceaseless recollections of "Fourways."
+Now he realised all that the change to that hard, bright, lonely life
+in Amasia had meant, and the fuller knowledge clouded the boy's
+happiness.  He would build up the family fortune again and take his
+father back to "Fourways."  So thinking, he fell asleep to dream of
+his father greeting Tom who came to welcome him back, and somehow in
+that dream he mingled--but he was not alone.  There was Muriel with
+him, flushed with riding, her cheeks whipped with the wind, her eyes
+bright with happiness, and her hand, soft and warm, holding his as he
+helped her down from the saddle.
+
+John awoke in the morning to the sound of bells.  It was Christmas
+Day, and springing out of bed he ran to the window that overlooked
+the drive opposite the church gate.  The bells were clamouring
+merrily and he could see the villagers making their way to the early
+morning service.  Picking up his towel he rushed off to the bathroom,
+shouted loudly at the shock of the cold shower, dressed quickly and
+ran downstairs just as the breakfast gong sounded.  In the dining
+room the family was busy opening presents.  There were three for him,
+one from Vernley and two from his host and hostess.  With boyish
+impulse he went up and kissed Mrs. Vernley delightedly.  Life was
+good!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+I
+
+On Christmas eve John had noticed another guest at dinner, but he had
+no opportunity of studying the person, who was addressed as Mr.
+Steer.  The next morning after breakfast, there was a walking party
+to Holdfast Covert, about three miles, whence a fine view of the
+surrounding country was obtainable.  John asked Vernley all about the
+stranger, for he was attracted to him by his manner.
+
+"The Governor's frightfully keen on Steer," said Vernley.  "He's a
+poet and quite well-known--at least I think so.  There's always a
+mild sensation in the district when Steer's down here."
+
+"Have you read his books?"
+
+"No, I've seen them of course--they're always prominent in the
+drawing-room when he comes here.  He's not like most of those writing
+people who everlastingly talk about themselves, and he's a sportsman.
+He'll start love-thirty with any one on the tennis court and beat
+'em."
+
+It was on the way back from the covert that John had his first
+conversation with Steer.  The boy had fallen behind to tie up a shoe
+lace, and the poet was hacking away at a wand he had cut out of the
+thicket.
+
+"What are you making, sir?" asked John, overtaking him.
+
+"A whistle--can you make one?"
+
+"No--I'm not very handy with a pocket knife."
+
+"Well, there you are--that's a sycamore pipe which you can play--like
+the Idle Shepherd Boys," said Steer, giving the stick to John.
+
+  "_On pipes of sycamore they play
+  The fragments of a Christmas hymn,--_
+
+I suppose you know that?"
+
+John confessed his ignorance, but he liked the sound of it and wanted
+to hear more.
+
+"God bless me," said Steer, "you mean to say that you've not heard of
+Wordsworth?  I thought every boy out of a nursery had been brought up
+on 'We are Seven' and 'The Idle Shepherd Boys.'"
+
+"I've never heard of Mr. Wordsworth," said John naïvely,--"do tell me
+about him."
+
+"Oh, he's quite dead now--he was what is called a Lake poet--he lived
+at the English Lakes, Grasmere and Rydal to be precise, where there
+was a group of these poets and essayists--Coleridge, Southey, De
+Quincey, Christopher North--names you've probably heard.  'The Idle
+Shepherd Boys' was a favourite poem when I was a lad.  I remember
+reciting it to my mother for a penny.  She used to give me a penny
+for every new poem I learned.  I remember how she laughed when I
+pronounced 'vapours'--'vappers.'  The first stanza runs--
+
+  _The valley rings with mirth and joy;
+  Among the hills the echoes play
+  A never, never ending song,
+  To welcome in the May.
+  The magpie chatters with delight;
+  The mountain raven's youngling brood
+  Have left the mother and the nest;
+  And they go rambling east and west
+  In search of their own food;
+  Or through the glittering vapours dart
+  In very wantonness of heart._"
+
+
+"Oh, how jolly!  Do go on please!" shouted John eagerly, and his new
+friend recited the whole poem.  The joy on the boy's face greatly
+amused him.
+
+"You've evidently got a taste for verse, John--but there's much
+better stuff than that.  Wordsworth was a philosopher, he wrote
+splendid things like--
+
+  _Love had he known in huts where poor men lie;
+    His daily teachers had been woods and rills,
+  The silence that is in the starry sky,
+    The sleep that is among the lonely hills._"
+
+
+These words fell upon John's ears as music.  It was a spell upon him,
+something that took him into a realm of wonderful sounds and visions.
+On that walk home, he plied the poet with questions, and Keats,
+Shelley, Browning and Byron became more than mere names.  He learned
+how they had lived, of Byron's picturesque, turbulent career; of
+Shelley's passion for reform; of Keats' struggle against disease and
+the burning ardour for the glory that was Greece.  And then Steer
+told him of living men who were writing.  "But don't meet them if you
+can help," he advised.  "You should never meet authors of the books
+you admire--they have conserved their best moments in a few pages,
+and they cannot live up to your expectations--and authors, too, are
+not the pleasantest of mankind.  There is sufficient egotism in a
+room full of them to lift St. Paul's to the top of Everest."
+
+"But you're a poet yourself, Mr. Steer--and you're not at all
+objectionable!" said John laughingly.
+
+"Perhaps that's why I'm such a bad one," answered Steer.  They had
+now overtaken the others and Vernley, looking round, noticed John's
+excited manner.
+
+"Whatever's stirred you up, Scissors?" he asked.  "You look as if
+you'd found a gold mine!"
+
+"Mr. Steer's been telling me about the poets.  Oh, Verney, I'd no
+idea they were such a ripping set.  Have you got a Wordsworth at
+home?"
+
+"Yes--but you haven't come here to read that stuff--you'll have to
+read it when you get at your 'remove'--a horrible old man, always
+grousing about some 'divine, far-off event'--no, that's Tennyson.
+How does it run?  I've got it--
+
+              _a sense sublime
+  Of something far more deeply interfused,
+  Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns
+  And the round ocean and the living air--_"
+
+
+"That's beautiful, it's--" exclaimed John.
+
+"I call it utter tosh.  Parse and analyse.  Subject; there isn't one,
+predicate; find it if you can; object--Good Lord, why don't these
+fellows write sense?  Whoever saw a round ocean?"
+
+"But that isn't what he meant--you mustn't take it pictorially."
+
+"Bravo, John, you've got the sense of it," interjected Steer.
+"Bobbie's attempted to analyse it,--that's fatal."
+
+Vernley stared at John curiously for a moment, amazed at his friend's
+enthusiasm, then--
+
+"You are a rum beggar, Scissors; I believe you'd like to write stuff
+like that yourself."
+
+"Perhaps he will--alas," sighed Steer.
+
+"Why do you say 'alas'?" asked John.  "You're not at all sad, you're
+quite jolly and--"
+
+"You can play tennis, sir," added Vernley in a consolatory voice.
+
+
+
+II
+
+For the remainder of the day, John's head was full of poetry.  He had
+found a copy of Wordsworth in the library, and after lunch, when
+every one disappeared for a nap, he stole up to his bedroom,
+successfully evading Vernley, who, he knew, would cover him with
+derision if detected.  Fortunately Vernley had gone across to the
+vicarage with a message, and he was detained there with lemonade and
+mince pies for a whole hour.  In that time John read through "The
+Idle Shepherd Boys" and "Lucy Gray."  He then attempted "The
+Excursion" and found it altogether too much for him, save one jolly
+bit--
+
+  "_He loved; from a swarm of rosy boys
+  Singled me out, as he in sport would say,
+  For my grave looks, too thoughtful for my years,_"
+
+which ministered to his egotism, and helped him to build up visions
+of long walks with Mr. Steer, in which he saw down into the soul of a
+poet.  He had given up "The Excursion" in despair, but later, turning
+over the pages, he recognised the lines Vernley had quoted.  Like an
+old friend they seemed.  He had just finished the "Lines composed
+about Tintern Abbey," when Vernley, or Bobbie as the household called
+him, burst in, searching for him.
+
+"Scissors, I've been all over the house--what are you doing?"
+
+"Reading."  John closed the book and half hid it behind him, but
+Vernley was too sharp and made a grab.  One look, and the secret was
+out.
+
+"Scissors!  I've a good mind to scrag you."
+
+"If you can--but isn't it ripping--
+
+  _Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
+  And the round ocean and the living air--_
+
+--it's like eating caramels."
+
+"If you say it again, I will scrag you!"
+
+"_Whose dwelling is the light--_" began John provocatively.
+
+Vernley leapt upon him and they went down together, John underneath.
+
+"Say it again, Scissors!" cried Vernley, holding John's head firmly
+to the floor.  John wriggled and tried to shift the hand over his
+mouth.
+
+"Whose dwelling is the--" he managed to get out before he was choked.
+There was a wild scrimmage which ended with a great crash.  They had
+cannoned into the washstand, and the jug and basin lay in a thousand
+fragments.
+
+"Golly!--what a mess!" commented Vernley from where he lay, surveying
+the ruins.
+
+"Will your mater be angry?" asked John nervously.
+
+"No--she's used to having things smashed--it's a family failing.
+I've made a mess of your collar, you'll have to put a clean one on.
+Old Crimp's coming to tea, I've just been to the vicarage.  He's a
+dreadful old bore--but he's got a ripping kid.  I can't think how he
+did it."
+
+"Did what?" asked John naïvely.
+
+Vernley looked a him for a moment, and then went scarlet.
+"Scissors," he said, taking his arm, "you are a bit of an angel--"
+
+"_Whose dwelling--_" began John derisively.
+
+"Shut up!--do you want to smash the looking glass next?  Get your
+collar on--there's the gong for tea."
+
+
+Those days at "The Croft" went all too swiftly, and the morning came
+when the two boys lifted their trunks into the car and were whirled
+down the drive to the station.  John left feeling that the end of
+life had come.  He had been among friends and had felt almost as if
+he had been to his own home--the kind of home of which he had
+dreamed.  Mrs. Vernley had mothered him, and John's secret pleasure
+at being petted had been expressed in many little acts of devotion.
+
+"What a lovable boy he is!" she said to her husband as she watched
+the car recede down the drive.
+
+"Yes, and sharp too.  They may well call him 'Scissors'--that boy
+will cut his way through," replied Mr. Vernley.  "Where's Muriel?  I
+thought she was going to the station with them?"
+
+Mrs. Vernley looked intently at her husband, but his face told her
+nothing.  Ten minutes before she had hurried a sobbing Muriel off to
+her bedroom, where she was now going to lecture her on the absurdity
+of falling in love at sixteen, but as she secretly sympathised with
+her daughter she did not say anything to her husband.  Upstairs in
+the bedroom she found Muriel with watery eyes, standing by the
+window, and screwing up a miniature handkerchief.  Mrs. Vernley
+looked at her and decided that further words would bring a deluge.
+So she talked about everything but the thing in both their minds, and
+the only allusion to John's departure was when she said,
+
+"Now, Muriel, wash your face.  Miss Lane will be here for the music
+lesson in a few minutes."
+
+It was then that Muriel found courage to make her confession.
+
+"I gave him a photograph, Mother--I hope you don't mind?"
+
+"Well, it's a little immodest for you to be presenting your
+photograph so freely."
+
+"He asked me for it, Mother."
+
+"Oh,--but really, you children are very absurd!  I shall dread Bobbie
+bringing friends home with him if it means you are going to have red
+eyes every time.  But there--you'll get over it," she said kindly, as
+she stooped and kissed her.  "Now come along, dear, I'm afraid you
+haven't done much practising for Miss Lane."
+
+The subject was never alluded to again, but Mr. Vernley the following
+morning almost provoked another flood of tears.
+
+"You'll miss John, Muriel," he said genially at breakfast.  "No more
+morning gallops together--you looked quite a loving pair on
+horseback."  There was silence, then looking from Muriel to her
+mother, a glance told him everything.
+
+"Why, bless me!--you don't mean to tell me--"
+
+Muriel had dropped her eggspoon in a desperate search for a
+handkerchief.  "My dear child!" cried Mr. Vernley, pinching her ear,
+"I'd no idea young Master Scissors had made such a conquest.  The
+young beggar, I'll teach him to upset my daughter."  He laughed
+good-heartedly, saw Muriel force a smile through her tears, and then
+diplomatically prevented further observation by spreading out the
+_Times_.
+
+
+
+III
+
+The two boys in the train were very silent.  Vernley immersed in a
+copy of "The Hill."  John sat staring out of the window.  But it was
+not the swiftly passing fields that engaged his attention, for at
+that moment he was exercising what Mr. Steer, in the explanation of
+Wordsworth's poem, had called "the inward eye, which is the bliss of
+solitude."  John's thoughts were not at all blissful.  He was feeling
+quite blue.  The end of a glorious holiday had come, and having what
+another poet had called "the passion of the past," he was reluctantly
+taking stock of his memories.  He had found delightful friends.
+There were Mr. and Mrs. Vernley; he could never feel quite lonely in
+England now.  They represented home for John, being people who could
+understand and sympathise.  There was Mr. Chadburn who had talked to
+him quite seriously.  John had found a great friend in Mr. Steer.
+They had had wonderful walks together, when John had been taken into
+a new world that awaited his discovery.  Steer had invited him to
+call at his house when he was in London.  He wondered whether Mrs.
+Steer would be just as delightful.
+
+Then his thoughts turned to Muriel.  She would be having her music
+lesson from Miss Lane now.  He had made her tell him all she was
+going to do that day.  After the music lesson she was going to visit
+the stables.  He saw her walking round the wing of the house, he saw
+her small hand press the catch on the wicket gate, and her short
+graceful steps as she crossed the cobbled stable-yard to the corner
+where the horses were stabled.  He knew exactly how she would lift
+the iron bar out of its socket, swing back the half-door, call
+"Bess!" and then stroke the white patch running from between the eyes
+down to the nose.  He could even smell the stable, with that
+delightful manure and horsey aroma.
+
+He could see the deftness with which she slipped the bridle over
+Bess's head, and the firm way in which she led her out of the stable,
+for she insisted on attending to Bess herself, and with a sharp
+movement she would be in the saddle at his side, level with and
+laughing into his face, and their horses would walk clattering across
+the cobbles, before breaking into a canter in the lane.  He knew
+every inch of that lane, just where the horses would gallop, and
+where they would walk.  He remembered the crest of the hill, with its
+pattern below of fields and farmhouses and stacks; with the dim blue
+clumps of leafless trees, and the barren telegraph poles, carrying
+the singing wires across the valley towards the railway siding.  Half
+a mile over that crest was the copse where the robin sang as he
+kissed her that wonderful morning when they had ridden ahead of the
+others.
+
+And now he was being carried away from all that happiness!  He was
+going back to bare noisy rooms, to a crowd of boys and worried
+masters.  Would such times as he had had ever come again?  His hand
+at that moment rested on something hard in his pocket.  It was
+Muriel's photograph which she had given him before breakfast.  He had
+looked at it hurriedly then, in its tissue cover.  Now he wanted to
+take it out and feast his eyes upon it.  He looked up; Vernley was
+chewing butterscotch and still immersed in his book.  He did not want
+the old lady sitting near to see him gazing at the photograph, so he
+got up and went into the adjoining lavatory.  There he bolted the
+door and pulled out the precious packet.
+
+Slipping the photograph from its paper cover, he saw it was a small
+cabinet in sepia by Neame, New Bond Street, of Muriel in her riding
+coat and cap.  As he pulled it out something dropped to the floor.
+It was a small piece of tissue paper.  He was disappointed, for he
+thought it was a note.  Then seeing its shape, he knew it contained
+something, which, after unwrapping, proved to be a strand of hair.
+John immediately kissed it with all the sentiment of fifteen.  He was
+about to wrap it up again, when he had an inspiration.  It was
+another pledge of love and should be placed with Ali's gift.  John
+pulled out the chain with its moonstone pendant, which he faithfully
+wore, and tied the strand of hair around the link.  Then, putting the
+photograph back into his pocket, he returned to the carriage.
+
+
+The platform was crowded when they arrived at Sedley and there was a
+fierce fight for seats in the brake.  John found himself separated
+from Vernley, but half an hour later, as he was going towards Mrs.
+Fletcher's room, he was caught by the arm.
+
+"I say, Scissors, what do you think?" asked Vernley excitedly.
+"We've got a new study!  Maitland told me, and I didn't believe him,
+but it's on the list.  There's another fellow in with us--what a
+nuisance!  I don't know who he is."
+
+"What's his name?"
+
+"Marsh--Maitland says he's a new kid, tons of money and a motor bike.
+He was at Eton and has come here for some reason.  It looks queer--we
+don't want Eton's cast-offs."
+
+"I beg your pardon," said a quiet voice.  The boys turned to find
+themselves surveyed by a calm young gentleman.  He smiled at them in
+a superior way.
+
+"My name is Marsh--of whom you speak.  If my presence is offensive to
+your secluded domain, I'll remove myself."
+
+"Pompous ass," thought John.  Vernley stared at him.
+
+"Well, we are friends y' see," said Vernley at last.
+
+"So I perceive," murmured the tall youth, looking at Vernley, who had
+his arm in John's.  There might have been something offensive in the
+fact, and the stranger impressed this upon them.  Vernley drew his
+arm away.
+
+"Do you always _perceive_ things?" asked John sarcastically.
+
+"When they are worth it," retorted Marsh.  "When I've finished
+unpacking, I'll speak to you again.  So long," and he turned and
+walked down the corridor, with deliberate dignity.
+
+"Well I'm snubbed," said Vernley.  "Does Fletcher think we'll put up
+with that piece of skin and grief!"
+
+"He'll speak to us again!--when he has finished unpacking!  Bobbie,
+we are dismissed!" cried John.
+
+Their next encounter with Marsh was more genial.  They found him
+sitting in the new study.  When John and Vernley opened the door they
+stood on the threshold and gasped.  It was an amazing spectacle they
+beheld.  Two lounge chairs covered with chintz were placed on each
+side of the fireplace.  A blue cloth covered the table on which lay a
+shallow black bowl.  In the bowl was water on which floated, in
+careless design, a dozen narcissi dropped in by the hand of Marsh.
+The window was draped in chintz and in the far recess was a
+magnificent bookcase.  It towered up to the ceiling and was crammed
+with sumptuous books in highly-coloured leather bindings.  There were
+four pictures on the walls, of a mysterious nature; those
+sallow-faced maidens and thin-legged youths in red hose, John learned
+later, were from the hand of Botticelli.  A lady with a curious smirk
+occupied the place of honour over the fireplace.  When John asked
+Marsh if it was his mother, the boy exclaimed sadly, "Alas, no!" and
+going to the bookshelf read from a volume a long analysis of the
+lady's smile written by a person called Pater in prose which, to
+John, seemed a long time getting to the point.
+
+After the reading was finished and Marsh had pronounced it to be
+"luscious," he invited them to sit down, which was singular, since it
+was their study,--but he was a person who evidently took command.
+Appreciating comfort, and a little proud of the envy their study
+would arouse in others, they settled down amicably.
+
+At the end of the month, they were inseparable.  The trio became
+famous.  Vernley was the athlete, Marsh the scholar, and John--that
+amazing discovery was made by John almost by accident.  It filled his
+dreams for a whole term.
+
+It was in the school debating society that John made his great
+discovery.  Mr. Fletcher was in the chair.  The meeting was in the
+lecture theatre with its tiers of seats climbing up to the back
+windows, in one of which John sat listening.  There was a mock
+government in office, trying to introduce a bill for compulsory
+military training.  The debate was opened by the captain of the
+Officers' Training Corps, a man John disliked intensely, mainly
+because he had prominent teeth that were not prolonged on parallel
+lines.  John had attended three meetings of the society, but had not
+spoken.  The small boys sat silent in the presence of the sixth form
+gods.  John would not have spoken on this occasion except for an
+accident.  He was sitting on the window seat, jammed in between two
+other boys, who, in the course of an attack upon each other's head,
+ejected John from his position.  He fell with an amazing noise on the
+hollow boarding, and the Speaker, looking up, caught John's eye.  The
+boy had no intention of speaking but Mr. Fletcher evidently
+misconstrued his action, and very kindly paused to give John his
+opportunity.  So there was nothing else for him to do but to open his
+mouth.  He stammered for half a minute, uttered a witticism and
+provoked a laugh, which encouraged him to proceed to a superb piece
+of youthful cynicism.  The house gasped, but liked the sensation; the
+leader of the debate sat amazed at the junior's audacity.
+
+But John had tasted blood.  He felt the flattery of the attention he
+was commanding.  He grew bolder.  A few of Marsh's grandiloquent
+phrases came into his head, odd readings from those leather-bound
+books pointed his arguments gracefully, his ear for a choice phrase
+kept his listeners intent.  At the end of ten minutes John sat down
+abruptly.  There was a great silence.  He had made a fool of himself,
+he thought, and was blushing with shame when the tide of applause
+caught him.  It seemed to rock the theatre.  He was being applauded,
+the whole theatre was applauding him!  He was no longer a nonentity,
+but somebody!  It dazed him a little.  For the next half hour he
+heard his name mentioned in the debate.  When they all trooped out of
+the theatre, he was smiled at, and patted on the back.  The crowning
+moment came when Mr. Fletcher looked at him closely through his
+spectacles and said--
+
+"I hardly like to approve of your audacity, Dean, but I am pleased
+that my house has such an eloquent representative.  I'm afraid the
+bitterness of your spirit suggests a misspent youth and the
+convictions of a Labour leader."  And with a good-natured smile, in
+which John detected whole-hearted approval, Fletcher passed on.
+
+A fortnight later, John was the leader of the Opposition.  It was an
+unheard-of thing for a junior boy to sit on the front bench, but John
+had broken all traditions.  He was aided by Marsh who loved to be
+diplomatic.  Marsh carried on an insidious campaign against all who
+opposed John's nomination.  He held tea-parties at which he collected
+his forces.  He despatched his lieutenants to the fields, the five
+courts, the common room, the quadrangles, the armoury and the tuck
+shop.  Vernley brought round the athletic vote--"the blockhead
+squirearchy," Marsh called it, and the fifth and sixth form 'bloods'
+were bribed by the thoughtful loan of French novels.
+
+"Scissors," announced March on the momentous day of the election,
+"you should be eternally grateful to the French scribes.  Anatole
+France, Flaubert, Maupassant and Daudet--these have won the day.
+Thanks to the lasciviousness of Madame Bovary and the voluptuousness
+of Sappho, the full-blooded gods of Upper School will nod in your
+favour.  I have seduced them with questionable literature.  I have
+undermined their morals and pandered to their secret viciousness.  In
+grateful recollection of the delicious nights I have given them, they
+are your henchmen to-day.  I have suffered in the cause.  This
+morning, the Censor, in the heavy shape of Fletcher, produced his
+warrant and searched my shelves.  His disgusting taste has been
+satiated.  Look--'A Rebours,' 'Thaïs' and 'Sappho' have been
+abducted.  Those bleeding gaps are the memorials of my enthusiasm in
+the cause.  In your hours of triumph, O Scissors, forget not the hand
+that raised you to your dizzy eminence.  Let me whisper in your ear,
+and remind you, as the Cæsars of old, of the fickleness of Fate."
+
+"Shut up, you ass," exclaimed Vernley.  "Scissors'll romp in.  I've
+exhausted the bank in buns and lemonade, and have given away enough
+cigarettes to smoke the enemy out."
+
+"We shall probably be unseated for corruption," said John.  "Your
+support, Marsh, is a questionable advantage."
+
+"That's the kind of rotten remark one expects from a politician.
+You've a great political career in front of you, Scissors--you have
+the necessary lack of gratitude and want of principle.  Et tu, Brute!
+O shades of the departed!  Bovary, Thaïs and Sappho, behold the
+ingratitude of this friend who wades to glory over your dead bodies!
+Scissors, the first day you're in power you've got to abolish the
+censorship.  There shall be no peace in your Parliament until I can
+read Wilde and Baudelaire in bed, without interruption or
+confiscation."
+
+
+
+IV
+
+As anticipated, Scissors headed the poll, and henceforth he was
+leader of the Opposition.  The result was a high political fever.
+Immediately after breakfast each morning, he rushed round to the
+library and read through the newspapers.  At first he modelled
+himself upon Winston Churchill, to whom he was supposed to have some
+facial likeness, but he found he had not the cool self-assumption of
+his prototype.  He found himself more akin to Lloyd George, that
+Welsh lawyer whose name was as blasphemy to some and holy song to
+others.  The role suited John.  He was a born iconoclast.  He had the
+Welshman's gift of stinging epithet, and he surprised himself with
+the veneer of venom that added lustre to his sentences.  He learnt
+from his prototype the art of swift descent from Parnassus to
+Limehouse; he punctuated his periods with cheers provoked from the
+blubber-headed section of his audience; he knew the pathetic touch,
+the 'lump-in-the-throat' moment, as he called it, and he used them
+until his opponents were powerless to stem the avalanche of his
+invective.
+
+All this alarmed Mr. Fletcher.  He saw his house becoming
+socialistic.  The authority of the prefects was becoming undermined,
+the junior boys no longer feared the Upper Remove.  They frankly
+stated their dislikes.  In one debate they declared their hatred of
+compulsory cricket with such vehemence that he had to move the
+closure, whereupon John attacked him as a champion of tyranny, the
+feeble upholder of bloated tradition.  This so alarmed Fletcher that
+he had a private interview with John, who suggested very skilfully
+that his overture was a form of corruption.  The fact was that John
+was getting a swollen head.  Marsh, whose hornet-like nature
+delighted in the stinging of authority, encouraged John in his most
+daring attacks.  Vernley, lost in admiration at John's brilliance,
+worshipped silently and approved without question.  The other boys
+followed in John's path, hardly realising the power of his leadership.
+
+The awakening came rapidly from an unseen quarter.  It fell like a
+thundercloud over the sunshine of John's triumph, and he resented his
+defeat all the more because it was the hand of a friend who brought
+him low, and his fall had no dignity.  It was not intellectual.  He
+would have borne that.  It was physical, and he felt sick with shame.
+Inwardly he was conscious that he had provoked disaster, and most of
+his anger fell upon himself for being such a fool and not realising
+the need of tact.
+
+It happened one Wednesday half, towards the end of term.  Lindon was
+the instrument of Fate.  John was fagging that day and had been told
+to lay tea at four in Lindon's study.  He had always been allowed
+great liberty by his fagmaster and he took his own time to perform
+his duties.  John did not worry, therefore, when four o'clock struck
+as he finished a game in the fives' courts.  He leisurely walked
+across to the bathroom, stripped and sat on the side of the bath,
+whistling while the water ran in.  As he waited for the bath to fill,
+Marsh appeared through the steam.
+
+"London's been calling like blazes for you.  He said he told you to
+lay tea at four."
+
+"Let him call," said John, turning on the cold tap and hiding himself
+in steam.
+
+"You'd better hurry up, Scissors--he's quite scrubby."
+
+John merely yelled as he plunged his leg into the hot water.  He had
+just nicely soaped himself from head to foot, and was working up a
+white lather on his head, when he heard his name called, and looking
+up saw London.
+
+"I asked you for tea at four," he said.
+
+John's face was covered with white soap, but he smiled sweetly.
+
+"I know, I'm coming when I've finished here."
+
+"Indeed!--get out!"
+
+"I say, Lindon, do be reasonable!"
+
+"I have been--too much so.  Are you going to get out?"
+
+"No!" answered John, sullenly, rubbing his head.
+
+"Very well!"  A moment later the door slammed.  John lay back in the
+bath.  He had won.  The warm water made him feel very comfortable.
+He wondered if Lindon felt sick.  While he was contemplating, Lindon
+reappeared.  He had a switch in his hand.  The business took on a
+serious aspect.
+
+"Are you coming out?" he asked severely.
+
+John pouted.  "No!" he said obstinately.
+
+Lindon immediately pulled out the plug and turned on the cold water
+tap.  John sat still, getting colder every second.  Soon he was
+shivering.  At last he had to stand up, and the moment he did so,
+Lindon's switch whistled through the air and left a red weal across
+John's thigh.  Involuntarily he yelled, then blazing with shame and
+anger, he picked up the wet sponge and flung it full in Lindon's
+face.  The squelch ruined the prefect's neat collar and tie, but
+Lindon only looked cooler, which frightened John.  The next moment he
+was lifted bodily out of the bath, and before he recovered from his
+amazement at Lindon's strength, he was pinned head downwards over the
+drying rack and being thrashed like a puppy.  He screamed at the top
+of his voice, not in pain but in anger.  When he was released, he saw
+three boys waiting in the doorway with towels.  They had seen all,
+and overcome with wounded vanity and misery, John fell in a heap on
+the floor and cried.  He lay there, moaning, and Lindon as he watched
+him, relented.
+
+"Scissors," he said kindly, bending down.
+
+John looked at the face, and hated its strength.  Madly, he struck
+Lindon full in the face with all his might.  The boys in the door
+stood breathless at this act, watching.  The elder boy was the most
+amazed of all.  For a moment he stared at John, with an angry red
+mark under his right eye.  Suddenly turning, he strode out of the
+room.
+
+Utterly miserable and smarting, John dressed himself.  He had acted
+like a little cad and Lindon would be quite just in refusing to
+accept his apology.  He was miserable, not because he feared the
+consequences of this act, serious as they were, but he had lowered
+himself in the eyes of one whom he admired.  Nothing could hurt him
+so much as that Lindon should hold him in contempt.  He hurried along
+to the study, tapped and entered.  Lindon sat in a wicker chair with
+his back to John, talking to three other fellows.  They had finished
+tea.  John hesitated, he had expected to find him alone, and his
+courage failed.
+
+"I came to lay tea," he said feebly.
+
+"We've had it," replied Lindon without turning his head.  John paused
+awkwardly; there seemed no more to say so he went out of the room
+quietly.  All the evening he hung about miserably.  Marsh tried to
+cheer him up with witticisms about his being honoured with the
+disorder of the bath.  Vernley quite bluntly told him that he had
+acted like a cad, which John knew very well.  So he quarrelled with
+them both, and was glad when it was bed time.  But in bed he could
+not sleep.  He longed for the morning and the opportunity of
+apologising.  Finally he buried his head under the sheets, and in
+sheer wretchedness cried himself to sleep.
+
+The next morning, immediately after prayers, he went round to
+Lindon's study.  There was no one there, so he sat down and waited.
+After ten minutes, as the bell rang for morning school, Staveley
+looked in for a book he had lent.
+
+"Hullo!" he said.
+
+"Do you know where Lindon is?" asked John.
+
+"Yes--in the 'San.'  He won't be here again I expect this term.  He's
+suspect--chicken pox.  Seven of Field House are down.  You'd better
+cut, that's second bell."
+
+When the end of term came, a fortnight later, Lindon had not
+reappeared.  John went across to the Sanitorium and learned that he
+was convalescent, but could not be seen.  Yet he knew Staveley had
+visited him.  It was obvious he did not wish to see John.  So ended a
+wretched term.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+John had been invited to spend the first half of his Easter holidays
+at Marsh's.  The second half was to be taken with the Vernleys.  John
+wondered whether his acceptance of Marsh's invitation would hurt
+Vernley, but Marsh included Bobbie in the invitation.  Vernley,
+however, was unable to accept; he was spending part of his time with
+an aunt in the north of Scotland.  So they parted at Sedley Station,
+and two hours later John was being driven in from Loughboro towards
+Marsh's home.  The gardener with a trap had met the boys at the
+station and they had about an hour's drive before they turned off the
+main road which intersected the village of Renstone.  On the right
+was the Vicarage, standing back from the little street; on the left,
+across the road, stood the church, with its square tower, and near
+by, the Hall.  Marsh's father was the Vicar of Renstone and Marsh had
+been born in the Vicarage.  As the trap turned off the street, they
+entered through two wide gates which completely shut off the Vicarage
+from the village.  Inside the gates there was a small courtyard, in
+the centre of which stood a great holly bush.  The yard was closed in
+by the back of the house and in the middle was the main entrance
+porch with a wing of the domestic building.  When John entered the
+porch and the door opened, he gave a cry of delight.  He looked right
+through a small hall on the opposite side where wide low windows with
+small leaded panes overlooked two long lawns.  A gravel path led down
+the centre to a line of magnificent elms that bordered the far edge
+of the garden, and through the elms John caught a vista of the
+country with the white main road, along which they had come,
+stretching away to the horizon.
+
+John's admiration of the Vicarage was cut short by the entrance of a
+lady.  She wore a large straw hat, and a pair of washleather gloves.
+In her hand was a basket full of clippings.  She placed the basket on
+the settee and coming forward kissed Marsh, then turning to the boy
+standing shyly in the shadow of the door, said,
+
+"This is John--of whom I have heard so much?  How d'you do?  We are
+so glad to see you."
+
+After his momentary shyness, John found himself looking into the face
+of a fair little woman with kind eyes.  She also examined John
+closely, noticed the shy flush on his face, the darkness of his eyes
+and the slim grace of his regular features and carriage.  They
+immediately liked one another.  John was at home again.  She was one
+of those women who are mothers to whatever humanity seeks their love.
+So John looked long at her and knew that he had found a friend.  He
+contrasted her with Mrs. Vernley, whom he also liked.  But Mrs.
+Vernley was a woman of the world, determined, a lover of fashion.
+Mrs. Marsh was quite of a different order.  John felt she was one who
+would understand sympathetically when others would judge harshly.
+She was the kind of woman to whom he would rather come if he had a
+confession to make.
+
+He noticed how very frail she was, almost like a saint who had
+fasted.  Her white hair, loosely fastened, seemed as a halo while she
+stood there in the dim hall with the sunlight behind rimming her head
+with light.  Her hand was so thin that John could feel all the bones
+in it and her flesh was almost transparent.
+
+Meanwhile Marsh had superintended their boxes.
+
+"Come up to our room, Scissors!" he cried, and John followed him up
+an old oak staircase, along a narrow corridor that ran the whole
+length of the house, overlooking the courtyard on one side.  Their
+room was at the end, and the beauty of it made John's heart leap up.
+It had two low casement windows, bordered with creeper drooping to
+the lawns below.  Their two beds faced the windows; the dressing
+table, mantelpiece and writing desk were decorated with fresh bunches
+of violets.  The perfume pervaded the room and mingled with the
+delightful smell of clean linen, which John had come to distinguish
+as a 'country house smell.'
+
+"What a jolly room!" cried John.
+
+Marsh seemed pleased at his approbation.  "Not a bit like a parson's
+hole, is it?" he commented.  "This room is modern--that's a copy of a
+Cezanne; that's a real Pizarro--you won't find on these walls any
+woolly legend 'God is Love,' or a dead aunt's knitting in five
+colours--'Blessed are the meek.'  I ejected all those long ago."
+
+"But what does your governor say?"
+
+"Nothing--he merely smiles.  I am the cuckoo's egg in the family
+nest."
+
+John was a little shocked.  He felt uneasy when Marsh talked in this
+strain.  It was not that Marsh wanted to shock, but John was in an
+alien country, which his friend evidently knew well.  Every day John
+was discovering some thing new about himself until his mind was in a
+condition of fear.  Marsh was so splendidly cool about everything.
+When John asked him questions, he showed no surprise, or superiority,
+but explained and amplified from familiarity with his theme.  Marsh
+dismissed certain things as "rotten," others he characterised as
+"smuggy."  John always had a feeling that Marsh knew much more than
+he said.  His knowledge of books, for instance, was extraordinary.
+John was discovering new books every day of his life, but he no
+sooner announced a fresh treasure than Marsh knew all about it, had
+read it long ago and could supplement the knowledge with personal
+information concerning the author and other books he had written.  He
+was at home in French literature or English, which John accounted for
+later when he found that Mrs. Marsh had spent her youth in a French
+convent school.  This discovery was made at tea-time in the study, a
+delightfully cosy room full of books and loose papers, and magazines,
+with big chairs in which you sank low and all the cushions gradually
+deflated as though the breath had been crushed out of them.  Marsh
+talked to his mother in French, greatly to John's admiration.
+
+"You mustn't mind Teddie talking French to me," said Mrs. Marsh, as
+she handed him a tea cup.  "He thinks it is such a treat for me, as
+indeed it is, and Teddie is greatly afraid that I might forget how to
+speak French."
+
+"I wish I could follow it all, Mrs. Marsh--you speak French so
+frenchily," said John, munching toast.  He loved her already; there
+was something so comfortable about her.
+
+"Well, you see I was sent to a French school when quite a little girl.
+
+"Jolly good thing for me, Mater, wasn't it?" cried Marsh, linking his
+arm through his mother's.
+
+"Why, dear?"
+
+"'Cause I shouldn't have been here if you hadn't fallen in love with
+a red-haired young curate on a walking tour through Provence!"
+
+Mrs. Marsh laughed.
+
+"You naughty boy--what would your father say if he knew you called
+him a red-haired curate--his hair was golden then."
+
+"That's the usual story--if a man has red hair they say it's golden;
+if a girl, they call it auburn."
+
+"My mother had au-red hair," said John flushing.  Mrs. Marsh looked
+quickly at the boy at her side, mingling her love with admiration of
+his courage.
+
+"Sorry, Scissors--but it can't have been red, for you haven't a
+freckle.  He's jolly good-looking, isn't he, Mother?"
+
+John coloured; further confusion was checked by the abrupt opening of
+the door.  A clerical collar told him that it was Mr. Marsh.  After
+the formal introduction John was able to study the Reverend George
+Marsh while the latter questioned his son.
+
+He was a tall man of striking appearance.  His hair, although almost
+white, was thick, and a great wave of it lay over his brow.  He had a
+tanned healthy face and laughing eyes.  A smile was never long absent
+from his face, which was handsome in a broad-featured way.  John
+noticed how large and strong were his hands.  He had been a great
+cricketer in his day, and the athlete still lingered in his frame.
+He would have been recognised as an English country gentleman in any
+community, and his geniality was blended with an exquisite courtesy.
+Of the parson there was not a trace, and when afterwards he appeared
+without a clerical collar, there was no indication whatever that he
+was anything but a full-blooded English gentleman fond of his horse
+and his pipe.
+
+He was at least ten years older than his wife, whom he called the
+"Skipper," greatly surprising and afterwards amusing John.  He
+evidently troubled himself about nothing.  If Marsh wanted anything,
+he was always told by the Vicar, "Ask the Skipper," or "Does the
+Skipper know?"  On Saturday afternoon there was what Marsh assured
+John was the weekly tragi-comedy.  He confessed he had not composed
+his sermon for the following day, and, like a penitent boy, was
+locked in his study with the threat that he should have no dinner
+until the sermon was completed.  He must have been either a man of
+quick inspiration or short patience, for half an hour later as John
+walked by the study window he saw the vicar, pipe in mouth, stretched
+in his wicker chair, reading the _Nation_ which he waved joyously at
+John as though to say, "See!  I defy the Skipper!"
+
+Later, John discovered that the Vicar was a rebel at heart.  He read
+the _Nation_ religiously, and had an intense enthusiasm for the
+Chancellor of the Exchequer, who was saying rude things about persons
+who kept pheasants, greatly to the vicar's delight, who knew how
+angry it would make the new tenant of Renstone Hall, who stood for
+King, the Conservative party, a covert full of pheasants and a house
+full of servants.  Teddie, partly from perversity, and partly because
+he felt the lordship of youth, was a conservative, like his mother,
+and they had fierce arguments, in which the Vicar bravely kept his
+flag flying, despite assaults on either flank.
+
+John's sympathies were with the Vicar.  The Chancellor had the gift
+of phrase and epithet which he admired, and had also excelled in.  He
+supported him therefore because that politician's brilliance
+delighted him.  The Vicar was delighted.  He ragged Teddie
+unmercifully, and commented gaily on the pleasure he derived from
+seeing that the new race at Sedley was enlightened, a playful thrust
+at his son's assumption of seniority in his attitude towards John in
+political discussions.  John loved those tea-times when argument grew
+merry.  It was all so good-humoured, the Vicar bantering his son and
+wife with great joy, they in their turn exposing his "democracy" by
+stories of a "brother" of the soil who had imposed upon him again and
+again.
+
+John loved these debates.  He felt he was one of the family, and
+after the bleakness of schooldays this comfort and intimacy were
+something to be treasured.  His admiration of Mrs. Marsh grew daily.
+She was so clever that John no longer wondered at Teddie's amazing
+ability in all things.  She could paint well, and had read deeply and
+widely; was an authority on Bartolozzi engravings and made beautiful
+jewellery as a hobby.  In the evenings after dinner, they always had
+an hour's music in the drawing-room--an unique apartment decorated in
+black and white, with silver fittings and massive candelabra, holding
+twenty candles--"with enough dripping to make saute potatoes,"
+commented Teddie.  The corner of the drawing room was filled by a
+superbly-toned Beckstein grand, which Mrs. Marsh played with
+consummate skill.
+
+She had studied at Vienna under Leschetiscky and her interpretation
+of Liszt and Brahms held John spellbound.  Her rendering was quite
+unlike Lindon's.  He played _con fuoco_.  She caressed the piano so
+that it sang as though its heart was filled with grief.  When she
+played Debussy and Ravel, it was as though the wind were making the
+aspens shake and glimmer in the sunlight.  There was a series of
+delicate currents of sound which followed one another like the
+reflections of rippling water on the sides of a boat, and one floated
+down the stream with all the senses quiescent yet acute.
+
+When the music ended and it was time for bed, for they retired early,
+there was the ceremony of blowing out the candles.  Mrs. Marsh,
+Teddie and John joined hands round the candelabra and a fierce
+competition ensued.  In the small hall they parted.  The Vicar went
+off to his study, where he sat reading until one or two in the
+morning.  His lamp threw a long strip of light across the lawn long
+after the boys had fallen asleep.  On the first night, after Mrs.
+Marsh had kissed her son on the brow and said "Good night," she
+turned and half held out her hand to John, then with one of those
+sudden impulses, which endeared her to him, she asked,
+
+"I wonder if my new boy is too big?" and smiling, she pressed John's
+head towards her and kissed him on the brow, then turned and went
+upstairs.  John stood still for half a minute.  He hoped the light
+was too dim for his friend to see, for his eyes were blurred.  It was
+silly to be so frightfully sensitive, but kindness like this always
+upset him.  It increased his sense of loneliness and loss and yet it
+made him happier.
+
+Upstairs in their bedroom, John threw open a window and leaned out
+into the night.  The air was warm, and a full moon hung low over the
+elm trees at the bottom of the garden, throwing their long shadows
+across the lawns.  The distant woods, black and distinct, were
+silhouetted on the hills; there was a great silence over everything.
+The moon would look just like that peering over the gorge at Amasia.
+He wondered what his father was doing at that moment, and whether he
+knew how happy he was.  Probably he was smoking his last cigarette on
+the verandah, watching the stream as it ran and flashed along its
+stony bed; perhaps the night was not silent like this, but full of
+the droning of the _saz_.  And Ali?--he would be fast asleep, tired
+after a long day in the sun.  Dear old Ali, how he longed to have him
+with him, to show him this wonderful English house, and have him hear
+Teddie talk--how he would stare at Teddie!
+
+"I say, Scissors, how long are you going to hang out of that window?"
+It was Marsh, tooth-brush in hand, already in his pyjamas.  "I'll bet
+I know your thoughts."
+
+"You don't."
+
+"I do--you're thinking about another place the moon hangs over and
+what everybody's doing there."
+
+"How did you know?"
+
+Marsh laughed delightedly at the confirmation of his guess.
+"Easy--when you turned just now you'd got the East in your eyes."
+
+"The East--what do you mean?"
+
+"Well, you look a bit Eastern at times.  I thought so the first time
+I saw you, but you looked very much so just now, just as I imagine
+Lindon saw you."
+
+"Lindon--" John gulped at the name--"saw me?  What did he tell you?"
+
+"Oh, he was telling us one day how you fainted when he played the
+_Drum Polonaise_--and how queer you looked at him just before you
+went.  By the way, I don't think I ever told you Lindon lives near
+here."
+
+
+The days slipped by at the Vicarage.  Indeed, there was so little to
+do and yet they were so industriously idle that the day was over
+before all that was planned had been accomplished.  John had been at
+the Vicarage just a week, when, one sunshiny Saturday morning, the
+trap came round to the door, with its well-groomed pony and shining
+harness, at which Marsh had laboured for an hour the previous evening
+with a bottle of polish--and the promise of half a crown.  Mrs. Marsh
+and John and Teddie got in, the latter taking the reins, and they
+clattered merrily out of the courtyard, down the village street,
+where the little boys gaped, and the women in the doors curtseyed,
+out on to the highway stretching away beneath an avenue of
+over-reaching elms.  They were bound for the market town of
+Loughboro, on a shopping expedition.
+
+"There's nothing worth buying there," said Marsh, "which is the
+reason for the Mater's regular visit.  She drags me round in the trap
+while she looks in every window.  There's nothing to see and less to
+do."
+
+"There's the Theatre, dear."
+
+"What a show!  'East Lynne' by the celebrated London company or 'The
+Girl at the Cross Roads' preceded by the one act comedy, 'Sarah in
+the Soup.'"
+
+"You should not run the place down--you will spoil John's
+anticipations."
+
+They passed a couple of ragged men, bronzed and unshaven, who stood
+still while the trap passed.
+
+"That's the ideal life," exclaimed Marsh, flicking the pony.
+"Nothing to do and no desire to do it.  They remind me of Davies'
+lines--he was a tramp too--
+
+  _What is this life if full of care
+  We have no time to stand and stare?_
+
+This road's punctuated with these leisured gentlemen--that's another
+attraction of Loughboro--there's a fine workhouse.  The Governor goes
+to preach there once a month, and always comes away regretting he's
+not an inmate--it fits in with his idea of the democratic communal
+life.  But he always drinks sherry when he gets home--to kill the
+taste I suppose."
+
+There were now signs of the approaching town.  Cottages became more
+frequent, and then villas, pathetically attempting to keep on good
+relations with the country by burdening their windows with flower
+boxes and their square little front gardens with shrubs.  Two
+gasometers loomed up in the distance, long monotonous buildings with
+tall chimneys suggesting some kind of industry.  Then with a turn,
+they were trotting down the streets of the town itself.  They pulled
+up under the Town Hall clock which projected itself over a market
+place greatly animated with booths and wandering groups of buyers,
+gossipers and gapers.  Mrs. Marsh disappeared in a chemist's shop,
+where she exchanged her library books, and presently she emerged
+laden with three novels, the _English Review_, the _Nineteenth
+Century_ and _The Tatler_.  These were deposited in the trap,
+whereupon she walked on again and disappeared in a dairy shop.  Marsh
+flicked the pony and the trap jogged on, halting again outside the
+shop.
+
+"This is how we progress on a shopping expedition.  I follow the
+mater all round the market place while everybody comes to the shop
+doors, stares at me, asks, 'Do you know who that is?' until a
+wiseacre says, 'That's the parson's son--him what preaches at the
+workhouse.'  Last summer I came down here in shorts and socks and the
+sight paralysed the market place; they had never seen so much male
+leg before.  I shall bring my 'topper' home next term.  It'll have a
+raging success."
+
+For three quarters of an hour they slowly worked round the sides of
+the market place, while the trap got fuller and fuller and Mrs. Marsh
+redder and redder.  John was busy carrying parcels from the shop to
+the trap.
+
+"Thank heaven a market square has only four sides!" cried Marsh, as
+John deposited a two gallon jar of cider in the well of the trap.
+
+"There's more to follow!" cried Scissors, darting back to the shop.
+He emerged a few minutes later, his arms full of small parcels with
+Mrs. Marsh following behind.  He was so intent upon balancing his
+precariously held pile that he did not notice a youth and a girl who
+stood aside to let them pass, but as he turned to hand the things to
+Marsh he caught a glimpse and his heart gave a great thump as he
+coloured in confusion.  Marsh noticed John's sudden uneasiness and
+turned in his seat.
+
+"Lindon!" he cried.  "What luck--how are you?"
+
+It was Lindon--cool, immaculate.  He raised his to Mrs. Marsh, with
+the alert manner that distinguished him.  The girl at his side was
+obviously his sister.  She had the same straight nose and keen eyes.
+Her fresh beauty made John stare at her.  All that fascinated him in
+Lindon was there with the added grace of girlhood.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Lindon--good morning, Miss Lindon.  You are
+shopping too, I suppose," said Mrs. Marsh genially; then noticing
+John nervously drawing back--"You know John, I think?"
+
+"Rather," interrupted Marsh.  "John's his fag."
+
+Lindon laughed.  "I'm afraid he knows me only too well."  He turned
+to his sister.  "This is Scissors--John Dean, Mabel."  John raised
+his cap and took the proffered hand.
+
+"How d'you do," she asked, "I've heard so much of you from Henry."
+
+Then Lindon had spoken of him!--he had called him Scissors!  A
+hundred thoughts raced through John's head.  Had he forgiven--or was
+this mere politeness?  He had talked about him to his sister, but
+perhaps that was before this miserable affair happened.  He must
+speak to Lindon somehow before they parted, and say how sorry he was.
+The eye, he was relieved to see, showed no signs of his attack.  In
+his imagination he had come to think of it as quite closed up.
+
+Mabel Lindon looked at the boy who stood so silent before her.
+Possibly he was tongued-tied, certainly he was flushed, or was it his
+colour?  He was very attractive, she thought, and his embarrassment
+flattered her.
+
+"Will you not come over to see us?" she asked him.  John was in a
+dilemma.  Lindon was busily talking to Marsh and his mother, he had
+not heard the invitation.  John waited, hoping he would hear and
+re-inforce it.
+
+"I'm leaving here on Tuesday--so I'm sorry I shall be unable, thank
+you."
+
+"Oh, that is a pity, for we are leaving next month, we are going to
+live in Worcestershire, and it is a shame, for we have such a
+wonderful garden and pond--you would love it."
+
+"I'm sure I should."
+
+They were saying good-bye now.  He shook hands with Miss Lindon.
+Mrs. Marsh had got into the trap.  John was about to follow, when
+Lindon spoke.
+
+"Having a good time, Scissors?" he asked, in a friendly voice.  John
+stammered with joy and relief.  It was _Pax_.
+
+"Awfully, thanks Lindon," he muttered.  The reins had been jerked,
+the trap began to move.  Miss Lindon walked on.  Lindon raised his
+cap.  "Good-bye!" he called to them.  It was now or never.
+
+"Please Lindon--I--I'm awfully sorry I was such a cad to you--and
+will you forgive me?  I--I--"
+
+"That's all right, Scissors," said Lindon, shaking John's hand.  "I
+like fire in a kid.  Are you coming over to see us?" he asked.
+
+"I'm sorry I can't---I go on Tuesday--"
+
+"Well--you must come to stay next hols.  Good-bye!" and with a smile
+he was gone.  All John's hero worship swelled up within him.  How
+splendidly Lindon had dismissed the beastly affair!  John hurried
+after the trap and clambered in.  Marsh smiled at him with perfect
+understanding, and John felt how good was life.  All the way back to
+the Vicarage his heart was singing within him.  At the Vicarage door,
+as he carried in the parcels, he could not help whistling.  Marsh
+took his arm.
+
+"That storm over?" he asked, sympathetically.
+
+John could not answer, but he nodded.  They walked into the house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+I
+
+The following Tuesday John said good-bye to the Marshs and left for
+"The Croft" to spend the remainder of his Easter holidays with the
+Vernleys.  Mrs. Marsh and Teddie drove him to the station, and, as
+the train left and he leaned out of the window to wave farewell, he
+knew that once more he had found true friends and a house where his
+return would be welcome.  At dusk he had arrived in the village
+station nearest to "The Croft," where he found Bobbie and his brother
+Tod waiting for him on the platform.
+
+"Hello, Scissors!" shouted Tod, as the train drew in, "We've a
+surprise for you.  Where's the luggage--give me that, I'll carry it."
+
+"How's the great Marsh?" asked Vernley.  "As supercilious as ever?"
+
+"Yes--in great form, he sends his love and recommends Mother
+Wingate's syrup for fatuous persons," answered John.
+
+"Cheek!" retorted Vernley, "and by Jove--don't you think I'm getting
+thin--Tod's had me out on the under track every morning at six.  I'm
+going to pull off the 'half' and mile race next term."
+
+John looked at him critically, and although Vernley was as
+delightfully substantial as ever, he had not the heart to disappoint
+him.
+
+"He's wasting away like our Narcissus," said Tod, banging his way
+through the narrow booking hall.  "Look, my son, isn't she a beauty!"
+
+He pointed to a racing car drawn up outside the station.  John
+noticed its long rectangular bonnet, the beautiful gleam and hidden
+strength of the thing, admiration showing in his eyes.
+
+"It's mine!--the Governor's twenty-first birthday present!  She was
+first in the trials at Brooklands last week," said Tod, dropping the
+bag in.
+
+"We're going on a tour next hols--all round this giddy old island,"
+cried Vernley.  "There'll be a fringe of dead dogs and defunct old
+ladies around these shores, that never did and never will stand under
+the foot of the--how's the thing go?"
+
+"--proud conqueror," added John.  "She is a lovely thing--what's her
+name?"
+
+"Haven't decided yet.  I've voted for the 'Silver Slayer.'  Tod
+suggests 'The Gleam.'"
+
+"The Governor says '[OE]dipus Rex' would be more appropriate," added
+Tod, his brown hands on the steering wheel.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because of the murders at the cross roads that'll be committed.
+Ready?"
+
+There was a preparatory purr of the engine, then a delightful roaring
+hum, and they glided forwards, imperceptibly gathering speed.  The
+chill wind whipped John's face.  He looked joyously at Vernley seated
+beside him and noted the disdainful pose of lordship.  Vernley's
+utter contempt for a display of feeling always amused John.  The
+villages tore by, fowls screeched, and flew with fluttered feathers
+into the hedge bottoms; they roared up the hills and ran silently
+down into the valleys.  Half an hour later they had turned in at the
+familiar drive and, pulled up at the stone porch.  Inside the hall
+Mrs. Vernley came to meet John.
+
+"Here you are at last--we are so glad to see you, John."
+
+"Thank you--it's good to be here, Mrs. Vernley."  The dogs, as if
+welcoming an old friend, bounded forwards.
+
+"Down, Tiger--down, Ruff--down, sir!" yelled Vernley, and they
+cowered and wagged their tails, beating a tattoo on the parquet floor.
+
+In the library, gleaming with a rosy fire, its light shining on the
+silver tea service, John found Mr. Vernley.
+
+"Hullo, my boy! well, how are you?  I hear we've found a great orator
+at last!"
+
+John smiled, then halted as he saw some one standing at Mr. Vernley's
+side.
+
+"Ribble," said Vernley turning to him, "this is our rising hope."
+Then to John, "This is Mr. Ribble--you'll be great friends I'm sure,
+though I don't know which side of him you'll like the better.  Mr.
+Ribble has written some very clever books, and he's in the Cabinet,
+so that politicians say he's a good author and a bad politician, and
+authors say he's a good politician and a bad author."
+
+"And my wife says I should have been a nonconformist divine.  How
+d'you do, John; we must hear some of these famous flights of oratory."
+
+"He's the real stuff, sir," said Vernley enthusiastically.--"Doesn't
+half work 'em, makes the 'gods' boil over!"
+
+"This empire, this realm upon which the sun has never looked--no,
+that's not it, sir--I'm no orator," said Tod.  "Let's have tea,
+Mother.  By Jove, Governor, you should have heard her sing up
+Carshott Hill--did it on top, lots in hand.  When she's tuned up
+she'll take a houseside."
+
+"Lord!  You've done nothing but tune up since you had her," cried
+Bobbie.
+
+"Now boys, sit down, tea's ready," said Mrs. Vernley, pouring out.
+John hoped every moment that Muriel would come in.  He was
+disappointed when she was not in the hall to meet him, and his heart
+sank when he did not find her in the library.  Perhaps she had gone
+out for a walk.  He did not want to ask, for Vernley might think he
+had come simply to see her.  It was not so, of course.  He was glad
+to be with Vernley again, but he could not help looking forward to
+seeing Muriel, of whom he had been thinking through all those weeks
+at school.  The talk at the tea-table was chiefly political.  Mr.
+Vernley was discussing a coming election with Ribble, whom John
+thought was the most picturesque old man he had ever seen.  He had
+long curly white hair, his eyes were surrounded by good-humoured
+wrinkles, and he beamed through his spectacles.  The mouth was thin
+and compressed and had a ghost of a smile always hovering about it
+John wondered where he had seen such a face before, and then suddenly
+remembered a portrait of Thackeray in Mr. Fletcher's study.  There
+was a slight resemblance, and Mr. Ribble's character seemed to John
+to be somewhat Thackerayish, for John was now half through "The
+Newcomes," after a delighted discovery of "Pendennis" and "Henry
+Esmond."
+
+"Steer has just published a fine book," Mr. Ribble was saying.  "I
+think that little poem on Muriel is masterly."
+
+John was alert immediately, and Vernley, eating cake and drinking tea
+at the same moment, contrary to all laws, noticed John's interest.
+
+"When's Muriel coming home, Mother?" he asked.
+
+"I read you her letter this morning--to-morrow.  You'll have to drive
+the trap to the station to meet her in the afternoon."
+
+"Why can't we motor?"
+
+"I'm going to Brooklands in the morning," said Tod, "and I'm taking
+Brown--so you'll have to drive the buggy."
+
+"Oh, bother--I hate the old thing!"
+
+But John would have ridden to Paradise in it if such a passenger as
+Muriel had awaited him.  To-morrow!  He looked at Vernley, and it
+occurred to him that his question had been what Mr. Fletcher, in
+debates, had called a leading one.  Vernley had never shown much
+interest in John's affair, but he was not so unobservant as the
+latter thought.
+
+When the boys were changing for dinner that evening, and while John
+was struggling with a bow, his glance fell upon a silver frame
+standing on the dressing table.  It contained a beautiful portrait of
+Muriel who laughed at him out of the frame.  John looked long at it,
+and finally he realised that the photograph had been placed there for
+his delight.  It was on his dressing table and not on Vernley's.
+Only one person could have placed it there.
+
+"I say, Bobbie," said John, through the open door leading to his
+friend's room.
+
+"What?" asked Vernley, standing with one leg in his black trousers,
+the other kicking its way through.
+
+"You're a jolly decent sort--being here, you know--and in this room
+again--and the--photograph--thanks awfully, old man."
+
+"Thought you were a bit keen, you know--she's not at all bad for a
+sister, is she?"
+
+"Rather not!" said John ecstatically, giving his bow a confirmatory
+pull.
+
+
+That evening John knew Mr. Ribble much more intimately, for while one
+of Vernley's sisters was accompanying the aspiring prima donna, John
+was led off by the politician into the conservatory.  The boy began
+asking questions about the House of Commons and Mr. Ribble had a
+great fund of stories.  John learned of Mr. Balfour's aloof manner,
+Mr. Churchill's imperturbable genius, Mr. Lloyd George's subtlety,
+Mr. Asquith's classic weight and Sir Henry Campbell Bannerman's
+personal charm; then he wished to know all about Mr. Austen
+Chamberlain and the hereditary monocle, whether Mr. John Burn's
+mother really had been a washerwoman, and what tactics were
+legitimate in catching the Speaker's eye.  Leaving these
+personalities, the conversation changed to political economy and John
+found himself on new ground and in a world of unknown names.
+
+John felt flattered by the fact that Mr. Ribble took it for granted
+that he knew these persons and subjects, but the politician was
+deliberately whetting the boy's appetite and trying to lead him into
+a channel of serious study.  John Stuart Mill, Walter Bagehot, Edmund
+Burke, Karl Marx, together with such queer names as Spinoza, Kant,
+Schlegel, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, all rolled off Mr. Ribble's
+tongue.  He was now in the realm of Philosophy, and John, for the
+first time in his life, heard of Comte and Positivism, of Darwin and
+the Origin of Species, of Huxley and Russell Wallace.  Mr. Ribble
+talked and John listened, experiencing the wonderful thrill as when
+Mr. Steer had shown him the world of poetry.
+
+"I think you had better start with Ruskin's 'Unto This Last,'" said
+Mr. Ribble when John asked where he should begin.  "He's easy to read
+and somewhat superficial.  You'll find that philosophy and political
+economy are closely related--half brothers in fact, and Ruskin
+believes their parents were Social Morality and Private Duty."
+
+Before going to bed that night, John had found a copy of "Unto This
+Last" which he took up to bed.  The two boys often read before going
+to sleep, and Vernley was engrossed in "Kim" so that he did not see
+what absorbed John, until growing sleepy, he closed his book and came
+into John's room with its light still burning.
+
+"What are you reading?" he asked.
+
+"Ruskin," replied John, deep in the book.
+
+"Golly--what on earth are you reading that piffle for--what's the
+book?"
+
+"Unto This Last."
+
+"Holy Moses--you're the queerest mixture I've ever known.  Last hols
+it was "Whose dwelling is--"
+
+  --"_The light of setting suns_"--began John--
+  "_And the round ocean and the living air,
+  And the blue sky and in the mind of man:
+  A motion and a spirit, that impels
+  All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
+  And rolls through all things.  Therefore am I still
+  A lover of the meadows and the woods,
+  And mountains; and of all that--_"
+
+
+A pillow landed on John's head.  It was returned with redoubled
+energy.  Vernley made a grand attack, John defending with a bolster.
+There was a frantic scuffle, the bed groaned, the electric light
+swung furiously, Vernley's pyjama coat was torn down the back and
+John was soon without a blanket or a sheet on his bed.  Suddenly they
+were buried in a snowstorm of feathers that floated all over the
+room; the pillow case had split; it called for an armistice.  John
+and Vernley subsided on the bed, silently watching the feather-laden
+atmosphere.
+
+"Lord! what a mess!"
+
+"We always seem to be smashing something in this room," said John
+ruefully--"last time it was the wash basin."
+
+"It's that infernal Wordsworth--there'll be nothing left now Ruskin's
+on the scene too."
+
+"Well--you shouldn't interrupt."
+
+"Do you think I'm going to lie still while you pour out that bosh?"
+
+"It isn't bosh--Mr. Ribble says--"
+
+"Ribble's an old fool--'a nonconformist crank swaddled in the
+longclothes of infantile ignorance'--that's what the Governor's
+opponent called him last election."
+
+The feathers had now settled.
+
+"What a mess!" said Vernley surveying the room.  "I've got an idea!
+Open the door, Scissors!"  Vernley threw open the two big windows and
+the draught thus created swept the feathers out on to the landing.
+The two boys followed and peered over the banisters as the white
+cloud slowly settled down into the hall below.  At that moment the
+drawing-room door opened.
+
+"Father!--Just look at this--wherever--" came Mrs. Vernley's voice in
+amazement.
+
+"Shut the door, Scissors!"  They rushed into the room, switched off
+the light and waited breathlessly.  All was quiet again.
+
+"If you go on reading every author you're told about, there'll be
+nothing left in this house," said Vernley, "and I don't agree, of
+course, about that libel on old Ribble--he's a decent old boy.  Good
+night, Scissors."
+
+
+
+II
+
+The next afternoon Vernley and John harnessed the pony and were on
+their way to the station to meet Muriel.  Spring was in the air.  The
+hedgerows were beginning to burst into leaf, and the birds singing in
+the lanes filled the country-side with hope.  John's heart too was
+singing.  It was so good to be driving through the sunlit lanes with
+a crisp air blowing in their faces, the friendly jog-trot of the pony
+beating upon their ears.  He looked at Vernley, the imperturbable
+Vernley, who was flicking the pony's haunches with his whip.  There
+was something comfortably solid about him.  He represented tradition
+and the continuance of a settled conception of life.  John had no
+difficulty in planning Vernley's future; unlike his own, it depended
+upon no caprice of Fate.  He would go up to Oxford, travel, and then
+settle down to the life of a country gentleman.  He would grow stout
+and red-cheeked, marry a healthy, unimaginative wife and be the
+father of a crowd of noisy, well-developed children.  The hunt, a
+seat on the bench, June in London and August on the moors--that would
+be Vernley's life.  And he would not bother his head about political
+or religious faiths.  He would probably be a Conservative, despite
+his father, who was a family renegade, and a Churchman.
+Conservative, because caution and security were better than haste and
+revolution, and the world on the whole was a jolly old place despite
+Socialists and other disgruntled reformers.  A Churchman, because he
+knew so little about religion, and a respectable ready-made creed,
+tried and found suitable as an accommodating policy of living was the
+safest and easiest to adopt.  Had he been born in Constantinople he
+would have been a Mohammedan, in Bombay a Buddhist, in Hongkong a
+Confucian, and in Paris a Catholic.  And whichever creed environment
+had caused him to accept, he would have been a credit to it,
+faithfully observing its tenets, a respectable, unthinking,
+clean-living fellow.
+
+
+Vernley looked at John as the station came into sight; the far-away
+expression was in his face, a curious detachment that often puzzled
+Vernley.  Sometimes John seemed to have left his body in another
+world.  It was uncanny and he remembered that Marsh, referring to
+this habit, had called it "the Eastern touch," though what that quite
+meant Vernley did not know.
+
+"The train's signalled," said Vernley.  "We shall just get there in
+time.  I wonder whether Muriel is bringing her friend back, she said
+she might--a topping girl."
+
+"I hope not--I don't want any one monopolising Muriel," said John
+boldly.
+
+"That's all right--I shall look after her friend--so don't you worry."
+
+They pulled up just as the train ran into the station.  Vernley sat
+still in the trap.
+
+"I must mind the pony,--you go in, Scissors!"
+
+Dear old Vernley, thought John, what a tactician he was!  So leaping
+out, he went on to the platform just as Muriel descended from the
+carriage.  There was one glad look of recognition and then a
+momentary shyness fell over them.  Muriel had brought her friend whom
+she introduced with embarrassment.  John, scarlet in the face,
+pretended to be frantically busy with the luggage, which filled the
+trap.  Homewards turned, the pony trotted smartly.  John sat opposite
+Muriel and kept looking at her furtively.  She was beautiful.  He
+wanted to touch her soft flesh, and press back the little strand of
+hair that fluttered over her ear and across the cheek.  He noticed
+the full redness of her lips, and the wonderful beauty of her long
+eyelashes.  The sight of her filled John with a kind of ecstasy
+bordering on intoxication.  He was infinitely more in love with her
+than on the previous occasion.  The absence of three months had
+glorified her in his imagination, but now he saw that reality
+transcended his most extravagant dreams of her physical perfection.
+He was fifteen and this first flush of love left him breathless with
+wonder.  He did not want to talk; it was enough to sit near her, to
+hear her voice, to watch the elfin grace of her movements, to see her
+eyes shine, and the whiteness of her small teeth when she laughed.
+Had some one told him he was in love, he would have denied it.  He
+was more a worshipper than a lover.  This revelation of the woman, as
+he saw it in Muriel, was like sunrise on a new world; he was so lost
+in wonder that familiarity became impossible.  He was filled with
+awe, in which ran fear, the fear that she could not always be there,
+that one morning he would get up and find her changed, an ordinary
+being, moving on the old earth as he had always known it.  But this
+afternoon was his time of ecstasy--the friendly trotting of the pony,
+Bobbie talking away to Polly, and himself sitting there with Muriel
+near him while the birds sang in the hedgerows, and the sunset clouds
+in the west reddened behind a black fringe of trees.
+
+"Polly," said Vernley, "you may think so, but my friend is not really
+dumb--in fact John is a fearful talker at times."
+
+He laughed at John.
+
+"You've got the field, so I've retired," retorted John.  "And I'm
+waiting for Muriel to tell me what she's been doing all the holidays."
+
+Muriel responded to this invitation, and, the ice broken, they were
+soon engrossed in each other.  At the top of Carshott Hill, Vernley
+pulled up.  He was enjoying himself with Polly, who was sensible, and
+to his great relief didn't giggle.
+
+"I say, Scissors, shall we go round by Carshott?  It is two miles out
+of the way, but we shall be in time for dinner."
+
+"Oh yes," cried Muriel.  "It's such a glorious afternoon."
+
+"I'm not a bit hungry," said John tactfully; any excuse for the
+prolongation of the drive.  So they turned off to Carshott.  It was
+dark when they arrived at "The Croft" gates and turned up the drive,
+so dark that John had been able to hold Muriel's hand in his and
+interlace his strong fingers with her slender ones, and he was so
+overjoyed that he failed to notice that Vernley had done similarly.
+
+Greetings over in the hall, they hurried off to dress for dinner.
+The boys had a hot bath, and John sat on the side while Vernley
+lathered himself.
+
+"Polly's a very pretty girl," said John, rubbing hard with the towel.
+
+"Of course!" cried Vernley, banging the sponge on his head, then
+spluttering, "and Muriel?---well I suppose you've hardly noticed her
+yet," he added satirically--"it was so jolly dark--but I know she has
+soft hands."
+
+John coloured, rubbing his head so that Vernley should not see.
+
+"I say, Scissors!  I'll bet you I know what Muriel's going to wear
+to-night."
+
+"What?"
+
+"That white dress with the blue insertion."
+
+John remembered it.  It was all fluffy, and she looked like a fairy
+in a cloud.  He had admired her in it and told her so.
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Why, in honour of the occasion, of course.  I called it the froth
+and frolic dress, but probably Muriel calls it mode-a-la-Scissors."
+
+"You are an ass!" said John.
+
+"I am your friend," retorted Vernley.  "By their companions ye shall
+know them."
+
+"Are you coming out of that bath--the dressing bell went half an hour
+ago!"
+
+"I'm getting boiled all over--I want to look my freshest to-night.
+You are not the only knight on the war-path; and I've got a deadly
+rival."
+
+"Who's that?"
+
+"Tod," said Vernley.  "Personally I fear nothing from him--he's
+harmless, but he's got a car, and that is usually a winner."
+
+"You are a cynic," said John.
+
+"I've had experience--I've been thrown over for a tennis racquet.
+You don't know women, my boy."
+
+"Being elderly, I suppose you know all about them."
+
+"Almost, but there's one thing always puzzles me, Scissors, I always
+wonder how much these girls confide in one another and giggle at us
+for being such asses."
+
+"I don't think Muriel would," said John seriously.
+
+"Angel!" murmured Vernley, kissing the sponge ecstatically.
+
+
+
+III
+
+Mr. Ribble did not come down to breakfast the next morning.  He was
+reviewing a book for the _Nation_ and kept in his room.  John saw
+breakfast go in to him and wondered if ever the day would come that
+he would be so important as to have breakfast sent up to his room.
+He went to the window and sat there for a time enjoying the early
+morning scene, the light on the distant hills, the sharp sound of a
+passing cart down in the lane, and stray noises from the stable yard.
+Then he watched the country postman cycle up the drive, his fresh
+healthy face perspiring, a heavy mailbag on his shoulders.  John got
+up and went out into the hall and received the letters, which he
+spread out on the table in neat order.  There were fifteen for Mr.
+Vernley, six for Mr. Ribble--John paused lovingly over these.  How
+splendid they looked!
+
+  "The Rt. Hon. Ellerton Ribble, M.P."
+
+and as he looked the magic letters changed into--
+
+  "The Rt. Hon. John N. Dean, M.P."
+
+Day-dreaming he did not see that Mrs. Vernley had entered the hall
+and was looking at him.
+
+"Disappointed, John?" she asked.  "I am always disappointed when I
+get no letters.  I like receiving them, but detest answering them."
+
+"Good morning, Mrs. Vernley!  No--I was just thinking how splendid
+Mr. Ribble's address looks."
+
+"Wondering when your own will be like it?" asked Mrs. Vernley,
+placing her hand on the boy's shoulder.  She detected the pleasure
+her little guess gave him.
+
+"Well, if Muriel has anything to do with it," she added, "you'll be
+the youngest Cabinet minister in history."
+
+"Muriel?" asked John.
+
+"Yes, last night she gave Mr. Ribble the worst cross-questioning he
+has had for many a long hour.  I believe she has planned your whole
+career, but I hope, John," said Mrs. Vernley, opening her letters,
+"that you are not going to waste yourself in politics.  It is the
+most futile life a man can lead.  I never knew a member of Parliament
+who wasn't a harassed mass of vanity.  Their lives are made wretched
+by pulling wires for a thousand societies that threaten to extract a
+dozen votes at their next election.  They are the prey of the
+parsons, charity organisations and vested interests--"
+
+"But surely Mr. Vernley--" began John.
+
+"One's husband is always excepted from general criticism, John.  My
+husband is such a bad member of Parliament because he is such a good
+husband."
+
+"The world has to be ruled, Mrs. Vernley."
+
+"I do not deny it, but why presume that Parliament rules Britain?
+I'm quite sure it doesn't, any more than Congress rules the United
+States or the Chamber rules France.  There's the gong.  I wonder how
+many of us will appear at breakfast!"
+
+In the breakfast room they found Tod and Muriel, and a minute later
+Vernley came in and took his seat.
+
+"Let's see--this morning?  Ah! it's plaice and sausage," he cried.
+"Lift the covers, Mother."
+
+Sausage and plaice duly appeared.
+
+"We have a Scotch cook with the mind of a mathematician," said Tod.
+"Wednesday, bacon and eggs."
+
+"Friday--kedgeree!" added Vernley.
+
+"Saturday--grilled ham!" supplemented Muriel.
+
+"Sunday--two eggs," contributed Alice.
+
+"Monday--" began Tod.
+
+He was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Vernley.
+
+"I suppose you children are reciting the food calendar as usual?"
+
+"Yes, Dad,--it's your turn," cried Vernley.  "Monday--?"
+
+"Monday--liver and bacon!"
+
+"Really," commented Mrs. Vernley, "if cook heard the way you make fun
+of her infinite variety--"
+
+"She might give us sausage twice a week which would please me!" said
+Tod.  "By the way, Mother, is Mrs. Graham coming to-day?"
+
+"Yes, I want you to meet the 11.15, she will arrive by that."
+
+"Let's all go!" cried Vernley.  "Jove, she's a stunner, Scissors!"
+
+"Bobbie dear!" remonstrated Mrs. Vernley, "you mustn't talk of Mrs.
+Graham like that!"
+
+"Why not, Mother?  I told her she was a stunner once and she pinked
+with delight."
+
+"I don't know where you boys pick up all your slang," said Mr.
+Vernley.
+
+"We get so many M.P.s in the house, pater," suggested Tod.  "Will you
+play me a round of golf?  I did four and seven in bogie yesterday."
+
+"When?"
+
+"This afternoon--three o'clock," said Tod.
+
+"Remember, dear, we have Mr. Crimp coming to tea," urged Mrs. Vernley.
+
+"Then I'll play you, Tod," Mr. Vernley said decisively.  "My dear,
+why do you ask that man?"
+
+"Because, being a tactful wife, I know he is worth two hundred votes
+to you."
+
+"He turns my tea sour," complained Tod.  "The pater and I will stay
+out to tea."
+
+"That's not fair," cried Muriel.  "It means I shall have to talk to
+Mr. Crimp."
+
+"On foreign stamps," murmured Bobbie.  "He'll love Scissors--don't
+look so glum, Scissors--you look quite crimpled up!"
+
+Tod's aim was unerring; the tea cosy ruffled Vernley's well-plastered
+hair.
+
+"Stop!  I won't have my breakfast service smashed!" cried Mrs.
+Vernley in alarm, but protest was useless.  The cosy flew back with
+redoubled vigour.  Its flight was unimpeded by its destined
+objective, for Tod ducked.  It went over his head.  Polly who had sat
+very quiet all through breakfast, received it on her empty plate
+where it ousted an egg cup with a clatter, and the familiar sound of
+a crash followed as it broke into a dozen pieces.
+
+"You awful children!" cried Mrs. Vernley.
+
+"Never mind, Mum," said Tod, bending and kissing her.  "You know
+you're proud of your bouncing offspring."
+
+
+
+IV
+
+It was no exaggeration to say that the arrival of Mrs. Graham was an
+event in John's life.  Ever afterwards he could recall vividly the
+first sharp impression of that bright Easter morning when he stood on
+the country station platform.  His impression was always clear, even
+in its detail.  Recalling her advent and attempting analysis, he was
+never sure whether his first surprise was caused by beauty, by dress
+or by aroma.  There was something distinctive in the perfume Mrs.
+Graham used.  Only once afterwards did he encounter it, in the foyer
+of a Paris theatre, when it brought back in swift vision the English
+Easter morning, and the graceful lady extending her hand to him as he
+stood, cap in hand, admiring every line of her figure.
+
+True, on the way to the station, above the purr of the car, he had
+heard the ecstatic praise of Tod, and the no less fervent admiration
+of Bobbie.  But their tribute, faithful and generous, omitted the
+something that caught John in the mesh.  Was it her voice, so rich
+with its quality, a speaking voice that gave such distinction to all
+she said, that made a trivial comment noteworthy?  Was it her
+beauty?--that Romney-like picture of colour and contour, the shapely
+nose, the lovely arched lips, the delicate rose-bloom of her cheeks
+and the dark, quick vivacity of her eyes?  Or was it her ornaments,
+the grace and style of their choice and use?  No earrings ever hung
+like hers; they seemed to gather beauty from the lobes they
+decorated.  The string of pearls that nestled about her throat,
+shapely as a swan's neck, in its sheen seemed to derive lustre from
+the sweetness of her flesh.  Was it those all-expressive hands, that
+tapered so fascinatingly with nails that exhibited the charm of
+nature and art?  Something perhaps of all these, yet something which,
+without all these, would make her a woman of memorable beauty.
+
+Her dress was elegant, noteworthy, but women had dressed so a hundred
+times and achieved nothing distinctive.  John had seen features as
+perfect, hands as lovely--but here was something not wholly
+extraneous.  He knew now why she was always called, "the beautiful
+Mrs. Graham"; why, to this woman of thirty-five, clung the air of a
+tragedy queen; why, since that dread period of newspaper notoriety,
+she had never been allowed to relapse into obscurity, but was
+photographed and paragraphed.  Would her sin ever find full expiation?
+
+Sin!  How absurd that word seemed.  Was there such a thing in the
+presence of such perfection?  John gazed at her as she sat at his
+side in the car, talking to Bobbie, while Tod drove.  She was alluded
+to as a "notorious" woman, and as John thought of it, he almost
+laughed aloud; what chance had all the dull, dingy, respectable women
+at the side of this empress of life?  John, of course, did not know
+the details of the divorce case which had made her, for six weeks,
+the most discussed woman in the world.  The young peer who had ruined
+his life and hers, and who, strangely enough, had found all the
+sympathy while she took all the blame, who had declared himself
+powerless in her presence.  Perhaps so, but if so, why so
+contemptible in that power, why the ready surrender of her character,
+the confession of impotence?  She was unfaithful, a married
+experienced woman of thirty-five, and he a young boy of twenty-one.
+But whose was the sacrifice?  She should have known better, said the
+world, she corrupted a boy.  But if his was the ardour, if the
+passion of first love and the lyrical song of youth were laid at her
+feet, how could she resist, she a grown woman, who saw youth lapsing
+like a spent wave on the shore of Life, one whose elderly husband
+could not guess the tumult of nature beating at the doors of her
+heart, about to close on summer for ever?
+
+Seven hundred years ago, such love was romance; not even the dagger
+of Giovanni had been needed to draw, with its blood, the tears and
+sympathy of lovers of all ages for Paolo and Francesca.  But
+Francesca in the twentieth century must stand in the witness box for
+legal luminaries to torture, must hear every nameless act given the
+label of lust, and finally, hear Paolo fling the insult of age and
+cunning into her face, and plead the ignorance of youth.
+
+And then, when the whole dreadful nightmare was over, another
+reappearance in a hopeless battle for her child; then peace again,
+while the world whispers of the disappearance from society of the
+beautiful Mrs. Graham.  But Life would not leave her alone; five
+years might have brought some healing to a heart that asked
+forgetfulness.  The suicide of the young Earl, with a last love
+declaration, set the world by the ears again.  So he loved her to the
+last!  She laughed almost.  He had died for his love of her, said the
+world.  Women envied her the compliment of his suicide.  He might
+have loved her sufficiently to live, she reflected, and once more
+passed through a nightmare of picture papers; herself as a bride,
+bathing at Ostend; herself in the box; extracts from the trial; her
+tears in the last scene, then--God in heaven!--her boy at school, not
+in the first school he had had to leave, but another, which he would
+now have to leave.  And through it all, as if to excite envy and
+scandal by obstinacy, her beauty grew, and she remained "the
+beautiful Mrs. Graham."
+
+But it was not an aura of tragedy that fascinated John.  He had not
+exchanged a dozen words when he recognised what he had heard, with
+mirth, the school porter call "quality."  In the first place her
+voice--that was a revelation.  What a wonderful instrument the human
+voice was!  When she spoke her words were invested with alluring
+music; then also there was a hint of--no, not worldliness--of--
+
+"Bond Street, Rumpelmeyer's--cum Papier Poudre," supplied Tod a few
+days later, alluding to the same hint.  She was one of those women of
+whom one asked inwardly--was that rouge, was that carmine, did she
+pencil? and you were never sure.  If so, it was wonderfully done and
+fascinating.  If not, she was amazingly perfect and unbelievable.
+But you never knew for sure.  Of her powder, she made no secret.  No
+beautiful woman ever does, for it is an embroidery which beauty only
+can justify.
+
+And as John sat there he experienced a cheap sensation.  That it was
+cheap he knew, and despised himself for it.  She was a divorced
+woman--notorious even.  Were not the Vernleys bold?  Then a hot flush
+of shame leapt to his face at the meanness of the thought--he was
+like the rest.
+
+His sudden colouring was noticed by Mrs. Graham, who, unaware of its
+cause, thought the handsome lad at her side was shy.  She began to
+talk to him and by the time they reached "The Croft," she had made a
+fervent disciple.  At lunch he sat between her and Muriel, and felt
+an uncomfortable twinge of his conscience.  Had Muriel felt
+neglected?  But she would understand how fascinating it was to talk
+to Mrs. Graham, or rather, to hear her talk, for she seemed to have
+been everywhere.  Big-game shooting in Africa, the wonder of Lake
+Louise, the views from Mons Pilatus, the charm of Copenhagen and
+other diversions of the Tivoli; the house-fringed shores of the
+Little Belt, the crowded Hohestrasse of a Sunday evening in Cologne,
+the colour and _gelati_ of the Piazza San Marco, the brightness of
+Unter den Linden on a June morning, the approach to the Brandenburg
+Gate, Le Touquet and its golf, the winter sports at Murren--the
+little glimpses of all these lighted her conversation.
+
+She had dined at most of the Embassies in Europe; delightful little
+anecdotes, pointed with the witty brevity of a French phrase,
+scintillated in her talk.  Yes, she had met "Anatole France," and
+told a story of his courtly grumpiness; she had crossed the Atlantic
+with Paderewski, who had played for her his "Romance," on the evening
+of its composition, played it in the lonely drawing-room while
+passengers were at dinner, with such elegance, delicacy of touch and
+strength of tone.  Had she read "Mr. Polly?" asked John.  That
+reminded her immediately; they saw Mr. Wells in a Kent house writing
+all the morning, playing hockey all the afternoon, and always the
+busy little man in a blue serge suit, pouring out a medley of
+history, theology, romance and hard-headed business talk.  There was
+a flashlight of Rodin in his palatial studio.  "Madame has beautiful
+hands--they must be immortalised," and one saw the robust personality
+of Roosevelt at a small dinner party at the Plaza, New York, with a
+later snapshot of him speechmaking from the platform of a Pullman at
+a wayside station in Indiana.  "A lovable man--he made that speech
+just to enable fifty country school children to say in after life
+that they had heard the President."
+
+What a luncheon hour, with Tod cross-questioning, Muriel laughing,
+Vernley dumb, Mr. Vernley corroborating and Mrs. Vernley beseeching
+her guest to get something to eat; and whenever a break in the
+conversation came, Mr. Ribble restarted the flow of anecdote with a
+query or a scholarly footnote.  John would have wished that luncheon
+hour to last for ever, but before they had risen from the table Tod
+had slipped away and a few minutes later the car was purring in the
+drive.
+
+"Come along, sir," he called as they rose.
+
+"Not yet, not yet, Tod," protested Mr. Vernley.
+
+"Yes, now--if you go upstairs for a nap, there'll be no golf this
+afternoon.  Mrs. Graham is coming too."
+
+"But Tod, I have no clubs," protested Mrs. Graham.
+
+"I have--the car's waiting now.  Are you coming, Mr. Ribble?"
+
+"No thank you, my boy--I am still ink-bound.  Muriel has promised me
+a nice cup of tea in the study at four o'clock, and we have Mr. Crimp
+coming, I believe."
+
+"That's why we're going."
+
+"Tod, dear!" protested his mother.  "How rude you are!"
+
+"I loathe the fellow!"
+
+"And you have no reason, dear."
+
+"Loathing," said Mrs. Graham, "is perhaps the safest of all feelings,
+it relies more on instinct than intellect."
+
+"And what are you children going to do?" asked Mr. Vernley.
+
+"Children, pater!" protested Bobbie.
+
+"We are having a double on the lawn.  Thomson says it will be quite
+good playing to-day.  He cut it this morning," said Muriel.
+
+"Well, when we return, if you've any steam left in you, Mrs. Graham
+and I will take on the winners."
+
+"Good!" cried Bobbie.  "Come on, Scissors, let's change."  In his
+room, Vernley found John a pair of flannel trousers.  There was nine
+inches to spare round the waist, and a serious gap above the ankles.
+
+"If I had known I was going to look ridiculous," said John "I
+shouldn't have played--" He pulled out the top of the trousers.
+"'The expanse of spirit in a waist of shame,' that's what I look
+like."
+
+"Don't be rude, Scissors--you know my figure fills you with envy.
+Jove, I do hate playing this game with women.  Those kids have no
+idea how to use a racquet.  They'll just stand and squeak every time
+they miss a ball by a yard, and you're expected to say 'Hard luck.'"
+
+"Can Mrs. Graham play?"
+
+"Yes, she can make Tod work.  If Alice and Kitty were at home we'd
+get a good set.  I say, Scissors, do you mind playing with Polly?"
+
+"No--but why?"
+
+"Because if I play with her and lose, as I shall, she'll be quite
+huffy, whereas if she plays against me and wins, she'll be quite nice
+to me," explained Vernley.
+
+"But what about Muriel?"
+
+"Oh--that doesn't matter.  Nothing will dim you in Muriel's eyes."
+John bent over and tied his shoes.
+
+"How do you mean?" he asked without looking up.
+
+"Well, you're on a pedestal that six-love can't damage.  You know you
+did talk brilliantly at lunch.  I don't know how you do it."
+
+"But I was listening to Mrs. Graham."
+
+"And she to you--why, together you held the table, and old Ribble
+kept persuading you both to go on."
+
+"I hope I didn't talk too--" began John.
+
+"You old fraud, you were both soaring and you knew it.  You like it,
+Scissors.  I've seen you take the platform before."
+
+"Rot!" commented John, a little angry at being discovered.
+
+
+
+V
+
+When the tea bell rang, four red-faced youngsters trooped in to find
+the Reverend Crimp mid-way in a monologue on the woes of the
+Dodenesian Islanders.  On the appearance of the tennis party, he put
+down his cup very deliberately, rose from the comfortable depths of
+the divan, folded his puffy hands and beamed upon the young people.
+
+"I think you know John," said Mrs. Vernley.
+
+"Ah, yes," began Mr. Crimp in a minor key.  "Of course I know John.
+I have a delightful memory of our last meeting.  How d'ye do?  I
+perceive you have grown.  Fresh air, eh, and good food, I am sure.
+It is a true maxim, early to bed, early to rise--"
+
+"Not much good food at Sedley, Mr. Crimp," said Bobbie.  "We always
+go to bed hungry."
+
+"I'm sure," commented Mr. Ribble from a corner seat, "your remarks
+are libellous; they are certainly belied by your figure."
+
+"That's what I tell Bobbie," cried Muriel, "but he says the cause of
+stoutness is atmospheric, not gastronomic."
+
+A few minutes later the drawing room door abruptly opened and Tod
+entered, followed by Mrs. Graham and Mr. Vernley.
+
+"Any tea left, Mother?" he cried.  "Mrs. Graham has led us all the
+way.  Jove, she took the last hole in four!"  Then, seeing the
+clergyman, "Good afternoon, Mr. Crimp."  Mr. Vernley crossed the room
+and shook hands with him, while Tod was just about to draw up a chair
+for Mrs. Graham when Mr. Vernley said, "I do not think you have met
+Mrs. Graham, Mr. Crimp?"--and turning--"this is Mr. Crimp, our
+clergyman, Mrs. Graham."
+
+Tod, still grasping the proffered chair, saw her hold out her hand to
+the clergyman, who moved his in response and then suddenly faltered,
+paused, and withdrew his hand.  Mrs. Vernley, teapot in action, held
+it suspended.  Mr. Ribble seemed intent on selecting a cake.  John,
+Bobbie, Tod and Mr. Vernley were transfixed, waiting the blow.
+Surely the fellow would not be so insane, so incredibly rude, thought
+Mrs. Vernley.  He would not dare!
+
+Mr. Crimp was speaking in a hollow, affected voice.
+
+"The lady's face is familiar to me--in circumstances I do not care to
+recall," he said stiffly.
+
+The blow had fallen.  It was followed with a painful silence.  How
+would she take it?  With suspended breath, John, his heart aching,
+watched her.  Yes, she was superb, and dignity did not desert her.
+Her face was calm; there was no sign of surprise, not even
+embarrassment--perhaps this scene was not new to her.  She looked at
+Mr. Crimp, the ugly little man puffed out in his asserted dignity.
+
+"I'm sorry," she said, "to awaken your unpleasant memories.  I will
+retire."  She turned to go.
+
+"Julie, dear," cried Mrs. Vernley, putting down the teapot and rising
+suddenly to intercept her, "you mustn't listen to--"
+
+"You cad!" blazed Tod, turning on the clergyman, who had gone pale.
+
+"Really, sir, after insulting my guest I must ask you to retire."
+Mr. Vernley's voice hardly restrained its anger.
+
+"If there is any insult, it is I who have suffered," replied Mr.
+Crimp.  "The dignity of my calling--"
+
+"Damn your calling!" cried Tod.
+
+"Sir!" flared Mr. Crimp.
+
+"Tod, be quiet," pleaded Mrs. Vernley.
+
+Mrs. Graham had now reached the door, Mrs. Vernley following, but
+John was there first and opened it.
+
+"Leave me dear, please," said Mrs. Graham, turning, and the other
+woman saw how it was with her and stopped.  Mrs. Graham passed out;
+John following, closed the door.  He had not meant to follow her but
+in his confusion he had closed the door and shut himself out with
+her.  Mrs. Graham looked at him half blindly, he thought.  He dropped
+his hand from the handle, and followed her into the hall.
+
+"Mrs. Graham," he called, "I--I'm--" but his lip trembled and the
+words choked him.
+
+She paused at the foot of the stairs, then impulsively caught his
+outstretched hand, and pressed it.
+
+"You dear boy--I know, I know!" she cried, holding his hand for a
+moment, and then swiftly she mounted the stairs.  John watched her
+go, the blood singing in his ears.  He heard her bedroom door close,
+and then silence.  He turned and looked at the drawing-room door.
+What was happening in there?  As if in answer, it opened and the Rev.
+Crimp emerged, alone, closing it after him with a bang.  For a moment
+he paused in the hall, flushed, uncertain which way to turn, then,
+seizing his hat from the hall stand, he hurried out.  When the door
+banged and he was gone, John started.  His brow was damp with
+perspiration and he was trembling.  Tod came out.
+
+"Come in, Scissors, and finish your tea."
+
+"No--no, thanks Tod, I don't want any."
+
+"None of us do--the swine!" said Tod fiercely.
+
+John followed him into the drawing-room.
+
+"Has Mrs. Graham gone to her room, John?" asked Mrs. Vernley.  He
+nodded.
+
+"I must go up to her--poor thing," she said.  Muriel, in distraction,
+had lifted the piano lid and struck a chord.
+
+"For God's sake!  Don't play that now!  Oh hell!" cried Tod.  Then
+seeing the reproach in his mother's eyes, "I beg your pardon,
+Mother--but I could murder some one!  Come on, boys--I'm going to the
+garage."
+
+Bobbie and John followed with alacrity.
+
+
+Mrs. Graham did not appear at dinner.  She kept to her room, and
+there was a cloud over the party throughout the evening, despite Mr.
+Ribble's delicious sallies of humour, and a fascinating discussion in
+the library afterwards between him and Mr. Vernley on Proportional
+Representation, a discussion very tedious to Tod and Bobbie, who
+slipped away into the billiard room after vehement signals to John to
+follow, which he ignored.  He absorbed every detail, eager for a
+political education, and very occasionally he ventured to ask a
+question, which Mr. Ribble answered fully and seriously as though
+John had been a grown-up person.  Here was a new theme for the
+debating society!  So he sat, listening until the clock struck
+eleven, and Mr. Vernley and Mr. Ribble lapsed into a silence filled
+with tobacco smoke, whereon John rose and said good night.
+
+He found Bobbie perched on the edge of his bed, pulling off a sock.
+
+"Good Lord!" was the greeting.  "Have you been in the library all the
+time?"
+
+"Yes--isn't Mr. Ribble a wonderful man?"
+
+"They say so," assented Vernley, "but I always want to yawn when he
+and the pater get going.  It is an awful business having to live in a
+house where M.P.s are always about.  They talk for ever about things
+nobody would give a brass button for."
+
+"But surely the method of government--" began John.
+
+"My dear old Scissors--what does it matter how we are governed so
+long as we are left alone?  Judging from those fellows who come down
+here, you'd think the universe would cease to revolve if they went
+out of office, and when they do go nobody would know, if it weren't
+for their own newspapers which lament so over 'em.  And it's all a
+game.  I've heard these fellows abuse one another, and use the vilest
+terms, and, Lord bless us, they're playing bridge or golf together
+the next day."
+
+"But that reveals our sporting instinct."
+
+"That's not yours, Scissors.  It's the pater's, I recognise it--he
+always quotes that when he throws over what he said the night before
+about a man."  Then ploughing his hands through his thick ruffled
+hair, "Lord, what a mess!" he exclaimed.
+
+"What, politics?"
+
+"No--that filthy Crimp and Mrs. Graham."
+
+John started; in his selfish interest he had forgotten the incident.
+
+"There's one blessing," said Vernley, slowly squeezing out some
+tooth-paste onto his brush, "we shan't be worried by that swine here
+any more.  He always made me sick.  I wish I could generate a good
+hate like Tod's."
+
+"Tod always did dislike him, didn't he?"
+
+"Yes.  Good night, Scissors."
+
+"Good night."
+
+John did not sleep for a long time.  He lived over that dreadful
+episode in the drawing-room.  Was Mrs. Graham sleeping now?  Perhaps
+she was crying, and women hated crying, for it made their eyes red,
+and betrayed them in the morning.  It would be awkward at breakfast
+to meet her as though nothing had happened.  Still he looked forward
+to doing so.  They were friends, she trusted him--that pressure on
+his hand told him so.  Then he wondered if Crimp was asleep down at
+the Vicarage.  Probably the beast was snoring now--he looked like a
+man who could snore, with those horrible protruding teeth.  Then he
+fell asleep, and when he woke again Vernley was sitting on his chest.
+
+"You've been snoring," said Vernley.
+
+"I haven't," denied John indignantly.  "I couldn't, I don't know how
+to."
+
+"But I've heard you in my room--you woke me."
+
+"That proves I haven't, I should have woked myself first," said John
+with a fine disregard of grammar.  "I'm a lighter sleeper than you."
+
+"You've been dreaming, I'm sure."
+
+"Well, I have--of old Crimp," confessed John.
+
+"That accounts for the snoring.  Hurry up, the first gong's gone."
+
+Downstairs, Muriel was the first to meet John.
+
+"Mrs. Graham's going," she told him.  "Isn't it a shame?"
+
+"Going?--what, now?"
+
+"No, soon after breakfast.  She told Mother she couldn't stay.  Of
+course she knows we're all sympathetic and all that, but she says she
+finds sympathy as hard to endure as the other things.  There are
+always scenes like this wherever she goes, and she doesn't intend
+ever going out again.  I'm dreadfully sorry for her."
+
+"So am I, but Muriel, we mustn't show it; we must pretend nothing's
+happened.  Let's joke with her at breakfast."
+
+They went in together.  Mrs. Graham was there, and she was not
+red-eyed.  Indeed, to John, she seemed more beautiful than ever.  She
+talked wittily to them all, and Muriel and John found their desperate
+resolution quite unnecessary.  After breakfast they all walked round
+the grounds.  Mrs. Graham was leaving in half an hour.  To his
+delight John found himself walking with her down the rhododendron
+drive.
+
+"I'm so sorry you're going, Mrs. Graham," he said.
+
+"That's kind of you, Scissors--may I call you Scissors?" she asked,
+smiling at him.
+
+"Oh, please!" he answered.
+
+"And I hope," she added, "this will not be our last meeting.  If ever
+you come up to town, and would care, you must call at my little flat.
+I will give you my address."  She opened her chatelaine and extracted
+a card.  John took it.
+
+"I should love to, Mrs. Graham--when the next holidays come--will you
+be in town then?"
+
+"Yes," and he noticed she hesitated before adding quickly, "but you
+must ask your guardian first."
+
+John's heart stopped.  The cruelty of it!
+
+"I shall do nothing of the kind," he said hotly.  "I--I think you're
+wonderful, Mrs. Graham," he added in boyish admiration, and he
+noticed she turned her head away.  A moment later they had come out
+of the drive and joined the others.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK III
+
+GROWTH
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+I
+
+The chronicles of youth, filled with trivial incidents, but acute at
+the moment of experience, swiftly pass.  John found himself, on his
+seventeenth birthday, hardly aware that he was leaving boyhood behind
+him.  He was very different from the shy sensitive youngster who on
+that momentous day of his arrival at Sedley had stood miserably on
+the platform watching with an aching heart the receding train.  He
+had altered, almost incredibly, and yet he had not altered.  In the
+handsome, self-possessed lad, a leader of his house, something of a
+god to the younger boys, with already a distinguished 'career' behind
+him, as athlete and scholar, a President of the Literary Society, a
+leading light in debate, the Editor of the school magazine, Sedley
+indeed had a creditable specimen of its training.
+
+Had Mr. Fletcher, who had watched over him with a father's care, been
+asked for his most reliable boy, it would have been John that he
+named, or for his most promising, again, John, despite the dazzling
+brilliance of the fitful Marsh; and yet Mr. Fletcher knew his
+weaknesses--the tendency to dream, the sudden sensitiveness that made
+John seem afraid of life, and occasionally, but rarely now, that
+strange oriental preoccupation, that came over him, and shut him out
+from his fellows.  There was always something a little mysterious,
+thought Mr. Fletcher.  He loved and knew well all his boys.  Even
+Marsh's fanciful versatility held no secrets from him.  But he never
+quite plumbed the bottom of John's nature.  Affectionate, deeply so,
+revealed in a hundred small acts of tribute, Mrs. Fletcher had drawn
+out the fires of devotion in the boy's heart, even sometimes, to
+little whimsical confessions that she knew were signs of his absolute
+trust.  He had talked of his mother often.  It was in Mrs. Fletcher's
+drawing-room, where she had first seen father and son together, that
+they talked of the reunion, after a parting of three years' duration.
+She laughed away all John's fears of that meeting, soothed his
+feverish anticipation.
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, will father think I've grown?" he would ask.
+
+"Why of course,--you're almost a man now."
+
+"But do you think I have grown as he would wish?"--half fearfully
+this, at which Mrs. Fletcher would laugh, "Why you silly boy, are you
+afraid your father won't be glad to see you?"
+
+"Oh,--it's not that--only you know Mrs. Fletcher--he thought so much
+of me when I was a kid--I'm almost afraid he might be disappointed."
+
+"Fathers and mothers never change, John, it's the children who do
+that," she answered him.  "And look at all you've done and--" she was
+going to add, what a handsome fellow you've grown into, but she
+checked herself.  She didn't believe in turning a boy's head.
+
+So the momentous day came.  John, up very early, very scrupulously
+dressed, excited by a confirmatory telegram, was filled with anxiety
+as to whether the taxicab would be in time to meet the train.  He
+slacked shamelessly in form that morning, but the master was
+indulgent.  Something of his anxiety and excitement permeated his
+friends.  Even Vernley became aware of the meaning of nerves, good
+old Vernley, fatter and more faithful than ever, sharer of all joys,
+woes, triumphs, disasters, and food.
+
+But the great moment came; the train drew up, the doors flew open, a
+sudden flooding of the platform, a boy's flushed face under a straw
+hat, an eager survey, with heart tremendously thumping, and a strong
+resolution not to ran or cry, a terrible fear that he had not come
+after all, and then--
+
+There!  His father!  He had not changed!
+
+"Dad!" he shouted rapturously, waving a hand.  The father stared a
+while.
+
+"John, my boy--what a great lad you are!"  There was a swift,
+astonished survey.  This tall, clean-limbed, laughing boy his son!
+This lad, with the glimmering grace of an athlete, the boy he had
+nursed at Amasia?  His eyes lingered on every feature, noted the
+broadening shoulders, the straightness of his carriage, the direct
+level glance of the eyes.  Presently they were seated side by side in
+the taxi, and then, absurdly enough, John found he had nothing to
+say, not one of those thousand premeditated questions to ask.  The
+father, too, felt restrained, and waited.
+
+"Ali sends his love," he said, at last.
+
+"Dear old Ali!  How is he, Dad?"
+
+"Grown, but not like you, and quite a grave married man now."
+
+"Married!  What a joke--Ali married!"
+
+"He does not think it a joke, he is very serious about it.  He was
+married the week before I left.  I met his father in Constantinople.
+Ali seemed a little sad because you did not write oftener.  I showed
+him your last photograph.  He looked at it for a long time and then
+said you were a great lord.  I told him you were more probably a
+great anxiety."
+
+Then followed lunch at Mr. Fletcher's--just his father and Mr. and
+Mrs. Fletcher, and, by the way of a great favour to John in
+celebration of the event--Vernley and Marsh as special guests.  John
+was frightfully anxious about his friends.  He wanted them to admire
+his father as he did, and in turn he hoped desperately that his
+father would take to Vernley and Marsh.  He was not long in doubt,
+for the elderly man had soon won his way into the boys' hearts, and
+had broken down their stiff reserve.
+
+"Isn't he ripping, Scissors!" whispered Vernley, during the second
+course, "and you're alike as two peas."  Under encouragement, Marsh
+was radiant.  John felt his father was such a success that he would
+ask Lindon to the great tea in his study.  A little in awe of the
+hypercritical god, he had held Lindon in reserve, but Marsh had been
+conquered and that young gentleman was critical and seldom approved
+of parents.  "An outworn institution," he always declared as he
+observed them on Prize Day.
+
+Marsh, however, rose to great heights of enthusiasm and made the tea
+party an unqualified success.  It was true there were not enough
+buns, owing to the repetition of some guests before the plate reached
+others, and the kettle fell off the fire and soaked the muffins.
+These were incidents.  The great event was Mr. Dean's stories of Asia
+Minor.  And it was Marsh who kept him going, Marsh with an incredible
+knowledge of strange Eastern ways, and an insight and intelligent
+curiosity that amazed John's father.  When the bell went and they all
+trooped away, John knew it had been a triumphant day.
+
+Mr. Dean left the next morning.  He had business to attend to before
+his holidays, but he crowned his success with his last act.  He asked
+Vernley, Marsh and Lindon to join him and John for the first
+fortnight of the summer holidays.  He had taken a house at Grasmere
+for a month, after which he and John were making visits to his
+friends.  With this promise of a happy reunion, Mr. Dean left them.
+
+That holiday became a great memory to John.  They had a small house
+that nestled on the side of Fairfield, with wonderful views from all
+its windows of Grasmere and the lovely little lake, the road to
+sylvan Rydal, the fern covered side of Red Bank.  These were days
+when they all set out, knapsack on backs, with stout boots, shorts
+and sweaters, to climb the mountains.  And what talk was theirs!
+There was Marsh with his inimitable irony; where did he gather all
+that he knew?  Mr. Dean said that he must be a reincarnation.
+
+"No, please!" retorted Marsh.  "Have you noticed how all the cranks
+who profess to be reincarnations always claim something regal or
+aristocratic or famous, for their previous existence?  Mr. Smith will
+tell you he was Marc Antony, while little Miss Titmouse, who lives on
+nuts and uncooked food, and believes bad thoughts make bad weather,
+will assure you she was mother to Marcus Aurelius, which in some way
+explains that fellow's incessant moralising.  Now if I have to be a
+reincarnation, let me be original.  I don't want to be an echo of
+Demosthenes, or a second edition of Hannibal, or Henry the
+Eighth--I'm much more likely to have been dustman to Ptolemy the
+First, providing there were dustmen in that era."
+
+
+In the evening, after dinner, when tired in every limb with a long
+jaunt across the mountains, with that pleasant ache that follows
+exercise, they would sit in the lamp-light listening to a reading
+from the poets; or a passage descriptive of the ground they would
+explore on the morrow.  Perhaps, after many requests, Lindon would
+sit at the piano and play a ballade or a sonata, while they looked
+out across the gathering gloom at a solitary light on the opposite
+side of the valley; and they would notice how bright and lonely were
+the stars hanging over the mountain heights.  As John sat there in
+the dimly lit room with his friends and his father, listening
+intently, a deep melancholy stole into his heart.  This might never
+happen again, this strange jolly time, and there was his future in
+the world and all life so strange before him.  But the sadness of
+these reflections brought him a glow of pleasure.  He felt so acutely
+conscious of everything, he seemed so capable in this fresh
+experience of Life to accomplish anything he wanted.  So he let
+himself dream pleasantly, which Vernley would notice and suddenly
+exclaim, "Scissors has gone East again!" for it was that old far-away
+expression which had so often come into John's face, but was rarer
+now.
+
+So with crowded hours the end of the holiday came.  Invitations to
+spend a week at Vernley's and at Marsh's were accepted, the rest of
+the holiday was to be spent by John and his father together.  They
+travelled down with Vernley from Windermere to his home, and here Mr.
+Dean once more entered that large world of men and affairs with which
+he had lost touch.  His holiday in England was not unconnected with a
+proposal that might result in his permanent return a few years hence,
+for which he was striving.  It was essential that John should be kept
+in England and have a large field of opportunity at his disposal.  He
+had made arrangements with Mr. Fletcher for John to enter at King's
+College when his time ended at Sedley, as it would, next year.  It
+would be time enough then to decide upon John's career, if the boy
+had not revealed any preference.
+
+He liked the Vernleys and was glad to find John had chosen his
+friends so well.  He had hoped to take his son on a visit to some of
+his own friends, but it was obvious that John had chosen his friends
+with a regard for their quality of character.  There was something
+very open and faithful about young Vernley and this was reflected by
+the whole household.  However much Mr. Vernley might try to deceive
+himself, and believe and attempt to impress the belief that he was a
+man of affairs, Dean soon detected that he was naturally lazy and
+extremely good-hearted, with a passion for horses, a glass of port
+after dinner and a good cigar.
+
+As for Muriel, that little fairy danced her way into the father's
+heart as she had into the son's.  John had been very guarded in his
+remarks about Muriel, so guarded, that his father guessed all
+immediately.  Muriel herself soon decided that Mr. Dean should have
+been Mr. Ribble's brother.  There was the same genial, somewhat
+"curly-crinkly" appearance, as she called it, and as she confessed to
+him one evening when he had begged a kiss in return for a box of
+chocolates, she was glad he was not as serious as John, "who looks at
+me like a collie dog and wags his tail when I smile."  Mr. Dean
+laughed heartily at this, it was so truly descriptive of John, who
+followed her in silence and devotion.  When Mr. Dean left, he took
+Muriel on one side.
+
+"I wonder if I can ask you a favour?--it's for John's sake," he
+added, as she looked up at him.  "You see he has no brothers, and no
+sisters, which is even more important for a boy, and living somewhat
+lonely, I'm afraid he may become self-centred, which means being
+selfish, so I want you to be his official sister.  He'll talk to you.
+I think he'll even tell you his dreams and ambitions, things he would
+never tell to other boys because he feels he is just a little
+different from them.  I think he is, for instance, too highly
+sensitive.  I want him to grow out of that; and only sharing
+confidences will help him.  So I'm asking you, Muriel, to make a
+brother of him, if you will?"
+
+Muriel had never quite looked at it in this light; then she had a
+swift intuition that Mr. Dean was not in the dark.  A sister--that
+meant service in return.  It meant something more than having John as
+a courtier--it meant, yes, running after him a little bit if
+necessary, and--oh clever Mr. Dean!--sharing him with other friends.
+She promised readily.  She was going to be a sister to John.
+
+Another week and they had left the Vernleys and were at the Marsh's.
+John's father had been doubtful regarding young Marsh for a day or
+two.  There was no question of the boy's brilliance, but he
+distrusted precocious persons, and Marsh's omniscient cynicism was
+not healthy in a boy of seventeen.  He attached too much importance
+to the smartness of a thing.  All his opinions were original and
+brilliant, but they were dominated by those ends rather than by a
+love of truth.  It was not good that John should see the ridiculous,
+bizarre or cynical aspect of life before he had tasted its
+wholesomeness; and there was that in Marsh's character, so restless,
+so desirous of things because they were new rather than good or
+genuine, which made his judgments unbalanced for all their refreshing
+enthusiasm.
+
+But fuller knowledge of the boy modified these reservations.  His was
+a razor-edge intellect, and highly combative.  John, inclined to be
+sensitive, introspective, was shaken up and drawn out of himself by
+Marsh, who challenged all his ideas and made him defend them with
+passion.  Moreover, Marsh had, for a mere youth, an amazing range,
+not of experience, but of thought.  The literature of Greece, Rome,
+Germany, France and England were not strange to him.  He read rapidly
+and talked volubly; true, his ideas were ill-digested, but he had
+ideas, and they flowed in his conversation.  His curiosity was
+tireless as his enthusiasm.  On their Lakeland holiday Mr. Dean had
+been amazed by his turbulent spirits, his readiness to rhapsodise,
+argue, and run, swim, box, climb, read and eat at any time of the day
+and night.  He had no temper in the meaning of the word.  His
+equanimity was never shaken.
+
+"You know, sir," he said one day, "old Scissors thinks I'm the
+Voltaire of the party, but when he likes to wake up he can make us
+all take a back seat.  Sometimes his quiet efficiency annoys me.  He
+is always so infernally correct.  Something-like always does for me,
+whether it's a quotation or a figure, but Scissors always has the
+exact thing and knocks you down with it, and the queer thing is, that
+he's got imagination--and they don't often go together; you don't get
+the Scottish lawyer working with the Welsh preacher."
+
+Mr. Dean was amazed at this bit of schoolboy psychology, but it
+raised Marsh in his estimation, and from that time he saw there was
+something more than scintillating wit in Marsh's observation.  With
+this view of the boy, all his preconceptions of his parents were
+shattered on meeting them.  How came this bird of such bright plumage
+in so sombre a nest?
+
+Teddy Marsh met them at Loughboro Station, in exuberant spirits as
+usual.  "Good morning, sir," he cried, waving his straw hat as soon
+as he sighted the guests on the platform.  "Hello, Scissors, you
+rusty old blade!  Come along, sir, our wigwam on wheels awaits you.
+The pony's in a vile temper this morning, and will probably insist on
+going in the opposite direction.  Yes, they're all well, thanks.
+Mother's got a new creed--let's see, what was it when you were here
+last, Scissors, a Nutfooder or a Christadelphian, or was it
+Rawsonism?--well now she's a Sunrayer.  You'll hear all about it;
+they're a sect she's linked up with in middle America; they lie in
+the sunshine all day, think violet thoughts, and achieve salvation by
+sunburn.  The governor's horrified and threatens excommunication.
+All aboard?--won't that bag topple over?  Hold on, I'm going to
+tickle Flossie's flanks."
+
+He whirled the whip and with a running fire of questions, answers and
+comments, they rolled along the leafy lanes towards the vicarage.
+
+
+
+II
+
+As before, that visit was composed of long sunny days in the garden,
+endless tennis sets, or cricket parties at the Hall, and always in
+the evening, after dinner, there was Mrs. Marsh's wonderful playing
+in the drawing-room.  Tea-time was the favourite hour with John.  He
+always felt glad when he saw the maid, changed from her pink and
+white dress for the morning into official black and white, with lace
+cap, bearing the folding table which she set under the walnut tree.
+Then hammock chairs appeared; after that a white tea cloth, and the
+rattle of china and the glint of the silver sugar basin--how he knew
+the design!--two folding lids, with soft white sugar like flour
+inside--jampot and teaspoons and cake knives.  Then--after what
+seemed a long time--the glad tinkle of the tea-bell, with Mrs. Marsh
+crossing to the table, her first appearance for the afternoon.  Mr.
+Marsh would follow a few minutes late, and sometimes Teddie would
+rouse him in the study, where he dozed after lunch when the weather
+was hot.  Generally there were a couple of guests to make a tennis
+four, either the solicitor's daughter, or the governess from the
+Hall, who played the best tennis of any lady in the county and was
+always in danger of losing her situation because visitors at the Hall
+would always mistake her for the mistress.
+
+It was a merry tea-time.  Mr. Marsh was not always quite awake, and
+he had, at this function, quite a gift for Spoonerisms.
+
+"Pass me the plake, kease," he would say.
+
+"Certainly, sad," would respond Teddie.
+
+After tea, John's father and Mr. Marsh usually disappeared.  On two
+occasions they were challenged to a tennis double and to the
+amazement of exuberant youth, won.  But generally they disappeared at
+the end of the garden.
+
+"They've gone to talk roses again," commented Mrs. Marsh.
+
+"The governor's mouth's watering with the names Mr. Dean's given
+him--he'll go about talking Turkish to the gardener for the next two
+months," said Teddie.
+
+Dressing for dinner, too, was like a prelude to the delight of the
+meal and the music to follow.  John's dress shirt and jacket and
+trousers lay neatly spread out on the bed.
+
+There was, at six-thirty prompt, the copper jug, filled with hot
+water, with its initialled felt cover; and the country bathroom!
+John always wanted to sing in his.  There was the low music of the
+running water, the lucid green shimmer, reflected on the porcelain
+sides, sending waves of rippling light over the ceiling.
+
+Then, with gleaming shirt front and glossy hair, an immaculate boy
+would descend to the drawing room and wait with the others for the
+dinner gong.  John soon grew to love those country sounds just before
+dinner; through the windows glowed long stretches of wooded country;
+often a thrush marked even song, and there was the retiring twitter
+of the birds.  A cow driven byre-wards lowed in the valley, and the
+cawing of rooks in the Hall drive came on eddyings of the evening
+breeze.
+
+At lamplight in the drawing-room, after coffee, Teddie would raise
+the dark reflective lid of the grand.
+
+"Now, Mother, come and break the Beckstein," he said; almost a
+formula, that sentence, to John.  And Mrs. Marsh would rise and seat
+herself at the keyboard, carefully adjusting the height of the seat,
+moving back the music-rack slide, playing a preparatory major scale,
+that descended in the minor, before proceeding to the real business.
+
+Then, a momentary silence, the death of talk, and the first notes
+trembling into harmony.  Never would John forget that first night on
+which, squatting on the floor at his father's feet, he heard Mrs.
+Marsh play Schumann's _Papillons_, It opened a new world to him; he
+seemed to be looking down a long grove of trees into a glade filled
+with moonlight, where an intruding wind, lost and hesitating, ran
+from bough to bough awakening whispers.  That hesitating prelude, the
+slow, then quickening announcement of the theme, and the glad,
+butterfly-flutter of the melody, dying away again into melancholy and
+silence.
+
+Somehow, as John sat there, with his father so near, it brought back
+other nights, nights on that verandah overlooking the silver Yeshil
+Irmak, as it flowed singing along the dark gorge, with the high moon
+peering over the cliffs of Amasia; and a great longing filled him to
+be back there again just once, to sit in that hot, spiced dusk, to
+hear the tinkle of the camel bells from the highway, and perhaps the
+soft voice of Ali, dear old Ali, dignified and melancholy, sitting
+cross-legged, and reading every mysterious sound of that Eastern
+night.
+
+"There, that's enough for me," cried Mrs. Marsh, breaking across
+John's reverie.  "Come along, John, you've got to sing."
+
+"John, sing?" cried Mr. Dean.  "I never knew he could sing."
+
+"I can't, Dad, it's Mrs. Marsh's idea!"
+
+"But he can!  Come along, John," and she struck the opening chords of
+"Drink to me only."  "Why, Mr. Dean, your lazy son used to sit here,
+watching me work night after night, and it was only by accident I
+found he had a voice--I heard him singing in the bathroom one
+morning."
+
+"Mother's heard me in the bathroom," said Teddie, "but that's why she
+doesn't ask me."
+
+"No shirking, John," called Mrs. Marsh, replaying the opening bars,
+and obediently John stood up and sang in a light baritone voice.
+When he had finished there was applause.  There was feeling in John's
+voice; the spirit breaking through the flesh.
+
+"You should hear him sing, 'Who is Sylvia?'  Mr. Fletcher makes him
+sing it," said Teddie.
+
+"But Mrs. Marsh has no music," answered John finding a loophole for
+escape.
+
+"You fraud--you know you can play it."
+
+Mrs. Marsh jumped up.  "I believe he can do lots of things--and he
+sits selfishly here listening to us all blundering."
+
+John sat down, placed his hands on the keyboard, and began softly,
+being very nervous, chiefly because his father was listening.
+
+  "_Who is Sylvia, what is she?
+  That all her swains commend her.
+  Holy, fair and wise is she;
+  The heavens grace did lend her,
+  That adored she might be._"
+
+
+"And now that's finished," said Teddie, "let's have Sedley Field
+Song."
+
+"You asked me to sing 'Who is Sylvia,'" retorted John.
+
+"I know, but ours is better."
+
+"All right then, here you are,"--and once more John's hands pressed
+down the black and white keys while his voice went soaring into
+"Field Song."
+
+  "_Summer days, winter days, when a fellow's young
+  And friends are many and pains are few,
+  When the ball going over filled every fellow's lung
+  With cheers for--_"
+
+
+Yes, those were beautiful nights in the lamp-lit vicarage
+drawing-room.  Their memories sank deep into the heart of a happy
+impressionable boy.  But one more impression.  Enter, on Thursday
+night, two days before the termination of their visit, Veronica, aged
+seventeen and all the Spring sweetness thereof.  It was thoughtful of
+Mrs. Marsh to ask a lonely girl from a neighbouring manor house, but
+she could not have seen the effect on John.  He first saw her in the
+hall.  He had just come down the stairs, immaculate and well-groomed,
+with shining hair and the rose-red of health in his face.  He heard a
+mingling of voices--Mrs. Marsh's and another--that other!  His heart
+stopped.  It was like the trill of a bird.  Then he saw a flimsy
+cloak fall away, revealing a thin, elfin girl, with gleaming
+shoulders and a dress swan-like in the dim hall light.  She turned
+and he could see her face--an oval, petite face with a little
+whimsical mouth which might be just going to laugh or cry, and the
+small head tumbling with curls, short and bobbed, and shaking as she
+turned.  It was a vision and the youth on the stairs paused--would
+she vanish into the darkness of the doorway again, or--
+
+"Here's John," said Mrs. Marsh coming forward.  "Veronica, this is
+John Dean, Teddie's friend."
+
+"How d' you do," she said to John, and half held out her hand, but
+John, embarrassed, withheld his, and then bowed stiffly.  Mrs. Marsh
+noticed his gaucherie, and guessed the cause.
+
+"You're to take Veronica into dinner," she said, leading the way to
+the drawing-room.  He should have said something polite in response,
+but he walked like a stick at the side of the girl, tongue-tied, and
+furious at his own stupidity.  He had never known his self-possession
+to desert him in this manner.  Even Muriel had not left him
+speechless.  Here, he began a comparison with Muriel, and felt a
+twinge of disloyalty.  Of course he was not disloyal---and disloyal
+to what?  But the thought perturbed, with the result that Miss
+Veronica Chase, used to adoration, found the good-looking youth at
+her side very dull, despite his romantic appearance.  The entrance of
+Teddie with "Hello, Veronica old thing!" relieved the tension, and by
+the time they were seated at dinner, John had found his tongue.  He
+had asked her if she lived thereabouts, when followed a minute
+description of their old manor house, with one of the thousands of
+beds which that poor restless queen, Elizabeth, was reported to have
+slept on.
+
+"Why don't you and Teddie came over to-morrow for tea?  It's only two
+miles from here."
+
+"I should like to very much," said John.  What an enchanting little
+hand she had; he watched the thin fingers as they played with a fork.
+When she turned to speak to Teddie, he took the opportunity to study
+her profile, fascinated by the beautiful curve of her neck, the
+little pink ear, half clouded in a curl, the mouth--with its pensive
+corners.  This is perfection, thought John.
+
+  "_Ah, Boy, it is a dream for life too high,
+    It is a bird that hath no feet for earth:
+  Strange wings, strange eyes, go seek another sky,
+    And find thy fellows of an equal birth._"
+
+--He recalled Richard le Gallienne's lines.  And the real John
+disappeared that night--he was a creature of mono-syllables, and
+Marsh had no flint on which to strike the sparks of his wit.  He
+realised that John had been swamped in the flood of Beauty, and
+gallantly came to the rescue.  True, John emerged somewhat in the
+drawing-room, and to-night, he sang readily and well, his effort
+being repaid by Veronica's "you sing beautifully--I could listen all
+night," although she jarred somewhat slightly by adding, "Do you know
+any comic songs?"  Though he abhorred them, John would gayly have
+responded, and made a note to add a comic song to his repertoire.
+
+The end of the evening came all too soon; the car waited outside to
+bear her away.  The two boys lingered round it while the chauffeur
+tucked the rugs about his young mistress.  Then she went with a
+farewell wave of the hand and a musical "Good night," which John,
+standing there in the porch, heard drift up to the star-light.
+
+"Are you going to stand there forever, O stricken heart?" asked
+Marsh.  "I want to fasten this door--and bar Love out."
+
+John went in.  Upstairs, in their room, he was silent.
+
+"Scissors, you poor impressionable young calf, I hope you're not
+going to pine away in the night."
+
+"Oh shut up!"
+
+"That is not a gift of mine, as you know.  Scissors, old thing,
+you're racing your phagocytes, as Metchnikoff would say, since all
+love is stimulation.  She isn't worth it.  I know old Veronica.
+She's a heart-cracker.  She counts her conquests by the hundred."
+
+"I don't think it's very decent of you to--" began John, a little
+peevish.  Marsh's flippancy irritated him.
+
+"To abuse our guest?  No, it's not, Scissors, but I don't want to see
+you going about with sticking plaster on your heart.  Old Veronica
+and I understand each other perfectly.  She cracked me once, and then
+laughed.  That kid hasn't the brains of a beetle; she's merely an
+agitator of pink youth.  Flirt with her, yes, and she'll give you a
+good time, for she's got a sporting instinct--but don't take her
+seriously--she doesn't know what it means.  Did you hear her ask you
+for a comic song?--and you did sing well to-night, Scissors--the
+nightingale to his mate."
+
+Marsh touched the tender spot.  That comic song request rankled.
+
+"You didn't talk much with her?" asked Marsh.
+
+"No."
+
+"Well--do so to-morrow.  Ask her what she reads, what she likes, the
+pictures she prefers.  She's got a mind like an illustrated Sunday
+paper--you've had the comic supplement to-night."
+
+John groaned.  Marsh's arrows always hit.
+
+"I think you're beastly about her," he said desperately.
+
+"No, I'm not.  Veronica and I are great pals, but she doesn't come
+deer-stalking on this estate.  You're a sweet kid, Scissors, and I'm
+not going to let you cry yourself to sleep for a butterfly with the
+brains of a bat!"
+
+"Oh rot--you do rag, Teddie."
+
+"Well, well, dear infant, just investigate to-morrow."
+
+Why did Marsh delight in pricking balloons?  He was right: horribly
+right, thought John, as they drove away from the manor house next
+evening.  That afternoon had been one long disillusionment.  She was
+just as beautiful, just as attractive, and John feasted his eyes and
+heart on her.  But she made a mistake when she took him down to pick
+gooseberries, in the far end of the garden, away from the others.
+
+"Give me your hand," she cried, and he helped her up the bank.  He
+tried to master an impulse to squeeze it, and just failing, was going
+to, when she anticipated him.  That sent the first cool little wind
+around his heart.  She laughed frankly into his eyes.  She was
+irresistibly beautiful, "and she knows it," thought John.
+
+"Shut your eyes, Scissors, and open your mouth."
+
+He obeyed.  A cool thin hand held his chin, the fingers of another
+pushed a berry in his mouth.
+
+"Swallow!"
+
+He swallowed obediently.
+
+"Open!" she commanded.
+
+He opened his eyes, her face was very near to his, her bewitching red
+mouth smiled at him, and he saw two little devils of mischief dancing
+in blue eyes that looked straight into his.
+
+John looked back into them.  There was a pause.
+
+"You're shy," she said reproachfully.
+
+"I know," he answered.  Her hand slid off his shoulder.
+
+"I wonder who's winning the game," she said, moving towards a bush.
+"Perhaps we ought to go back."
+
+"But I want to talk to you," said John.
+
+"Do you?--you are a strange boy," Veronica said.
+
+"I'm not a boy--at least, no more than you are a girl," he retorted
+somewhat resentfully.
+
+Another silence.  They came to a summer house with a table in it, on
+which a book was turned down.  John picked it up.  It was by a
+popular woman novelist whose sex sentimentality swamped the
+bookstalls.
+
+"Do you read Amelia Serkle?" she asked.  "I love them."
+
+"No---I've never read her books--are you fond of reading?"
+
+"Awfully."
+
+"What do you like?  Have you read Conrad?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Wells--or Bennett?" he added.
+
+"Yes--one of Bennett's--I didn't like it.  I like Amelia Serkle and
+Helena Thinne best."
+
+"Oh," said John.  She was fast losing marks.
+
+"And poetry, I adore poetry!" she said ecstatically.
+
+"So do I," said John, warming.  "Isn't Masefield splendid, and
+Thompson and Swinburne--"
+
+"I haven't read any of those, I think.  I like Laurence Hope, and oh,
+I love Ella Wheeler Wilcox!  Do you know her 'Poems of Passion?'"
+
+"I looked at them--once," said John.  There was no hope left in his
+voice.  He did not disguise the fact very successfully.
+
+"We'd better go back," she said.
+
+They joined the others, who had finished their set.  It was late and
+Marsh suggested going.
+
+"Good-bye," he said, at the end of the drive, down which Veronica
+accompanied them.  Even then John marvelled at her beauty, enhanced
+by the setting of those elms and the old manor house.
+
+"Good-bye," she said, offering John her hand.
+
+"Good-bye," he responded.  And as he said the word it was obvious
+that they had lost all interest in each other.  It really was
+"Good-bye," and neither minded.
+
+Half a mile from the house, walked in comparative silence, Marsh
+burst into laughter.
+
+"What's the joke?" asked John.
+
+"I can't help laughing at that poor kid--she's so crude."
+
+"Who--Veronica--why?"
+
+"I'm wondering how many romances she's killed in the gooseberry
+bushes."
+
+John glanced angrily at Marsh, and then the humour of it caught him
+and he laughed also.
+
+"How did you guess?" he asked.
+
+"Because I've shut my eyes and opened my mouth," said Marsh.  "Poor
+old Veronica.  She is a flirt!  If only she had brains--just a few.
+And there are a lot like her.  Now, I'll tell you of a girl that's my
+type, jolly sensible too.  I want to see more of her next Prize Day."
+
+"Who?" asked John interested.
+
+"Vernley's sister," replied Marsh.
+
+"Oh--yes," said John, knocking down a nettle with a swish of his
+tennis racquet.
+
+
+Then came the end.  The train drew away from Loughboro Station.
+John's father leaned back in his seat while John hung out of the
+window, waving to Teddie and Mr. and Mrs. Marsh on the platform,
+until the arch of the bridge shut them from sight.  John sank back
+into his seat.
+
+"Aren't they jolly, Dad!" he cried.
+
+"Splendid, old son,--you make good friends."
+
+
+
+III
+
+There was one unsuccessful event in their holidays, that was the
+visit to John's uncle.  Mr. Dean went, John thought, from a spirit of
+duty rather than pleasure.  John had only seen his uncle once, when
+he had come to the school on Prize Day and had treated John as a
+child of five and adopted an air of patronage towards his father,
+which the boy deeply resented.  They had not responded to each other
+in a single detail.  "Just like his father," said Sir Henry to his
+wife, the next day, "as impractical as Charles and as wayward.  The
+boy wants strong handling.  I told his house-master so."  He had
+departed without asking John home for the holidays, greatly to John's
+relief, for he would have gone in a spirit of martyrdom.  John felt
+he was resented because he was his father's son.  It must be galling
+to the uncle with no sons and two daughters, to know, unless he was
+more fortunate, that his nephew would inherit the title.  It was the
+one unsuccessful fact in Sir Henry's life.  He could and did ignore
+his brother, but hang it, he could not ignore his brother's son.  He
+never read without anger in the Baronetage, "Heir-presumptive,
+Charles Dean q.v."  and q.v. led him to John Narcissus Dean.
+Narcissus!  What a preposterous name to give a boy--to an heir!
+
+Their visit did not improve the mutual opinion.  Charles Dean
+resented his brother's air of patronage, his smug self-satisfaction,
+his ill-disguised vanity over his estates which somehow he seemed to
+attribute to his own ability.  Four tedious days, in which every
+minute held the possibility of friction, brought the visit to an end.
+John's father did not say much afterwards, but John realised all he
+thought.  Once only did he reveal in words what John surmised.
+
+"I hope you will never have cause to ask help from any
+relations--stand on your own feet, John," he said.
+
+John accompanied his father down to Southampton.  It seemed almost
+impossible that this was the end, that he would not see him again for
+two years.  How far away was Amasia--and now that they were together,
+so closely together, it seemed as if they had never been apart.
+
+"Two more years, John--and I shall have a directorship here--it won't
+be long, old son--you're seventeen and time flies at that age."
+
+They stood at the top of the gangway.  A gong was sounding, and an
+officer came down the deck.  "Visitors ashore, please!" he shouted.
+
+Father and son grasped hands.  It was a long tight grip, with John
+trying to look squarely into his father's eyes, summoning a stiff lip
+to his aid, the father simply saying,
+
+"Good-bye, dear lad."
+
+"Good-bye, Father."
+
+A loosening of the grip, a turn, and his feet were blundering down
+the steep, trellised gangway.  He halted on the quay, while the ship
+was being warped out.  They were too far apart for words, his father
+high up above him, leaning over the deck rail.  Now the boat was
+away, the last rope drawn aboard; the stern propellers thrashed the
+waters into a white foam, the gulls cried, wheeled and followed.
+John pulled out his handkerchief and waved it, though he felt soon he
+might have to put it to another use.  There was a responding flutter,
+and then distance grew between them, distance across which John's
+heart was stretching until it well nigh broke; a grey spot on the
+horizon, and it was all over.
+
+He walked along the quay, the rain began to drizzle down.  It turned
+cold and he shivered as he walked back to the station.
+
+England seemed a lonely place to live in.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+I
+
+A busy year, a year filled with little successes, trials and
+triumphs, and John, taller and a little quieter, perhaps too quiet
+for a healthy lad of eighteen.  He had achieved his object by winning
+the Mansell Exhibition, not of great value, it was true, but £50
+would help and the real value of success lay in the fact that his
+father would know he had worked since they had parted.  In June,
+Vernley and he had gone to Cambridge for the King's College entrance
+examination.  It had not troubled either of them greatly, although
+Vernley, with an unshaken belief in his own stupidity, swore he had
+been ploughed.  Their glimpse of Cambridge filled them with dreams of
+a golden age.  They stayed on for a couple of days after the
+examination and made visits and excursions.  Vernley's cousin was at
+Trinity and had a large bare room, reached by a winding staircase
+that looked on to the Backs, with a vista of bridges and elm-tree
+walks.
+
+The day after their return to Sedley, Mr. Fletcher sent for John.  It
+was late in the evening when young Jones came to his study with the
+summons, and John was just finishing a game of chess with Marsh.
+Vernley sat in the window trying to read "Henry Esmond" in the sunset
+light.  The Triumvirate, as they were called, had recently moved into
+this large room in the corner of the quadrangle.  It was regarded as
+the lap of luxury by the small boys who saw with envious eyes its
+easy chairs, the cretonne curtains and the piano which Marsh had
+imported.
+
+"Shan't be long," said John going out.  What could Fletcher want him
+for?  Perhaps a house matter--he was a prefect now.  He tapped at the
+green baize door, pushed it open, then crossed the small hall of the
+Fletcher household, and knocked again at the study door.  Mr.
+Fletcher bade him enter.
+
+"Oh--Dean, I want to see you--come in--sit down.  It's about a
+matter--a--" he hesitated.  Why did the man fumble so, and fidget
+with the blotter on his desk?  The room was almost dark, he could
+hardly see the master's face.  Suddenly Mr. Fletcher got up and
+walked across the room to the fireplace where he stood for a moment
+with his back to John.  Then abruptly he turned.
+
+"Dean--I hardly know what to say--how to tell you--I'm--I'm--you must
+be brave, my dear lad, but I know you will be--you will be," he
+repeated.  John just stared at him.  What had happened--and was he to
+blame in any way?
+
+"What's the matter, sir?" he asked.
+
+Fletcher drew near and put his hand on John's shoulder.
+
+"I have sad news, John.  Your father--"
+
+John started to his feet; why had Mr. Fletcher's hand trembled so?
+
+"There's nothing wrong, sir?" he asked, his heart sinking within him,
+for he knew now something was wrong.
+
+"No, not wrong, Dean--but everything that could be brave, and like
+him.  My poor boy, your father is dead--there--there, it is terrible
+for you, I know."  Mr. Fletcher pressed him down on to his seat again.
+
+"Dead!" said John,--"not--not dead, sir?" he pleaded, raising his
+hand as if to ward off a blow.
+
+"This letter has just come, Dean, by express post."
+
+John took it, and the master crossed the room to the electric switch.
+
+"I'd rather it was dark, sir,--I think I can see it," said John.
+
+"Certainly," replied Mr. Fletcher, and with an aching heart he
+watched the boy go to the window and peer over the letter.  It seemed
+an eternity before John turned and spoke.
+
+"There--there seems no hope, sir--the company has none," he said in
+an expressionless voice.
+
+"No, Dean, I fear not--it is terrible."
+
+"Yes," echoed John.
+
+Why did the boy stand there so silent, so emotionless, with the
+letter in his hand?  Anything was better than this unnatural calm.
+Did he realise yet?
+
+"Dad--died fighting," said John, jerkily.
+
+"Yes--to the last, they say.  He defended them magnificently--you
+have that to remember.  These massacres are terrible, terrible--I--"
+he paused.  Still John stood there.  Mr. Fletcher had expected an
+outburst, had prepared himself for it; and here they stood in the
+dark facing each other, silent; nothing but the ticking of the clock
+sounding in the abyss of these tense moments.  The entrance of Mrs.
+Fletcher was welcome.  She moved to John's side, saying nothing, but
+he felt her sympathy.
+
+Then, folding up the letter, "Thank you, sir.  I will go now," he
+said.
+
+"Yes, Dean--if you would like to stay here--we can--"
+
+"Thank you, sir, but I'll go--I'm--I'm all right, sir," he replied,
+moving towards the door.  Mrs. Fletcher, saw his drawn face.  He was
+so pitifully brave.  He had reached the door now, was turning the
+handle.  He hesitated a moment, they saw him pause and turn, then
+swiftly he moved towards them, flung himself face down on the couch,
+buried his face in the cushions, and sobbed like a child.
+
+Mrs. Fletcher sat down beside him, and motioned to her husband to go.
+He went out silently, leaving them in the dark room.
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Fletcher--my dear Dad!  My dear Dad!"
+
+Mrs. Fletcher put her hand on the bowed head and stroked his hair.
+There was nothing to say; she sat there, simply, her sympathy tending
+him, until the storm passed.
+
+
+
+II
+
+John never forgot the details of those three days that followed.
+First there was the anxiety of his father's fate.  That he was dead
+he knew beyond hope, but there was a lack of details, of the manner
+and the circumstances.  The letter from Messrs. Agnew & Cust merely
+quoted the cable they had received stating the death of his father at
+Amasia defending some Armenians who had taken refuge in his house
+during a massacre.  That was all, and three days elapsed before they
+wrote again, enclosing another cable which said that his father had
+been shot through the head, had died instantaneously, while fighting
+his way out, with his servants, to effect a juncture with a relief
+detachment from the American hospital at Marsovan, where his body had
+been conveyed and buried.  John wondered whether his father lay in
+that cemetery where, on a memorable day he had seen him crying over
+the grave of his mother.
+
+During those days of waiting, John realised, more deeply then before,
+the meaning of friendship.  Vernley and Marsh were always with him.
+They said little, for what could they say?  They knew that John had
+rather they did not touch upon the knowledge so heavy on their
+hearts, and sometimes their watchfulness, their eagerness to serve
+him brought him to a point of open breakdown.  For his own sake John
+went on with his form work.  It was a slight distraction from the
+anxiety of the days that must pass before a letter could come from
+Asia Minor.  One night, about a week after the receipt of the news,
+Vernley and Marsh sat in their study doing their preparation.  John
+had been sent for by Mr. Fletcher, and had been absent some time.
+Vernley looked at his watch.
+
+"Shall I get supper?" he asked--"Are you finishing?"
+
+"Yes," replied Marsh, closing his Euripides.  "I say, what a
+miserable devil old Euripides was; he's always talking about death.
+A good job some of his plays were burnt at Alexandria---there were
+ninety of 'em.  I hate thinking about death."
+
+"And just now--with poor old Scissors," added Vernley.
+
+"By the way, Bobbie," said Marsh, flinging one leg over the arm of
+his chair, "what's Scissors going to do?  I don't like asking him."
+
+"Do--how do you mean?"
+
+"His future--you see there's the money question.  I don't know much
+about his affairs--but Cambridge means money--and I don't know
+whether his governor had any--he seemed too jolly for money-making."
+
+"Oh, he'll have left some--and there's the Exhibition," said Vernley.
+Money matters were always easily dismissed in his presence.  "He'll
+be all right, I expect."
+
+"Well--we've got to see."
+
+"But it's no business of ours."
+
+"It is," retorted Marsh.
+
+"It is?" asked Vernley.
+
+"Yes--supposing there is no money?"
+
+Vernley had never supposed such a thing.  He was silent a moment,
+thinking.
+
+"You mean--he must go to Cambridge with us?"
+
+"Of course--and that's three hundred a year."
+
+"Three hundred?" said Vernley.  He had never realised that so much
+was being spent on him.  Then quietly, "Well--if old Scissors is
+stuck, we'll find it somehow."
+
+"That's what I'm driving at.  Three years at three hundred a year is
+nine hundred pounds--and that's college expenses only.  It'll mean a
+thousand all told."
+
+"That's nothing--my guvnor'll never miss it.  He'd do anything for
+Scissors," said Vernley, cutting the cheese.  "He'd adopt him and
+depose me to-morrow."
+
+"And there's my governor--he'd want to come in," said Marsh.
+
+"Well, there you are, that's settled!"  Vernley took a large slice of
+cucumber.  He disposed of money problems just as easily.
+
+"But it's not settled, my child.  You've forgotten the chief person
+in the settlement--there's Scissors."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"You can take a mule to the water, but you can't make him
+drink--suppose he wouldn't be helped?"
+
+"Oh--he would!--he'd be quite decent about it--he'd know it would
+please us.  But I don't think we need worry.  He's sure to have some
+money and there's his relations."
+
+"From all I've heard of his relations--we've a better chance,"
+commented Marsh.  "I suppose you guessed why Scissors refused the
+captaincy of the beagles last winter?"
+
+"He wanted to work for his Exhibition."
+
+"It wasn't that--really--he couldn't afford it."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I heard him making discreet enquiries as to how much it would
+cost--and old Scissors wanted it awfully."
+
+"I never knew that--I wouldn't have been captain had I known."
+
+"That's why I didn't tell you," Marsh explained, "but it shows you
+that Scissors gets pressed.  If he only--"
+
+"Ssh," whispered Vernley as the door handle rattled.  John entered.
+He looked worried and carried a letter.
+
+"News?" asked Marsh eagerly.
+
+"No--only a letter from the firm--about a job," said John.
+
+"A job?" queried Vernley.
+
+"Yes--they've offered me a junior clerkship at £80 a year in case I
+need it."  He did not add that the wording had cut him to the quick
+with its "in excess of the customary figure at which our junior
+clerks begin, but in view of probable necessitous circumstances," etc.
+
+"But you're going up to Cambridge with us!" cried Marsh.
+
+"Of course, or we don't go," added Vernley.
+
+"I don't know," said John, sitting down wearily.  "It depends,--I may
+not be able.  I don't know yet how I'm--"
+
+"If it's a matter of--" began Marsh, when a warning look from Vernley
+cut him short.
+
+"You're sure to hear soon, Scissors--I shouldn't worry yet," said
+Vernley.  "We're all going up together, we've always said so.  You
+know if you only think hard enough it always is so."
+
+"Sounds like the mater and the Higher Thought circle," commented
+Marsh, wondering what plan Vernley had suddenly conceived when he
+sent that warning signal.
+
+"Well--anyhow, I could eat something," said John, putting the letter
+in his pocket.
+
+"Righto!--draw up!" said Vernley, passing the bread and cheese.
+"Oh--I've written home to say that you'll spend the holidays with us."
+
+"He won't--at least he'll spend part with me," corrected Marsh.
+
+"Thanks--but I can't make any plans, you see I don't know what's
+going to happen yet."
+
+"But you must go somewhere, Scissors," cried Vernley lightly.  The
+moment he had said it, and saw the dumb pain in John's eyes he would
+have torn his tongue out to retrieve the careless remark.  "Scissors,
+I don't mean it that way--you know I don't!" he added desperately.
+
+"No, I know you don't," agreed John, swallowing hard, and trying to
+look steadily back.  They ate their supper in silence.  Even Marsh's
+forced gaiety failed.
+
+
+The weeks leading to the end of the term went swiftly.  Bit by bit
+the news dribbled through, news of how his father had been
+killed--this in a letter from the doctor at the American Mission.
+His father had been buried next to his mother at Marsovan, under the
+same almond tree whose blossom John could still picture in his mind,
+so deeply was the first impression etched.  Then later came Mr. Glass
+from his father's company, somewhat surprised and hurt at John's
+refusal of the clerkship.  His father had been insured for £500.
+There was that, and a small balance at the bank, not more than £600
+in all.  Was he wise in refusing the opening, which would lead, in
+years to come, to a very good position?  John looked at Mr. Glass,
+with his bald head, large stomach and expressionless face, and the
+result of success did not appeal to him.  Mr. Glass prepared to
+depart.
+
+"Well, you may think better of it, my boy.  Your father would have
+wished it, I know.  I don't see what more we can do for you--but
+there, if you do change your mind and need us, we are there,
+remember."
+
+Clumsily done, but well meant, and John realising this, thanked him
+and shook the hand extended towards him.  After Mr. Glass had gone
+Fletcher looked at John.
+
+"I suppose you intend going up to King's?" he said.  "I think you
+will pull through all right with care."
+
+"No, sir, I feel I ought to begin doing what must be done--earn my
+living.  Six hundred pounds is not much, and I shouldn't feel happy
+knowing that I was using it up."
+
+"But Cambridge may lead to opportunities--a Fellowship--at least a
+degree, which is useful.  At the worst you can become a--a
+schoolmaster."  He smiled apologetically for the joke against himself.
+
+"And meanwhile, sir, make expensive friends and acquire expensive
+tastes?  Why shouldn't I do the last thing first, and learn whether I
+have the inclination."
+
+"The last?" queried Mr. Fletcher.
+
+"Yes, sir, I thought of getting a junior mastership--if I could.  A
+year would not matter greatly.  If I failed at that--then I would go
+up to Cambridge--it would not be too late."
+
+"No, but you are wasting a year."
+
+"Yes, sir, but I want--oh, I feel I must work it all out.  I'm afraid
+you don't understand, sir," added John lamely.
+
+"I think I do--this has altered your whole life, or at least you feel
+so--nothing really does affect our lives to anything like the extent
+we imagine it does.  Experience proves that we are always ourselves.
+As for a mastership--it is not easy without a degree.  I have a
+friend at a scholastic agency.  If you wish I will write to him--that
+is, if you want to take this step.  Personally, I advise you to--no,
+I won't advise you, John--you must decide for yourself."
+
+Two weeks after that conversation, John was glad of the step he had
+taken.  The insurance company had refused to pay the claim; the
+policy did not provide for the contingency in which Mr. Dean lost his
+life.  John's capital now was £132.  Mr. Fletcher's friend had
+obtained for him a junior mastership at a preparatory school in
+Hampshire.
+
+"Sixty pounds a year, Dean, not much, but still you're a beginner--it
+will give you time to think," said Mr. Fletcher, handing him the
+letter.  John wrote accepting the offer.  There were vigorous
+protests from Vernley and Marsh.  At the end of the term, after a
+terrible wrenching from the school, his friends, the Fletchers, and
+all the beloved corners and places and daily events of four happy
+years, he went down with Vernley to his home.  The latter still
+believed that John would accompany him to King's.  Marsh had gone
+home with the same belief.  Vernley's faith was based on the ability
+of his father to bring John round to common sense.  There was a talk
+one afternoon in the library that brought a lump into John's throat,
+and a mist into his eyes, as he listened to the self-effacing
+generosity and kindly plans of the big, bluff man sitting in front of
+him.  But he remained true to his decision.  Mr. Vernley mopped his
+brow, hot with the attempt to suggest, as delicately as possible, a
+way out, and afraid all the time of hurting the boy's feelings.  John
+thanked him in a voice that trembled.
+
+"Well, well, John, you're an obstinate boy, but I won't worry you.
+You can do me a great favour by keeping an eye on Bobbie, and you
+won't--and I'll owe you a grudge all my life.  But if you do want to
+give me real pleasure--then come to me whenever you will--I won't say
+more than that.  You understand, my boy, don't you?" and with that he
+placed a kindly hand on the lad's shoulder.  "And--'pon my word, I
+admire your grit--you're the right stuff!"
+
+Dismay, blank dismay, was written on Vernley's face when he heard of
+the result.  It was no use appealing to John--the latter had heard
+him to the limit of his patience.  Vernley went to Muriel.  She could
+act when others failed.  To his amazement she did not agree.
+
+"Scissors is quite right.  You can say what you like, or put it how
+you like, but it's charity, and John would know it, and you would
+know--and it might make a difference.  I think you're blind."
+
+"But why?" cried Vernley, plaintively.
+
+"John refuses to be helped simply because he thinks so much of
+us--he's not going to jeopardise his friendship by indebtedness or
+reasonable gratitude.  But you men never can see these things.  Only
+a woman understands."
+
+"Rot!" said Vernley, but he began to understand.  That night he wrote
+to Marsh.  "I shouldn't mention it any more, Scissors can't be
+shaken--the Governor's failed, and if your Governor tried he might
+suspect a plot and throw us all over.  Perhaps we'll have a chance
+later.  School teaching's a hell of a life."  True to his advice,
+Marsh dropped his own scheme, in which his father had concurred.
+When John arrived to spend September at the Vicarage the choice John
+had made was not opposed.  They had a jolly holiday, jolly in so far
+as John, with the momentous events of the last two months in his
+mind, could be light-hearted.  Often he looked into the future and
+sometimes was seized by despair at its hopelessness.  It was not the
+task confronting him.  Earning a living was the common lot of men,
+and the one in which they found most happiness.  It was his
+loneliness, the apparent futility of his life.  He was alone.  That
+was the awful thought.  This great, passionate world, and of all its
+millions, not one inseparably bound to him, to rise or fall with his
+success or failure!  Ungenerous, perhaps, this thought.  He had
+friends, such friends too!  But the possession of friendship meant
+independence; he was not going to be behind and be pulled along in
+the race of life.  They should have no cause to be sorry for him;
+rather would he have them eager to know him, to cherish his
+friendship the more for the success that he brought with it.  He was
+of a class that found it easier to do a favour than receive one.  He
+spent his life seeking, not a way out, but a way through.  He was now
+braced for the contest, and the sternness of it exhilarated him with
+the freshness of a morning sea.  He was diving from a great height of
+sunlit friendship into the cold sea of life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+I
+
+In the art prospectus, printed on a glazed paper with many choice
+illustrations, Chawley School was a perfect place.  The school, once
+a manor, celebrated for its architectural beauty, was situated in a
+magnificent park of five acres, with an ornamental lake and a drive
+one mile long.  The gardens in front of the house were extensive and
+well kept.  One of the illustrations showed fifty small boys, all
+dressed alike, in grey shorts and blue flannel jackets, with grey
+socks with red tops, and straw hats with red bands, squatted on the
+splendid lawn, all showing bended bare knees and round happy faces.
+In their midst were three masters, one middle-aged and two quite
+young, and a lady.  The letterpress under this charming picture of
+sunlit foliage and smiling humanity, said "Afternoon Tea."  The
+prospectus also mentioned the covered swimming pool in the grounds,
+the boys' own garden, the large airy dormitories and class rooms.  It
+then drew rapturous attention to the staff.  The school was run by
+the Rev. Shayle Tobin, M.A., Scholar of Balliol College, Oxford, with
+a double first, a blue for cricket, and for some years famous as a
+half-back.
+
+One Sunday morning, six head boys, conscious of leadership and the
+great world of a public school approaching, shuffled their feet in
+the Manor pew in the village church.  Behind them in other pews sat
+other little boys, more angelic in appearance and devilish in action.
+They were all dressed alike, in black Eton jackets, white collars,
+grey trousers and shoes.  Even at the tender age of ten to thirteen
+their faces gave promise or otherwise.  The new young assistant
+master who sat guarding them in the third pew found himself studying,
+during the dreary sermon, the shapes of the heads ranged in front of
+him like turnips on a table.  There were long heads, round heads,
+oval, pointed, blunt, flat and dinted.  Handsome, well-made, ugly,
+emaciated, intelligent, stupid, good-natured, deceitful, mischievous
+and lovable.  John Dean ranged up and down the row.  This was his
+first Sunday morning in church.  It was his Sunday on duty; the other
+assistant master had gone into Southampton.
+
+The young assistant master was not the only critical person letting
+his thoughts wander from the Harvest Festival Sermon.  John gazed
+abstractedly at the figure of the Rev. Samuel Piggin, ringed round
+with bunches of carrots, a few grapes and six tomatoes balanced on
+the top of a sheaf of wheat, which demonstrated God's bounty, despite
+a ruinously wet summer and a harvest, half of which lay rotting in
+the fields.
+
+Miss Piggin, twenty-nine years of age, with spectacles, and ardent in
+romance, was quite thrilled by the first glimpse, as she turned to
+the East in the recital of the Creed, of the handsome young master.
+His profile would have enhanced the wrapper of those shilling
+reprints to which, for want of romance, she was addicted.  Nor was
+she alone in her sudden interest.  Several young ladies sitting
+behind John found great fascination in the clean curve from the nape
+of the neck up to the wavy brown head.  Other younger ladies,
+favourably placed in the side pews, could not have been more
+fascinated had Apollo himself renounced his pagan origin and come to
+church.  The proud mouth, the dark eyes, the fine brow surmounted by
+a wavy mass of chestnut hair, the whole poised on an athlete's
+shoulders, were attractions against which the sermon competed in
+vain.  The doctor's daughter, for three years determined to be a
+missionary's wife, found her gaze wandering from the altar to the
+school pew.
+
+One little boy with a freckled face and a genius for mischief, ceased
+making chewed pellets from a hymn sheet when he noticed the rapt
+attention directed towards the pew in which he sat.  He nudged the
+boy at his side, and both, suddenly conscious of the suppressed
+excitement that flowed over them, sniggered and brought a reproof
+from their new master.  Something in the freckled boy's mute mirth as
+he looked at him, caused John to turn round, when he met the troubled
+gaze of a dozen pairs of amorous eyes.  He quickly turned again and
+felt the blood mounting to his neck and face.  The little boys
+sniggered again.  John made a mental note not to the little boys'
+advantage.  Miss Piggin also made one--to call when her father paid
+his formal visit; and not to be outwitted, the doctor's daughter
+decided she would motor in with her father on Monday morning, when he
+paid his usual visit to examine all the boys at the beginning of term.
+
+Hitherto missionaries had absorbed her hero-worship, but then,
+assistant masters, as a class, had not seemed attractive.  The former
+master drank, to the scandal of the village, which met him in the bar
+of the "Red Cow" where he grossly libelled all those, and their
+wives, who kept preparatory schools.  His predecessor had a squint,
+the one before was lame, and the one before him was an old man of
+sixty, who had suddenly and most inconveniently died of bronchitis in
+term time.  Sixty pounds a year and free board somewhat limited the
+available supply of assistant masters.  Messrs. Sloggart and
+Slingsby, the scholastic agents, had told the Rev. Mr. Tobin that
+they were afraid he would have to add another ten pounds.
+
+John liked Mr. Tobin on first contact.  He was a man of about fifty
+years of age, with, a tanned face and kindly blue eyes.  The famous
+athlete was fast disappearing in a bulky schoolmaster, who added
+weight each term with considerable anxiety, coupled with a feeling
+that his appearance at least was a good advertisement of the school.
+He had a genuine love of boys and worked hard with them, being strict
+and kind, with a determination to do his best for them!  The boys, in
+fact, were watched day and night; convicts would not have had closer
+attention, and the same supervision extended to the two assistant
+masters.
+
+Mr. Tobin had little imagination, and the whole of it had been
+expended in the prospectus.
+
+The grounds of Chawley School were certainly extensive.  The former
+tenant, like the present, had found them too much so, and let them go
+wild.  The lawns on the front part of the house were kept tidy;
+elsewhere the walks were weed-grown.  The ornamental lake stank, and
+might have been the death place of Shelley's "Sensitive Plant."  The
+prospectus mentioned boating on the lake as one of the diversions of
+the fortunate boys.  The only boat was an old punt, one end of which
+had been long submerged among the water lilies.  It was the floating
+end that appeared in the prospectus photograph.  Afternoon tea on the
+lawn was also slightly different from the photograph.  Three quarters
+of the boys had never been on the lawn.  Every Sunday, as a reward,
+six top form boys, with the assistant master, were invited to tea
+with Mrs. Tobin on the lawn.  A fear of her presence was mingled with
+the love of her cake, and had the boys had a free will in the matter
+they had rather not have been rewarded.
+
+Mrs. Tobin was a tall woman of about forty-eight years.  She was cold
+and looked at people with eagle eyes.  Her voice was deep, her
+features gaunt, framed in straight brown hair brushed severely back.
+She had the full equipment of a bishopric's conventions and never
+forgot her very reverend origin.  She was the business woman, and
+constantly reminded her husband of the fact.  She knew that to make a
+school pay, it required at least fifty boys.  All over that number
+represented profit.  Chawley School had forty-nine boys.  She lived
+her days as though on the edge of a precipice.  Mr. Tobin, as became
+a sportsman, delighted in feeding his boys, and invited them to a
+second helping of favourite puddings.  Fortunate youngsters who sat
+at his end of the table!  At Mrs. Tobin's end a second request did
+not bring a refusal, but, "Are you sure you have not had sufficient?"
+John, who struggled desperately with his pies, found a problem in the
+differential calculus easier than the elementary mathematics required
+for cutting a pie into fourteen portions to the satisfaction of
+twelve hungry boys.
+
+Often, when his fourteenth turn came he received a small piece of pie
+crust as his share.  Sawley, a sharp little fellow who sat at John's
+right, soon noticed this and generously offered his share.  "We get
+more than usual now, sir," he explained.  "Why don't you serve
+yourself first?  The other masters always did."
+
+"Masters?" queried John.  "Why how many masters have you had?"
+
+The boy smiled, then looked cautiously round to Mrs. Tobin's table.
+
+"Six, sir," he whispered.
+
+"And how long have you been here?"
+
+"Six terms, sir."
+
+John's heart sank.
+
+"I don't expect you'll stay--will you, sir?" asked the boy in a burst
+of confidence.
+
+John snubbed him, in duty bound.  So he was one of a procession!  He
+began to understand the bubbling curiosity which his arrival had
+aroused.  His arrival!  That had marked the end of a long mood of
+despondency which began as soon as he had left the cheerful faces of
+the Marshs.  The misery he had endured in the three-mile ride from
+the station to the school!  Peering out of the window he watched the
+long road with its straggling cottages, brown and gold in their
+autumnal creepers.  Then the village stores with a fat man looking
+curiously at the school cab, next a rise and on the other side a
+glimpse, through the trees, of Chawley School, fronted by a broad
+stream and bordered by rook-haunted elm trees.  As the cab drew up at
+the main door, the Rev. Shayle Tobin came to greet him.  His box was
+taken up and he followed the head master into the wide hall.  There
+was no furniture in it except a round mahogany table with an electro
+plate card tray, and a hat stand.  The head-master's living
+apartments opened off on the right, and a wide corridor traversed the
+whole length of the building.  John was led to the left, which
+contained the class rooms.  If anything more had been needed to
+depress him the room, somewhat grandly called the Masters' Common
+Room, would have done it.
+
+"We have not had time to get straight yet.  The Matron will make this
+more comfortable soon," Tobin said.  There was certainly room for
+improvement.  A worn carpet covered the floor.  On the left side
+stood a small table covered with a crimson cloth stained with ink.
+The wall paper was a faded, patternless drab colour.  There were two
+chairs, one a basket chair with a short leg, the other a stiff
+Sheraton.  There were no pictures on the walls, the fire grate had
+two broken bars and no fender.
+
+The head-master next led the way to John's bedroom.  This appeared to
+be a great improvement.  The size of the room, in contrast to the
+Common Room, made John feel more lonely than ever, and he shuddered
+when he thought of winter mornings.  But it was well furnished in a
+heavy mid-Victorian manner.  There was a white, marble-topped wash
+stand with a red-flowered jug and basin, a large swinging mirror and
+wardrobe.  The carpet was faded but good.  This at least was an
+endurable room and he could live in it.
+
+It was shortly before tea on the first day of term that John met his
+colleague.  Gerald Woodman, a scholar of St. John's College, Oxford,
+was tall and heavily built for his twenty-five years.  He appeared
+much older because of his great reserve and a perpetual melancholy.
+He had dark hair and dark eyes, an enormous appetite and no
+sentiment.  In his short life he had arrived at a creed of absolute
+cynicism.  He talked with reluctance, but John found later that at
+heart he was a good fellow whose foibles were the inheritance of a
+period of religious mania.  He was now a robust atheist.  The Church
+no longer seemed a desirable refuge; he had become a schoolmaster.
+Although fourteen stone in weight, he was possessed by a fear of
+starvation and deplored his thinness; when in cricket flannels, his
+thighs wobbled so much that all the boys grinned, but even this did
+not reassure him.
+
+John had recently passed through the brief pimply period inseparable
+from youth, and in desperation one day bought a bottle containing
+five hundred blood pills.  As if alarmed at the prospect, the pimples
+immediately disappeared.  Mr. Woodman saw the pills on John's
+dressing table and asked if he might have a few to set his blood in
+order.  John gave him them.  Those pills probably saved the first
+assistant master from a second nervous breakdown.  He swallowed five
+after each meal and declared with deep satisfaction that he was
+putting on weight; he was optimistic until the bottle was finished,
+when his habitual melancholy returned.
+
+Their first evening at Chawley School was spent in a conference with
+the Head-master who drew up the curriculum.  The hours were arranged
+between them.  John received one afternoon per week off duty and the
+alternate Sundays.  The class hours were 8:30 a.m. to 11, a break of
+half an hour during which they supervised games, then 11:30 to 1 p.m.
+An hour for lunch, then work until 3 p.m.  Games followed until five,
+a period during which John changed into football shorts and raced
+about the field in a scrimmage of shouting boys.  He enjoyed this and
+quite forgot all his woes.  Tea was at five, a blessed interval of
+one hour's peace, then school again until 7:30, when the boys went up
+to bed.  Dinner, in the household apartments, with Mrs. Tobin in an
+evening gown and facetiously cheerful, was at eight.  After dinner
+the two masters left the rosy warmth of the dining room for their own
+bare quarters, where the interval between dinner and bedtime was
+spent in the correction of the day's exercise books; a monotonous
+routine, dulling the senses, and demoralizing human beings with its
+hopelessness.  There was no sense of advancement.  The end of the
+term came slowly, then the holidays, then term again, with the same
+subjects to drill into the same reluctant little boys.
+
+Mr. Woodman, in a voice of deepest melancholy, foretold all this on
+the first night.  When he learned that John was new to his profession
+he smiled at him like a butcher on a good sheep delivered for
+slaughter.
+
+"Whatever made you do it?" he asked.  "Do anything, be a scavenger, a
+policeman--you will at least retain your self respect.  You will not
+have to endure the chilliness of schoolmasters' wives, the scorn of
+parents, the buffoonery of boys.  We are fools out of motley,
+something masquerading as gentlemen on the stipend of stevedores.  My
+God, Dean, pack your trunk and flee to-night.  This is the end of all
+things.  Have you dreams, ambitions, hope, courage, youth?  Abandon
+all who enter this profession!"
+
+John remonstrated.  There was the great opportunity of forming
+character, surely it was a noble thing to teach the young, to gain
+the confidence, if not the affection of boys, to watch them grow in
+intelligence, to trace the operations of their fresh minds slowly
+opening on a wonderful world?  Mr. Woodman listened patiently to
+John's panegyric, and peered at him over the top of the gold-rimmed
+spectacles he wore when correcting exercise books in the jumping
+incandescent light.
+
+"Dear me!  This is almost pathetic!  Your innocence moves me.  I hope
+you will pardon my saying you must be very young.  Eighteen?  Ah!
+that is a blessed age, but you have yet to learn what boys are.  Let
+me warn you and save you much pain.  They are devils incarnate.  And
+don't cherish any illusion about being a schoolmaster.  We are a race
+of pariahs.  At forty we have no feelings left; we are desiccated
+text books.  At fifty we are old fools haunting the doorsteps of the
+scholastic agents or short-sightedly sitting on the prepared pins of
+our loving pupils.  Don't think you will receive any gratitude for
+your labour; you won't.  Your cheque at the end of term wipes out all
+obligations.  After three years' close attention, they are not even
+your boys.  They pass on to a public school and repudiate you.  Boys
+are sent to preparatory schools by lazy parents who wish to get rid
+of the responsibility of their offspring, or by upstarts who want to
+start the new generation in the grooves of social respectability.
+They will hold you in utter contempt because you cannot do anything
+better than bring up their children for them.  Epictetus was a prince
+in comparison with the modern schoolmaster!"
+
+Woodman's theory, nevertheless, was not strictly applied.  He was
+firm with his boys, made them work hard and was a martinet in detail,
+but he was a sportsman and the boys responded to his sense of fair
+play.  As for John, by the third day of term, he was devoted to them,
+although hating more and more the dreary routine of his life.  It was
+fascinating to study this dozen or so of young lives given into his
+keeping, to note the amazing divergence of character which manifested
+itself so early.  John found himself looking through them to the
+parents beyond.  He had a perfect index to the home life and the
+characters that had influenced them.  The generous boy and the
+greedy, the frank and the secretive, the imaginative and the stolid,
+the sharp and the dull, the graceful, the strong, the quick, the
+ugly, the slow, the boy of bright honour, and the boy with a tendency
+to deceit, the potential coward or hero--they were all here in
+embryo.  Education after all was only a wind that could bend the
+branches, it could not change the nature of the plant.
+
+
+
+II
+
+At the end of the first week, John was in a highly nervous condition.
+The monotony of the work, the regularity of the hours, the seclusion
+in a small world, the absence of all friends and his isolation miles
+away from all who knew him and with whom he could talk intimately,
+preyed upon his mind until one evening he reached a point of frenzy.
+He banged down a pile of exercise books, kicked a cushion vigorously,
+and then swore at the wall, from the other side of which came sounds
+of a small boy practising Czerny's One Hundred and One Exercises for
+the pianoforte.  Woodman watched this outburst of wild rage with
+amusement.
+
+"Beat your wings, my poor little moth!  You will soon tire and
+subside--we have all passed along that _via dolorosa_," he commented.
+
+"It is unendurable!" cried John, flinging himself in a chair.
+
+"The capacity of man to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous
+fortu--"
+
+"Oh, shut up!" snapped John.  Woodman regarded him sympathetically.
+He had grown to like this bright lad, so freshly enthusiastic, and
+bit by bit he had learned his story.  In exchange he had shown John
+some of the poetry which he wrote secretly.  Strangely enough it was
+highly sentimental, the safety valve of suppressed romanticism.
+
+"Come on to the lake," he urged.  John followed.  It was their
+favourite pastime.  They had resurrected the old punt, and in danger
+of a wetting, they often pushed it along through the thick water
+lilies that bent under its prow, and slowly closed again on the track
+they made.  Meanwhile, the rooks, watching them from the elms above,
+cawed loudly, and the water hens showed alarm.  The two masters
+became incredibly young once they were in the punt.  They rocked it
+to see how near shipwreck they could go; they sang in a loud voice
+all the absurd ditties they could remember.  Had their young charges
+seen and heard them, it would have been an amazing revelation of the
+humanity of masters out of school.  As it was, Mr. Tobin complained
+that some of their noise had carried across the lawns to the open
+dormitory windows.  But they simply had to sing; it was their one
+outlet of pent up youth within them.  They would punt about until the
+dusk had given place to darkness, when the elms seemed gigantic and a
+rising moon peered in between the branches and watched the rippling
+reflection of her light.  Around them all was quiet save for the
+weird squeal of a weasel in the woodland or the melancholy hoot of an
+owl.
+
+One evening John was more noisy than ever, and Woodman threatened to
+capsize him, but there was good reason for this exhilaration.  The
+mail had brought an acceptance of a long poem from the Editor of the
+_British Review_.  He had written in competition with Woodman, who
+urged him to send it to an editor.  With no faith, but some hope,
+John obeyed.  His surprise, when the acceptance came, was unbounded.
+It was a long satirical story in the manner of Masefield.  John had
+feared it was too long, for it took twenty pages, and here were the
+proof sheets and the offer of three guineas for his work!  Those
+proof sheets kept him in a state of elation for several days.  He had
+never seen himself in print except in the school magazine, and here
+was a great review printing his work!  John cashed the cheque and
+ordered one pound's worth of copies of the review when it came out,
+which he distributed among his friends at some cost.  Then he must
+see the reviewers' comments, and another guinea went to a
+press-cutting agency, which sent all the advertisements containing
+his name, and one criticism, if the slightly disparaging dismissal
+could be termed a criticism--"Mr. John Dean contributes some verses
+of a satirical nature."  The net profit on the transaction was five
+shillings and sixpence which John invested in paper and envelopes.
+He had tasted printers' ink.  John had seen a way out.  He subscribed
+to the _Bookman_, devoured the _Times Literary Supplement_, and
+enquired the cost of joining the Society of Authors.
+
+
+By the middle of November, with its dark winter nights when the wind
+howled among the chimneys, swayed the leafless branches, scurried
+along the cold flags of the corridors and rattled the shutters of the
+school-room windows, John had reached a point of nervous desperation.
+One night he beat his hands on the walls of his room in mere foolish
+impotence of rage.  Even the placid Woodman, swallowing blood pills
+and putting on weight, became alarmed.  There was an intensity in
+John's despair that made him apprehensive.  It was in vain that he
+encouraged his literary work and discussed the novel which John had
+begun as a distraction, but had now discarded.  He dragged him out
+for long walks down the bleak country lanes, but could not get him to
+talk.  He was thin, with rings under his eyes, and the rose-red of
+healthy youth in his cheeks had given place to a hectic flush.  He
+had moments of hilarious mirth, as alarming and as unnatural as his
+despair, and one night he had aroused Woodman in his bedroom,
+declaring he could not sleep alone in his room any longer and begged
+to be allowed to sleep on the couch.  Woodman assented gladly but he
+was awakened later by a sound of sobbing in the darkness.  He lit a
+candle and leaned up on his elbow.
+
+"Dean--my dear fellow--you must not go on like this--you'll make
+yourself ill."
+
+He heard John clear his voice.
+
+"I know--I'm a fool--I'm horribly ashamed of myself--but--but, oh, my
+God, I am wretched."
+
+"Why, you silly old thing, this morning you were making your boys
+yell with laughter."
+
+"And got snubbed by Tobin for it," retorted John.  "Put out the
+light, Woodman--I'll behave--and thanks awfully."
+
+Woodman doused the candle with the matchbox.  In the morning John was
+normal again.  Neither made any allusion to the scene in the night.
+It was a bad dream.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+There were now rapid phases to John's character.  He was beginning to
+apprehend all the wonderful interests of the world, interests from
+which he was being boxed up.  He longed for the sound of a woman's
+voice and a glimpse of beauty; a violent nostalgia seized him.  The
+mention of Asia Minor in the geography lesson--and he was leagues
+away swinging his bare legs on a verandah shaded with almond blossom,
+hearing the singing of the stream down the gorge at Amasia, watching
+the light silver, the waterfall as the moon came over the mountain
+cliff and flooded the valley.  He recalled his father reading to him;
+he could hear the clatter of his pony's hoofs in the courtyard, hear
+Ali calling him out to play, Ali his bosom friend, whose last gift
+now lay on his chest, whence he had never removed it.  Or he would be
+suddenly transported to Sedley by the sight of a familiar dictionary,
+and again sit working and chattering with Vernley and Marsh in their
+study.  His longing for his friends increased with the passing days.
+Vernley wrote faithfully, chronicling doings at Cambridge, sometimes
+unconsciously causing pain by the enthusiastic mention of a new name,
+which John felt was taking the place of his own.
+
+As anticipated, Marsh was a great success.  In the freer atmosphere
+of the university he had blossomed into a man of power and influence.
+He had already made a brilliant debut at the Union, and prophets
+talked of him as a future President--"Marsh says the office would be
+yours for the asking, there is no one here who could stand up with
+you--and I agree; why on earth don't you come, you dear old obstinate
+Scissors!"  John was almost persuaded, but pride held him back.  He
+must work out his own salvation--a memory of Browning helped him:
+
+  "_But after they will know me.  If I stoop
+  Into a dark tremendous sea of doubt,
+  It is but for a time; I press God's lamp
+  Close to my heart; its splendour, soon or late,
+  Will pierce the gloom; I shall emerge one day._"
+
+Was he a coward?  He had a fear of poverty, and an almost desperate
+fear of the future at times.  He was immersed in the poetry of
+Shelley and Keats, and soon was longing ardently to die of
+consumption in Italy, long before he would be twenty-six.  In another
+mood his ambition carried him to dizzy heights.  Recollections of
+talks with Mr. Ribble came back.  Downing Street was not such an
+impossibility after all.  He could speak.  What had Vernley said in
+his last letter?  And Mr. Steer had written to him about his article
+on "The Rise of Naturalism in English Poetry" which had appeared in
+the _Blue Review_, and asked him to be sure to call when next in
+London, in order that he might meet "some of your contemporaries"!
+From that day on London began to call him.  That was the battlefield.
+Woodman agreed.  "This is a dead end," he said, "but useful for the
+future."
+
+"Useful, how?" asked John.
+
+"You're getting material to write about.  Think what a story's here
+for you one day, when you look back.  You'll smile then."
+
+Gradually John's mood of desperation passed.  The problems of life
+was yet to be solved or attempted, but he was young.  He had intense
+ambition, good health, friends, and certain qualities which secured
+him notice.  He became aware that he possessed what men call a
+personality; there was something that made persons ready to do him a
+service, and this asset was the latest of his discoveries.  At the
+Vicarage, Miss Piggin had proved her friendship.  She left him books;
+she knew something about art, having spent two terms at Newlyn; at
+least she knew the various schools of art, the names of the galleries
+in London, and the queer methods employed for achieving success.
+
+For the first time he heard of the Vorticiste and the mad young men
+of the Backyard Gallery, which specialised in chimneyscapes and
+exalted the hideous.  She told him of energetic young James Squilson,
+one part artist, and two parts publicist, the one part being good,
+the others impudent.  The good was at present carefully hidden, while
+his monstrosities had created sufficient of an outcry to make those
+beardless Jews, Messrs. Riverton, give him a one-man show at the
+Trafford Galleries.  This exhibition, Miss Piggin said, was a great
+success.  Society flocked to it and declared it unique.  It bought
+enigmatical canvases at fifty guineas each, which were cheap,
+considering they were fashionable and provocative of discussions at
+dinner parties.  Major Slade, a charming man, who liked having
+artists to dinner, bought several and felt like a connoisseur for six
+months, which was as long as he liked any sensation.  Squilson's
+third exhibition cooled Slade's waning enthusiasm.  The perverse
+fellow had become an artist.  His paintings might have been accepted
+by the Royal Academy.  When Squilson declared, to the horror of
+society, that he would not object to being accepted, Slade dropped
+him and gave away his works as wedding presents.
+
+Miss Piggin was musical also; she played Bach and cultivated an
+enthusiasm for Scriabine.  John found that his musical intelligence
+ceased after Debussy--Ravel was his breaking point, although
+Stravinsky's _L'oiseau de Feu_ seemed to give him a prospect of a new
+land where the animals were articulate.
+
+John became rather a frequent visitor to the Vicarage.  Mr. Woodman
+was asked to dinner also, but he was asked as a companion, and was
+useful in occupying Piggin's attention.  Miss Piggin, accustomed to
+the role of hostess since her mother's death, devoted her attention
+to John.  Formerly on festive occasions she had asked her friend, the
+the doctor's daughter, to assist her.  She decided that she could
+manage well enough with such obliging young men.  Miss Piggin also
+found a new incentive to dress rather better than usual.  The sleepy
+life of a country Vicarage had caused her to become somewhat lax in
+the past; it was no use being a fashion plate when there was no one
+to notice.  Now, however, she made a surprising resurrection; even
+the village publican commented on it, as also poor little Miss Timis,
+called in to do the sewing.
+
+Although Miss Piggin was well aware that nature had not been lavish
+at her birth, she knew that fashion has given woman a good frame for
+an indifferent picture.  Short sighted, out of doors she wore
+spectacles, but these were discarded in the evening.  She was
+troubled with chilblains on her hands, it is true, but she had a
+wonderfully fresh complexion for a young woman of nearly thirty.
+John in fact thought she was about twenty-three, though she seemed to
+have seen a lot in her short life.  But she could talk and had an
+eager interest in literature, of which she was no mean critic.  As an
+artist she was sufficiently good to merit her asking John to sit to
+her, which he did, getting an ache in the neck, while she made a very
+idealised drawing of him.  It was a little trying, for the sitting
+which he had been told would require a few hours, ran into weeks.
+Miss Piggin seemed everlastingly taking out the next day what she had
+achieved with such elation the previous day.  The eyes and the mouth
+caused the most trouble.  These required several visits from the
+easel for close study.  His hair was comparatively easy, for she
+could arrange it to fall as it suited her.  She told John he had
+sensitive nostrils and a perfect, but sensuous mouth.
+
+"Not sensual?" he said laughing.
+
+"It might become that--yet," she replied.
+
+It was good fun and he liked the little teas they made in the studio,
+with the aid of a gas ring.  Afterwards he insisted on washing up
+while she dried the tea things.  It was a domestic moment and it gave
+Miss Piggin a thrill; he looked so fascinating with his sleeves
+rolled up above the elbows.  Once, when he dozed while sitting, she
+had hoped that he would fall fast asleep.  She would just kiss his
+head as it lay, with its tumbled hair, on the side of the chair.  But
+he aroused himself, and Miss Piggin was grateful that she was saved
+from being so foolish.
+
+She held John from a nervous breakdown.  She took him for lone walks
+and encouraged him to talk.  He found his idea of going to London to
+write, eagerly supported.  What to write he hardly knew.  Miss Piggin
+suggested journalism.  She had met quite a lot of journalists near
+her rooms at Hampstead.  They seemed very jolly and not hard-worked.
+It was true they had small private incomes or self-sacrificing
+parents.  She gave John the address of a boarding house in Pimlico.
+If he went to London, he would find it cheap but not nasty.
+
+It was on one of these walks one day an incident occurred that
+thrilled her with a revelation of the male in action.  They were on a
+narrow and muddy road when a cart came into view, with a red-faced
+youth lolling on the top of a load.  Although there was no space for
+the two walkers to stand in, he drove his cart forward, jamming them
+up against the wall and spattering them with mud.  Miss Piggin gave a
+cry of despair at the sight of her muddy skirt.  With a quick
+movement John ran to the horse's head, seized the rein and pulled up
+the cart.
+
+"Why don't you look where you are going?" he shouted angrily.
+
+The lout blinked at him.
+
+"Shut yer ---- mouth."
+
+John flushed and tightened his grip.
+
+"You'll get down and apologise to the lady," he said firmly.  Another
+flow of indecent language.
+
+"Let go that ---- rein!" finished the carter.
+
+"I shall not.  Come down!" retorted John.
+
+The carter raised his whip and brought the lash down across John's
+shoulders and neck.  The horse reared, John started forward, seized
+the dangling leg of his aggressor, and brought him sprawling down
+into the muddy road.  He was up in a minute bellowing obscenely with
+rage.  John dodged the blow directed at his mouth.
+
+"I'll fight yer!  I'll fight yer, yer--" yelled the carter stamping
+around.  John slipped off his coat and waistcoat; the carter followed
+suit.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Dean, please, please!" implored Miss Piggin from the mound
+on which she had taken refuge.  John's answer was to fling his
+discarded clothes into her arms.  She looked around, meaning to
+shriek, but as no one was in sight it seemed useless.  Meanwhile the
+battle had begun.  The antagonists were as different in appearance as
+they were in method.  The carter was a heavily built youth of about
+twenty.  He was sandy-haired with a tanned face and neck.  His arms
+were muscular, and the gaping shirt revealed a hairy chest.  He was a
+fellow not likely to be knocked out, especially by the lightly built,
+slim youth, who looked almost delicate in contrast.
+
+Could this determined, lithe fighter make any impression on an
+opponent so firmly built and muscular?  Miss Piggin thought not, and
+began to think of intervention with her umbrella; but she might poke
+the wrong person.  She was cheered to notice how quick her champion
+was.  It was a contest between speed with intelligence and strength
+with obstinacy.  Mr. Dean might set the pace, but would he wear down
+this bulwark of seasoned flesh?  They had both received blows, and
+the nose of the slim youth was bleeding.  The other, however, was
+also bleeding at the mouth.  Miss Piggin felt faint and yet thrilled
+at the sight of these flushed youths, their hair falling into their
+eyes, one breathing hard, and the other looking implacably fierce.
+It reminded her of a fight she had witnessed between two stags on
+Exmoor.  There was something exhilarating in the spectacle, though
+horrible.
+
+Considerable in-fighting followed which evidently distressed the
+carter.  Although Miss Piggin could not determine who was getting the
+blows--they were bent down together--the carter was letting forth
+"oughs" and "ahs" either as expressions of satisfaction or of
+receipt.  The carter had opened with a wild but weighty swinging of
+the arms, which the other cautiously avoided.  One blow from those
+sculpturesque forearms would have rendered him hors-de-combat.  He
+waited his opportunity, backing slowly until he secured a favourable
+opening.  One fist landed over the carter's eye.  He grunted but his
+progress was not impeded.  The next moment they had clinched, for
+which Miss Piggin felt grateful.  She would have left them in this
+harmless position, if she could, until she had returned with the
+village constable.  She now stood with bated breath, for when they
+broke away some one would receive a blow.
+
+Here John's small supply of ringcraft, gathered in Sedley gymnasium,
+came into play.  He used the clinch to rest himself upon the bulk of
+the carter, who pushed him around, tiring himself.  Then seizing a
+propitious moment, he threw off his assailant's arms, feinted to the
+left cheek, and swung in with a sharp upper cut with the right.  It
+caught the carter neatly under the chin, lifted him and sent his head
+back.  He went down heavily with a lost balance.  John walked round
+till his opponent was ready to rise.  His blood was up, there was a
+grim expression on his face, and Miss Piggin, catching a glimpse of
+his steely eyes, cold and fierce under the mop of disordered hair,
+changed in her alarm.  She feared now for the life of the carter,
+raised up on his elbow and contemplating things.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Dean!" she whimpered.
+
+He continued to walk round as though he had not heard.  The carter
+painfully rose to his feet, and then with a torrent of abuse, rushed
+in mad fury at the waiting foe.  A right from the shoulder caught
+John on the chest, breaking his guard, and sent him down to his knees
+with its sheer strength.  The carter had no code to obey and was
+ready to follow up his advantage, but in this he was unwary.  John
+waited until he stood over him, and with a crouching spring came up
+under the raw fellow's guard, reaching his chin again with some
+force.  Shaken and somewhat dismayed with this surprising return of
+an apparently beaten adversary, he began to retreat, and John, still
+full of battle, saw his chance.  There was some swift in-fighting
+which Miss Piggin could not follow, because now the amount of blood
+visible on both antagonists made her feel ill.  She turned her head
+away.  When she looked again, it was all over, John stood surveying
+the huddled up form of the beaten youth.
+
+"Can you get up?" he asked coolly.  The voice was almost cruel in its
+tone, thought Miss Piggin.  Then John stooped and pulled the sullen
+fellow to his feet.  They stood facing one another for a long
+interval.
+
+"Will you shake hands?" said John, extending his.  There was no
+response for a moment.
+
+"Yer...." snarled the carter, his eyes still full of battle.
+
+"I'm sorry then," said John unrolling his sleeves.  There must have
+been something crossing the slow brain of the carter.  His eyes
+changed expression.
+
+"Yer've won ... boss," he said slowly.  John heard the changed tone
+and again held out his hand.  The carter took it.
+
+But peace had left them both strange spectacles.  The horse even
+seemed a little afraid of its master, and turned its head as he
+approached.  He was wiping his face, which had begun to swell, with a
+red handkerchief.  John was doing likewise.  The absurdity of the
+whole affair was intensified in the process.  Miss Piggin now
+approached and offered a diminutive handkerchief, which John
+accepted, for his own was soaked by a persistent nose.  The right eye
+was slowly closing up.
+
+Without further comment the carter took his horse's head and led it
+off down the road.  As John looked up and caught Miss Piggin's
+piteous expression, he could not help laughing.
+
+"I suppose I look a beautiful object?"
+
+"Oh, Mr. Dean!" was all she could say.  If only he would faint now,
+all was safe!  Her womanly instinct for nursing the brave rose within
+her.  She would dearly have loved to hold him in her arms and bathe
+his face, and tidy his hair.  But romance gave place to the practical.
+
+"You must come to the Vicarage first--you can't return like that."
+
+"No--I can't--but I want washing now before it dries," he replied.
+There was a canal bordering the next field; the road led over the
+canal bridge.  The Vicarage was two miles away.
+
+"I'm going to swim in the canal!" he said.
+
+Miss Pilgrim shivered at the idea.  "It's terribly cold!" she cried.
+"You will get a chill."
+
+"It's the tonic I want," he replied.  "You stand on the bridge.  I
+can strip underneath if you'll keep watch."
+
+He led the way, and left her on the bridge.  What an amazing man!  A
+minute or so later she heard a splash, and shivered sympathetically
+in the cold November wind.  She could not help just looking over the
+bridge a moment, and caught a glimpse of white shoulders, a dark
+head, and the strong arms thrashing the grey water into a foamy
+track.  Then he turned and she looked away.
+
+When he came up and joined her on the bridge later, he looked
+marvellously refreshed.  It was true his eye had closed up but most
+of the horror of the battle had been the blood.
+
+"But how have you dried yourself?" she asked, as he squeezed his hair
+with his hands.
+
+He laughed at her with his merry eye--the right one, still visible.
+
+"On my shirt."
+
+She blushed crimson.  Men had shirts, as she knew, but it was awkward
+to be told so by men.  They walked home through the barren copse,
+burning red on the horizon where the sun left the winter day.  For
+one person these were the woods of Broceliande, and her heart warmed
+towards the young knight fresh from the battle.
+
+
+Mr. Woodman's expression, at the appearance of John just in time for
+tea in the study, was a mixture of surprise and disapproval.
+
+"My dear fellow--" he began.  "You have not been fighting?  An
+assistant master!  Whatever will Tobin say?  Don't eat all that
+toast--here's the fork, make your own--he will want a full
+explanation of that eye.  What an eye!"
+
+John briefly recounted the episode.
+
+"I should leave out Miss Piggin," said Woodman.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Tobin strongly disapproves of masters walking about the country with
+young ladies, and as for fighting for them like bulls in a herd..."
+
+"Oh, stop ragging.  What's the best for a black eye?"
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV
+
+LIFE
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+I
+
+Two young men stood on a country platform saying good-bye to each
+other.  One was bound for Cambridge, the other for London.  Two
+trunks were in charge of the porter, but neither of these belonged to
+the bronzed young fellow who took his seat in the train.  For
+although London was his destination, he had as much foreknowledge of
+his actual resting place in that metropolis as had Mr. Richard
+Whittington many years before him.  The latter was supposed to have
+brought a cat with him; the young man in the carriage had no cat.  He
+had health and ambition, also one hundred and twenty pounds in the
+bank.  He had been able to save the whole of his salary for the
+second and final term at Chawley School, which he had left at Easter,
+to the sorrow of the boys, who had marked their adoration with some
+tears, and a presentation set of "Shelley's Poems."  He had taken a
+bold step, highly applauded by Mr. Gerald Woodman.  He had sacrificed
+an income of sixty pounds a year, with board, lodging and washing,
+for the uncertainty of London.
+
+But there was no regret in his heart on this lovely spring morning.
+The song of the lark mounting to a southern cloud, the sense of
+budding things in hedge and tree, the sharp air, and the exuberance
+of his friend, Bobbie Vernley, all augured well for the adventure.
+
+"You have given me a great time, Bobbie," he said, looking on the
+good-natured face of his friend.  "Don't forget to tell Marsh to
+write, and let me have all the news.  I will write as soon as I get
+my rooms."
+
+There was a slamming of doors, the screech of the engine whistle, a
+final handshake, a look in Vernley's eyes that told him much, and
+they were parted again.
+
+John sat back in the seat and watched the familiar station glide
+away.  Somehow this place always marked the beginning and end of
+things.  When next he came how would he stand--a success or a
+failure?  He had weighed anchor and was putting to sea.  He had
+youth, one hundred and twenty pounds, and determination.
+
+Opening a note book, he glanced through a list of addresses which
+gave him a little comfort.  He knew a few persons in London.  There
+was Mr. Steer, and a renewal of his acquaintance warmed him with
+joyous expectation.  There was Mrs. Graham, to whom he was
+confidential, and who, looking in upon his dreams knew to what starry
+pinnacles he aspired.  Muriel had insisted on an early call on Mr.
+Ribble, but John felt doubtful.  A busy politician would find
+courtesy and kindliness heavily taxed if every stray youth seeing
+London rang his door bell.  But he made one promise to call formally.
+There was a hope of companionship in the presence in town of Lindon,
+who had just left Balliol to study at the Royal Academy of Music, but
+a certain shyness still hung over his relations with that brilliant
+person.  There was something he never quite understood, a reservation
+in manner, if not in speech, which told John theirs could never be an
+equal friendship.  Somehow he always felt the debtor to Lindon,
+perhaps owing to his manner.  Despite his cordiality, his obvious
+liking of John's company, the latter always felt diffident; perhaps
+now he would learn to know Lindon better, relieved of the halo of a
+schoolboy's worship.
+
+Interleaving his note book was Miss Piggin's card, and on it, in a
+pointed Italian hand, the address of a boarding house she
+recommended.  "Mrs. Perdie, 108, Mariton Street, S.W."  In his
+pocket, John carried another specimen of Miss Piggin's handwriting,
+on the flyleaf of "The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft," calmly
+setting forth the inscription--"To John Narcissus Dean from Elsa
+Piggin, in memory of walks and talks."  Some of the letters had run,
+Miss Piggin explained, owing to the dew dripping from some roses just
+gathered, on her writing desk.  The warmth of her pillow overnight
+had somewhat crinkled the dried page, but this Miss Piggin did not
+attempt to explain.  She carefully hid from all eyes that, with his
+departure, Romance died.  Henceforth, she accepted Fate with gentle
+compliance.  No more rebellions, never again the false hope of
+Springtime; even photographs were resolutely put away, John's
+included, but she permitted one small snapshot taken on the football
+field, to remain on her dressing table.  He had such a handsome leg,
+and her soul craved beauty.  For the rest she was unwearied in
+attention to her father.  He found clean nibs in his pens, his
+note-books carefully dusted and replaced.  She had a great scheme
+that afternoon for the Ladies' Sewing Meeting, which foretold long
+months of patient work--an altar cloth, embroidered with scenes from
+the life of St. John.  Appropriately therefore, the opening lesson
+was read from the Gospel according to St. John.  She began it with
+loving reverence.  St. John was such a beautiful name, she thought.
+
+And John?  Alas! he too dreamed, of a fair face, the laughter of
+maidenhood, the sudden shaking of curls beautiful in their agitation.
+Those last moments in the hall, awaiting the arrival of Tod with his
+car, were painful almost.  One by one they had said good-bye.  Mr.
+Vernley, red-faced, cheerful, friendly; Mrs. Vernley, motherly to the
+last, then Kitty, off for her morning ride, and Alice about to retire
+to her voice production; and then they were alone for a few precious
+moments.
+
+"You will write?"
+
+"Every day, darling," he vowed.
+
+"I shall always think of you."
+
+"Always?"
+
+"Always!" she promised.
+
+Their hands are locked--silence, and tears in Muriel's eyes.
+
+"I shall soon be on my feet."
+
+"I know."
+
+"Muriel!"
+
+"John, dearest!"
+
+"London is nearer than Chawley."
+
+"Yes, John, but--"
+
+"But?"
+
+"It is so new, such an adventure."
+
+"That thrills me--our day draws nearer, our day, Muriel."  There is
+another pause.  Bobbie bangs the door open before approaching.
+
+"Car's coming round, Scissors," he shouts.  "Good-bye, Muriel, old
+thing!  Remember me to the nuns!"  He strides up and kisses her
+soundly on the cheek, sees tears in her eyes; she feels the
+reassuring pressure of her brother's hands upon her arms.  And then
+they are gone.
+
+As the train drew in through the panorama of chimney-pots, factory
+roofs and gasometers, it was her face John saw, over the wretchedness
+of the bewildering city.  In the station he awoke to the reality of
+the things under the girders and glazed roofs.  He carried only a
+bag; his trunk would be forwarded when he found rooms.  He stood on
+the platform hesitating a moment.  London frightened him.  It was so
+vast and self-centred, so busy with people who had apparently solved
+the problem he had to solve.  Where should he begin, and how would it
+all end?  For the moment he had one rule, strict economy.  He made
+his way slowly up the incline out of Liverpool Street Station, and
+asked a policeman the best means of reaching Mariton Street.  "Where
+is it?" he asked the genial fellow whose robust countenance cheered
+him.
+
+"Pimlico!  No. 6 bus to Charing Cross, change to 24, that'll take you
+down to Mariton Street."  John thanked him and clambered to the top
+of the bus.  He watched the traffic, human and vehicular, streaming
+down Bishopsgate.  At the Bank, he could not suppress a thrill as he
+looked on the restless tide surging into the vortex before the
+Mansion House.  St. Paul's, lifting its sun-struck dome into the
+morning air, pigeon-haunted, floated away behind, and the short
+descent under the viaduct brought them to Ludgate Circus.  There,
+narrow, mazed with telegraph wires, jammed with buses, cars, lorries,
+and hurrying humanity, rose Fleet Street.  An incommunicable wonder
+stole in on the boy's heart.  Here was the battle ground whereon he
+would throw down his gauge.  The roar in his ears might have been
+applause, or was it the laughter of ridicule?  The gold-lettered
+sign-boards announced the tributary channels on either hand.  Names
+familiar on the breakfast table; names of power and wonder leapt
+forth from these insignificant buildings, behind those walls sat the
+men who held the world in leash.  The fall of empires, the death of
+monarchs, the ruin of men, the fame that sprang upon them; all these
+things found their historians here.  Man-made, this world was hedged
+round with the divinity of power.  Within those drab buildings beat
+the pulse of Time.  Mercury, wing-footed, swept down those narrow
+stairways, and leapt forth from fourth-storey dwellings of the
+Olympian "We."
+
+It was soon passed.  The roaring bus soared up the gradient towards
+the Griffin and Shield at the City entrance of Temple Bar.  Beyond, a
+widening way diverged in two crescents around the pinnacled church.
+High up on the right, the solemn solidity of the Law Courts, its
+clock hung from the tower far over the narrow street; a swerve and a
+new vista.  The Strand leading onwards past the wedge of the
+Australia House, the pillared colonnade of the Gaiety Theatre, and
+the narrows, with hotels and theatres on either hand.  Then the
+railed front of Charing Cross, a brief right hand glimpse of St.
+Martin's Church, and John descended.  Around the corner broke the
+wonder of the world, Trafalgar Square, flanked by the National
+Gallery, white against the blue sky, cumulus-banked with summits of
+sunlit snow.  Aloft, Nelson, dark and solitary, looking riverwards
+far over the head of the unfortunate monarch, superbly seated and
+orientated; the four lions, symbols of British solidarity and regal
+magnificence, in whose ears the song of the nation's traffic sounded
+by day and by night, guardians of the hub of empire; and listeners,
+perforce, to the revolt of humanity.
+
+Long stood the youth, gazing upon this scene, watching the brilliance
+of the fountains with their scintillating jets, about whose spray
+naked urchins as if strewn from a garland of Correggio, shouted and
+splashed.  Into his heart stole the magic of the place.  Here was the
+visible pulse of the nation, the England in which he lived, an
+Englishman.  Here was the dream, tangible, carried in the hearts of a
+thousand pioneers across the wastes of far places, the music
+accompanying the hymn of duty, the thought that built the empire
+imperishable in the love of her children.  He looked on the Roman
+magnificence of the Admiralty Arch, caught a swift translation of a
+Venetian moment when a cloudless azure dome encupped the towered
+church; and then, with a start, he returned to the business of the
+day.  A few minutes later one view crowded out another, until amid
+ecstasy and wonder, he seemed to be riding through history.
+Whitehall, broad, official, stately; the sudden leap to sight of
+Westminster Hall; the familiar homeliness of the Abbey; the tracery
+of the Houses of Parliament; the clock tower and the bridge, and ere
+the tumult subsided in his heart, followed the long
+cathedral-greyness of Victoria Street, ending in the vulgar rout of
+traffic about the railed courtyard of Victoria Station.  John laughed
+to himself, swaying on the bus.  Was he seeking lodgings or El Dorado?
+
+
+When the bell rang for the fifth time that morning, Mrs. Perdie let
+forth a protest.
+
+"Sure there's no peace in a basement kitchen," she moaned, wiping her
+hands dry after peeling potatoes for the evening meal.  It was no use
+expecting Annie to answer the bell; she was on the fourth floor
+making the young gentlemen's beds, and lost that moment in
+contemplation of a gaudy pair of pyjamas.  So while Annie speculated
+on the cost of a blouse made out of the same silk, Mrs. Perdie
+climbed the stairs and opened the door to another exquisite young
+man.  But she had a trained eye, and the first words of enquiry told
+her that this was the genuine article, the product which Mrs. Perdie,
+proud of being a connoisseur by virtue of seventeen years' service in
+the best families, reverenced and made adjustable terms for.  The
+mention of Miss Piggin's name immediately confirmed her impression.
+Warmly she invited the young gentleman into the drawing room,
+hastening to draw up the Venetian blinds and apologising for her
+appearance.
+
+"I'm not like this of a night-time.  You see, when they are all out I
+give a hand to the maid."  Then she was silent a space, while she
+absorbed the vision of the young man seated before her.  A visit from
+Phoebus Apollo himself--the original of the plaster statue on the
+shelf over the aspidistra--would not have silenced her so effectively.
+
+"I knew at once he was of quality," she confided to Annie later.
+"His hands, gloves and shoes--you can never go wrong there.  You
+can't be sure of accent.  Some people are regular parrots.  And he
+was that shy I could have hugged him.  Didn't like to ask how much,
+he didn't, or what it included.  Different to that brazen pair on the
+fourth floor."
+
+The interview was indeed somewhat painful to John.  He had heard
+warning stories of the rapacity of landladies, of their dirty rooms,
+bad food and subtle extras.  The most familiar jokes were based on
+the experiences of unfortunate lodgers.  He had expected to find Mrs.
+Perdie rat-faced, with a withered neck and untidy wisps of hair.
+This round-faced woman with the pleasant smile and a straight-forward
+air was not the original of the caricatures; moreover he saw no
+cringing cat.  There was not even a bunch of wax grapes under a glass
+dome, which Tod assured him monopolised the mantelpiece in all
+boarding houses.
+
+At her invitation he made a tour of the bedrooms, and heard as he
+mounted the stairs, the separate histories of the occupants of each
+room.  She halted on the third floor and led the way into a back
+bedroom.  It was well-furnished as a bed-sitting room.  A writing
+table stood under the window, which looked out on the wide expanse of
+a factory yard.  The sky was cut by a huge chimney, belonging to the
+Army Clothing Factory, but this was not unpleasant, for it bore a
+slight resemblance to the Campanile of St. Mark's, Venice; at least
+with a blue sky an hour after sunset, the illusion was not
+impossible.  There was a large mirrored wardrobe, a bed with a purple
+eiderdown, a boxed-in wash-stand, a small table, an easy chair and a
+gas stove.
+
+"Gas is extra, sir, there's a shilling slot meter in the recess so
+that you only pay for what you burn.  The bath room, with a geyser,
+is on the landing.  This room and board, is two guineas a week,
+laundry and boot cleaning extra.  There's breakfast and dinner in the
+evening, with midday dinner and tea on Sundays.  All our guests have
+lunch out.  I'm sure I could make you comfortable, sir."
+
+Looking at the woman, John felt sure too.  He was glad to have
+settled the problem so easily.  Before he went, Mrs. Perdie gave him
+a latch key--a sign of confidence in view of the smallness of his
+bag, and in return he insisted on paying her a week in advance which
+caused her to say to Annie, "only a gentleman would think of
+that--handsome-like.  There's nothing like the quality."
+
+When she showed John out, he was reminded that dinner was at seven,
+and buses ran every ten minutes from the corner.
+
+"I don't know your name, sir," said Mrs. Perdie finally, as the young
+man put on his hat.
+
+"Dean--John Dean," replied John with a smile.
+
+Mrs. Perdie smiled back as she closed the door, "Bless 'im," she said
+to the cat, which then appeared.  "I wonder what he does--and such
+nice teeth and manners!"
+
+When Annie descended from her dreams of glory, with a few loose
+feathers in her hair, Mrs. Perdie was rubbing a serviette ring.
+
+"Annie--there's a new gentleman comin' in to-night; set a clean
+napkin and this ring between Miss Simpson and Captain Fisher, and get
+the back bedroom ready.  Take the best towel up."
+
+
+
+II
+
+When John returned to Mariton Street that evening, the beauty of
+London burned in his blood.  He had given himself up to pleasant
+vagabondage all that day, abandoning the quest of livelihood.  On the
+morrow he would begin that grim task.  So after sending the address
+for his luggage to be forwarded, noon found him walking along the
+road by the garden wall of Buckingham Palace, towards Hyde Park.  It
+was sunny, and the pleasant hum of traffic, the bright-faced
+messenger boys, the nurse girls with their well-dressed children, the
+crescendo of an approaching bus, the lovely elegance of the lady
+whose car went parkwards for an airing, the stately fronts of the
+houses, the sun-gleamed masses of clouds that backed the dark figure
+of the charioteer on the quadriga near Green Park--all these things
+were part of this wonderful song of life.  It was almost incredible
+that he should seek a niche in all this splendour.  Those people
+around him seemed so well established; had they ever begun, or had
+they been mere victims of circumstances?
+
+He watched a couple of riders turn in at Hyde Park Corner; a
+fresh-faced young man, stolid with good food and no worry,
+accompanied a fragile girl, whose well-tailored riding habit for a
+moment called up another figure he knew well in similar attire.  He
+followed in at the gates and turned to the left, wondering if ever he
+and Muriel would ride together down that glorious stretch.  He sat
+down on one of the chairs and watched the riders.  Children
+accompanied by grooms, elderly army officers, a very stout lady who
+appeared to break down the fetlocks of her mount, a tall girl in
+black top-boots, who galloped, with splendid hands, and laughed back
+at two young men who made desperate efforts to keep with her.
+
+Then his attention was attracted by an elegant apparition, which
+alighted like a bird of paradise from a car on the edge of the curb.
+It was a boy-officer in the Scots Guards.  He was very tall and
+languid, but held himself stiffly erect as though there was a cavity
+between his shoulder blades which he wished to keep closed.  It was
+difficult to know how he ever washed his face, so rigid were the
+arms.  His hat which had a brass peak and a red and white diced band,
+half buried his face, the chin receding underneath a hairless upper
+lip, delicate and curved.  His painfully erect carriage seemed
+derived more from mechanism within than from the operation of will.
+His tunic suggested a theatrical tailor, so flawlessly did it fit,
+with an exaggerated waist-line that made an hour-glass of a human
+trunk.  And as if in fear that it was just possible some one might
+mistake the young elegant for an ordinary officer in an ordinary
+regiment, the tailor had descended from fashion to eccentricity in
+the cut of the trousers, which, receiving inspiration from golfing
+breeches, bulged below the knees, where they were caught up by
+puttees that wound about two stick-like legs ending in enormous
+booted feet.  The young man was evidently delighted with himself.  He
+turned round three times in the sunshine, like a parrot on a perch.
+Then it happened that a square-shouldered country youth, in a coarse
+copy of the same uniform, but with ruder brass embellishments,
+saluted and passed.  The immediate effect was wonderful, if
+startling; a swift spasm, as of a Titan struggling with tetanus,
+galvanised the young officer into movement.  By a terrific jerk, he
+succeeded in bringing his out-turned palm behind his right ear where
+it locked for a moment before being hurled downwards to its former
+rigidity, the disturbed flesh subsiding again into calm dignity.  A
+few minutes later he was joined by a brother officer, an even more
+splendid figure wrapped in a long greatcoat of gorgeous blue,
+double-breasted and broad lapelled, with two vertical rows of buttons
+and a glimpse of scarlet lining within, where it gaped about his
+knees.  The waist line was identical, a similar hat hid a similar
+face.  One felt there might be a thousand of these in a box somewhere.
+
+The Comédie Humaine continued.  Two seats away from him a rather
+stout lady, accompanied by three Pomeranian dogs, seated herself.
+She was half-buried in furs above the waist, and half-naked below,
+but apparently suffered no discomfort.  John could not help looking
+at her ankles, which were shapely, a diamond watch-bangle encircling
+the right.  The lady noticed John's gaze and did not seem to mind,
+for she smiled.  Slightly embarrassed, he thought it right to smile
+back, transferring his gaze to the Pomeranians, in suggestion that
+they were amusing.  The exchange of smiles, however, made him aware
+that the lady was of indeterminable age, but had a very fresh
+complexion.  The wind also told him that she liked expensive perfume.
+He continued to watch the horses and the people, and caught whiffs of
+conversation.  He heard, from the young men, that certain things, he
+could not hear what, were "rather priceless" and "topping."  One
+voice was ecstatic over Pavlova, "but Novikoff!" exclaimed an adoring
+feminine voice, "you've seen the Bacchanale?"  Presently a long
+purple limousine drew up to the edge of the curb.  The lady with the
+dogs rose and went towards it, the chauffeur opening the door.  She
+was just entering the car when one of the leashes dropped from her
+hands.  The dog immediately ran off in the direction of John.
+
+"Naughty Topsie!" she called.  "Come here!"
+
+But Topsie welcomed liberty and sped on, John in pursuit.  He soon
+retrieved the runaway and towed it back.
+
+"Thank you so much," said the lady sweetly.  "Topsie is such a
+rebel--I love dogs, don't you?"
+
+"Yes," said John.  He thought she looked critically at him.
+
+"Have you got one?" she asked.
+
+"No--I have just left school--it is difficult there."
+
+"Oh--and are you starting business; I suppose you're quite thrilled!"
+She laughed again and John responded.
+
+"I have not started yet--I have just come to London to-day."
+
+"All alone?" asked the lady, arching her eyebrows.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But how romantic!  You sound like Dick Whittington, without a cat or
+a dog!"  She laughed again at her joke.  He noticed she had beautiful
+small teeth; a rope of pearls lay on her throat.
+
+"Do you know London?" she asked again.
+
+"No--I have never stayed here for any time," he answered.  The
+chauffeur still waited with his hand on the door.
+
+"This park is very lovely," she said, gathering her furs about her.
+"You should see it--will you drive through it with me?"
+
+The invitation was so gracious and alluring John could not refuse; he
+followed the lady into the car, and with the dogs in their laps, they
+glided forward.  It was a luxuriously appointed car.  Three silver
+sconces held flowers whose perfume competed with that of the lady.
+The chauffeur in front wore a cerise uniform, with a broad green
+collar.  Inside they were quite silent for a few minutes.  John's
+shyness overcame him, while the lady, reclining on an air cushion,
+arranged her furs and played with the collars of the dogs on her lap.
+John knew that he was being closely scrutinised, and he resolved not
+to reveal any more of his personal history.  This close contact
+showed that his companion's age was about thirty-five, and the fresh
+complexion had not been acquired in the open air.  She made no secret
+of this, for she lifted her half veil, opened a vanity bag, took out
+what appeared to be a silver pencil, and raising a small mirror,
+carefully attended to her lips, which reddened in the process.  John
+wondered who she was.  There was a little pile of visiting cards in
+the wallet under the motor watch but they were upside down so he
+could not read them.  She was evidently a wealthy woman, and in some
+respects reminded him of Mrs. Graham, who also had a green jade
+vanity bag.  Mrs. Graham, however, on the one occasion when she used
+its contents, told him to turn his head away.  The lady in the car,
+having completed her toilet, raised a lorgnette, looked out of the
+window for a few moments, dropped it, and addressed John.
+
+"London can be a very lonely place," she said.  "I know, because my
+husband is in India with his regiment."
+
+John hesitated in reply.  He could not just say, "Oh," and if he said
+"I'm sorry," it would be stupid.  So he simply said, "Yes."
+
+"Have you many friends here?" she asked.  The question was kindly.
+He chatted brightly.  Her first impression was correct, she thought,
+looking at him.  He was a very handsome youth.  When he looked down
+she saw how the long lashes swept his cheek, and when looking at her
+his eyes had wonderful depth.  She liked the fine line of his
+profile, and the well-shaped, sloping ear; his hands too were
+fascinating, being strong and veinless.  And in every movement and
+line, there was the symmetry of thoughtless youth, which was
+delightful.  After a short time he, too, was admiring her intensely.
+She had an alluring voice--and he could not help noticing the ankles
+and small feet, so beautifully shod.
+
+They turned and twisted, caught a glimpse of a sheet of water, an
+ornamental garden and bridge, then turned again, running parallel
+with a main road, whose roar could be heard behind the screen of
+trees.  The watch hands pointed to ten minutes to one.
+
+"I am lunching in Cumberland Place at one," she said.  "Can I drop
+you on your way?"
+
+He had no way, but did not care to confess it.
+
+"At the gates will do, thank you."
+
+When the car drew up near Marble Arch, she took a card from the
+wallet.
+
+"This is my name and address.  Since you are new to London, let me
+offer you hospitality.  Will you not dine with me one evening at my
+house?"
+
+He thanked her.
+
+"Shall we say Thursday at seven?  It will be quite _en famille_.  You
+will be the only guest."  She showed her beautiful teeth when he
+assented, and held out a diminutive gloved hand as he stepped out of
+the car.
+
+"Good-bye," she smiled, as he raised his hat, a glance taking in the
+sweep of his brow with its clustered hair.  The door closed, she
+leaned back with a parting glance, and as the car lurched forward, he
+replaced his hat.  He looked calm enough, but there was tumult
+within.  For a few moments he gave no thought to lunch.  What a
+wonderful place London was!  Then he became conscious of the large,
+neat-lettered card in his hand.  "Lady Evelyn Warsett, 607, Queen
+Anne's Gate, S.W.," he read.  Also he remembered he had not told her
+his name.
+
+When John returned that evening to Mariton Street the dinner gong was
+creating pandemonium in the hall below, and there followed an opening
+of doors, a creaking of stairs and a babble of voices.  He halted on
+the threshold of the dining room, dreading his entry into this
+strange circle.  But Mrs. Perdie was waiting for him and piloted him
+to his place at the table, where she introduced him to Miss Simpson
+on his right, and Capt. Fisher on his left.  The captain was very
+curt and ignored him throughout dinner.  Miss Simpson was assiduous
+in polite attentions and small talk.  When she discovered he had been
+in Asia Minor, life suddenly brightened for her.  She had lived a
+year at Samsoon, with her brother, then the Consul, now a Governor in
+India.  The Captain sniffed and fidgeted.  He hated all his talk
+about Asia and India.  He had spent most of his life on the Gold
+Coast, and knew it was not so fashionable.
+
+When dinner was over the young men lingered behind.
+
+"Perhaps you would like to have a smoke?" suggested Mrs. Perdie,
+going out and leaving John with the other boarders.  He now looked
+more particularly at his companions.  They had crossed to one of the
+windows where they began to bewilder the parrot by blowing smoke into
+its face.  Presently one of them seemed aware that John was in the
+room.  Pulling out a silver cigarette case he opened it and held it
+towards him.
+
+"Have a gasper?" he drawled genially.
+
+John presumed he meant a cigarette, and took one.  The donor extended
+an elegantly ringed hand to light his own.  There was an excessive
+length of cuff.  John's eye moved along the arm, and noted the
+carefully knotted tie.  The clothes were ultra-fashionable, the cut
+of the waist being much exaggerated.  The trousers had a razor-edge
+crease and the patent boots, narrow and pointed, were topped by brown
+canvas spats.  But despite the elegance there was something too
+pronounced in everything.  The cloth was just too light in colour,
+too loud in check, the cameo ring too large, the pearl pin too pearly
+to be genuine.  Even the hair was curled until it suggested a wig
+rather than a natural covering, and the skin had a curious poreless
+texture.  But all these might have passed unnoticed by a less
+critical eye than John's, fresh to impressions after the plain
+severity of schooldays, had not the voice, and accent deliberately
+assumed, been so truly remarkable.  It was a high-pitched voice, that
+rather sang than spoke.  He turned from time to time to his
+companion, to whom, to John's amazement, he alluded as "my
+dear"--John wondering if that was the fashionable pet name in London.
+The friend was of similar type, but he talked less and giggled more.
+The teeth were profusely stopped with gold, and while they talked, he
+extracted a piece of washleather from his yellow waistcoat pocket and
+polished his nails.  He was the younger by about two years.
+
+"Mrs. Perdie didn't introduce us," said the elder--"my card."
+
+John took the piece of pasteboard and read it.  In Roman printed type
+it ran "Reginald de Courtrai.  Greenroom Club, W.C."
+
+"You are French?" asked John.
+
+"By descent--my grandfather was a Courtrai de Courtrai."
+
+"Oh--I'm afraid I haven't a card yet--my name's Dean."
+
+"Have you come to business?"
+
+"No--I have not long left Sedley."
+
+The companion also held out a card.  John accepted it and read,
+"Vernon Wellington, Greenroom Club, W.C."
+
+"I bet Reggie at dinner you were a public school boy," said the
+donor.  "Good old public schools we always say!  Glad you've come.
+We are trying to put some tone into this house.  Lord, it needs it,
+look at this!"  He waved his hand derisively towards a
+red-blue-and-gold china shepherdess on the mantelpiece.
+
+"Fine place, Sedley," commented Mr. de Courtrai, puffing out smoke,
+one leg crossed in the arm chair.  "Eton,--Harrow,--Sedley--I think I
+should have chosen Sedley had I not been educated on the continent.
+There's a fine tone about Sedley, what do you say, old dear?"
+
+The old dear agreed.  "My people insisted on me going to a private
+school.  Thought me too delicate.  Always regretted it."  He adjusted
+his tie carefully, glanced at himself in the mirror and smoothed his
+hair with a thin white hand.  "You're new to London I suppose?"
+
+"Yes--I arrived to-day--but I shall like it."
+
+De Courtrai blew more smoke into the air.
+
+"You must get some cards--really, my dear."
+
+"And a club," added Wellington.  "Every fellah must have a club.
+We'd put you up, but ours is for the profession."
+
+"Profession?" asked John.  He was eager to know what they were.  He
+had never met any one quite like this.
+
+"We're on the stage," replied Wellington.
+
+"Oh--it must be very interesting work, acting."
+
+"We aren't actors; we're in the ballet--the Empire.  We're opening
+next Monday--'Scheherezade.'"  De Courtrai stroked his ankle.  "A
+superb spectacle, you must come."
+
+John had never seen a ballet and he could not imagine the parts
+played by these young exquisites.  He remembered two pictures by an
+artist called Degas, on which Mr. Vernley set great value.  They were
+of ladies in short fluffy skirts with stumpy legs, on one of which
+they stood, stork-like.  Bobbie said they were ballet-girls, and that
+Tod had once run one, whereupon John naïvely asked "Which won?"
+causing Vernley to collapse in shrieks of merriment.  He had never
+heard of men doing ballet dancing.  Perhaps they had something to do
+with the scenery.  He did not care to hint at this, however, and said
+how much he would like to see the ballet.
+
+"He'd better come on Wednesday, my dear," said de Courtrai,
+addressing Wellington, "when we're doing 'Carnival.'  He'll fall in
+love with Harlequin, won't he?"
+
+Mr. Wellington giggled and exclaimed--
+
+"S'nice!"
+
+"Is she very beautiful?" asked John.
+
+They opened their eyes wide.  Mr. Wellington again giggled, put his
+hand delicately on his hips, shook himself and exclaimed, "Chase me!"
+
+"My dear!" exclaimed de Courtrai, dabbing his nose with a
+highly-scented handkerchief, "It isn't a she, it's a he!"  They
+laughed again, in a high-pitched key which jarred on the young man,
+and they saw that he resented their mirth.
+
+"You mustn't mind, old thing," de Courtrai exclaimed apologetically,
+touching John's arm.  "You're really rather sweet."
+
+John got up.
+
+"I'm afraid I must go and unpack now."
+
+"Can we help?" volunteered Wellington.
+
+"No, thanks, I haven't much," he replied and went out.  He could hear
+them giggling as he went upstairs to his room, and felt furious with
+them for making such a fool of him.  How was he to know that
+Harlequin wasn't a ballet-girl?  He would talk less in future, and
+not ask so many questions.  But he disliked their manner although
+they had been very friendly.
+
+Half an hour later there was a tap on his door.  With his head deep
+in the almost empty trunk, John paused.  The tap was repeated.  In
+reply to his call Wellington and de Courtrai entered, the latter
+carrying a cup.
+
+"We've brought you some coffee we've made in our room.  Ma Perdie
+won't make it without a shilling extra."
+
+"Oh, thank you," said John taking the cup.  They paused.
+
+"Won't you sit down?--at least, there's only two chairs; I'll sit on
+the bed."
+
+They sat down and John sipped the coffee.  It was made from essence
+and sickly sweet, but he had to drink it.
+
+"You're very jolly in here," said de Courtrai thrusting his feet out
+towards the gas fire.  "A nice warm room--we're at the top.  You're
+getting your knick-knacks about, I see."
+
+"Yes--just a few I've brought."
+
+Suddenly from the other side of the room came a loud "Ooh!"  It was
+from Wellington who had been walking round on a tour of inspection.
+He had halted at John's ivory brushes, with his father's monogram and
+crest.
+
+"What charming brushes!" he sang.  "Look, my dear, aren't they just
+too lovely!"  He carried the tray to de Courtrai.
+
+The latter looked.
+
+"Yes, I believe they're heavier than mine.  But Welly, you mustn't be
+so rude."
+
+"Oh, it's all right," said John weakly.  The next exclamation came
+from de Courtrai, who suddenly saw the portraits on the dressing
+table.
+
+"Who's this?" he asked picking up Vernley's portrait.
+
+"My friend."
+
+"What a sweet face!"
+
+John could hardly agree, and he thought with a smile, what Vernley
+would have said if he had heard himself called "sweet."
+
+"And this?"  Wellington picked up Marsh's photograph.
+
+"Another friend," replied John briefly.  Next to it stood a portrait
+of Muriel.  He didn't want them to probe all his secrets.  He was a
+fool for putting it out.
+
+But de Courtrai's eyes travelled over it without notice, to a Sedley
+group.
+
+"Who's this with the ball?"
+
+"Oh--that's Lindon, the Captain."
+
+"What a wonderful figure!"
+
+"Yes--he weighed twelve-stone-four.  He was stroke in the first eight
+too," said John, "and he's a fine pianist."
+
+"You can tell he's an artist by his eyes," exclaimed Wellington.  "I
+never make a mistake that way; do I, my dear!"  He giggled and sat
+down.
+
+"Never, Welly--you've a gift for the s'nice and s'naughty."
+
+"Go h'on!" giggled Wellington, dabbing his face.  John stared, de
+Courtrai saw the wonder in his eyes.
+
+"We must hobble off--we're in the way--well see you again."
+
+"Don't forget Wednesday," cried Wellington in the doorway.
+
+"Ta-ta!" called de Courtrai.  The door closed.
+
+What a pair!  John didn't know whether to laugh or be angry.  They
+were very vulgar and inquisitive, but also very friendly.  He would
+not encourage them, however.  He resumed his unpacking.  An hour
+later he had finished, and was preparing for bed, when there was
+another tap on the door.  This time he pretended not to hear; he did
+not want them in again.  But when the tap was repeated, he went to
+the door and opened it.  In the darkness of the landing, he could not
+see who it was.
+
+Captain Fisher paused on the threshold.  He had come out of the
+darkness and stood blinking in the light.  John waited, for he seemed
+about to say something.  There was a long pause, a clearing of the
+throat, then--
+
+"Permit me to introduce myself, sir, I am Captain Fisher, Fisher of
+the 3rd Foot, sir.  Twelve years China Station, twelve Malta, six
+Gold Coast--damn it.  Glad to know you, sir!" he stammered, then
+bowed low.
+
+Embarrassed, John bowed also.
+
+"Those were days, sir,--days--days of--" he put a hand on the lintel
+as though the memory was too much for him.  "Egad, sir, they _were_
+days.  Fisher was a boy, sir, Lavington will tell you, sir--General
+Lavington, God bless him--ninety-two to-day, sir--we've drunk his
+health at the 'Rag' to-night.  A great Speeeech ... a wunnerful man
+... ninety-two, not much longer, sir, any of us.  An' here we are, in
+a Perdiferous house--pardon me, it's a great night--with foreign
+meat, cats, parrots and a shilling in the slot.  If any had a' known
+on China station that Charlie Fisher would have been living in this
+manag--menag--caravanserai, as Omar would say--You've seen 'em,
+sir,--the blighted blossom of India!  Ha!  Ha!  An' the eunuchs--yes,
+sir, that's what they are!  Pouff!"  Here Captain Fisher steadied
+himself from a fitful gust of indignation.  "Now there's a gel out
+to-night--
+
+  _Take a pair of sparklin' eyes
+  an' a--_"
+
+hummed the Captain.  "You'll see her, sir, what a glorious vision!
+Wants breaking, sir!  A high stepper like her father's fillies, but
+what a head--what a--I'm a connoisseur too, in my day, Dandy Fisher
+they call me.  China Station twelve years, twelve years Malta, Gold
+Coast--"
+
+"So you said, sir," interrupted John, breaking the circle.
+
+"You're a fine lad," exclaimed the Captain, looking at him keenly.
+"Just such a lad as mine, God bless 'im.  What's y'name?"
+
+"Dean, sir--John Dean."
+
+"John--ha! so's mine--God bless him--dear ol' John--dear ol' John."
+He swayed a little, as he surveyed his waistcoat.  "He was your age
+too, and his hair too--just such hair--the gels loved him--dear ol'
+John."
+
+"Is he--is he dead, sir?" asked John.
+
+The old man straightened himself proudly.
+
+"For his King and Country, sir--in the Boer War--an' a V.C., sir,--a
+V.C.--God bless 'im."  A tear trickled down his nose.  "The last to
+leave me--the last.  General Lavington said to-night--ninety-two,
+sir, he is, he referred to John, he knew 'im--signed his first
+papers, sir--dear ol' John.  Come and have a drink, me lad."  Captain
+Fisher turned and put a shaking hand on the banisters.
+
+"Not to-night, sir, thank you, it's late."
+
+"So 'tis--so 'tis.  Good night, my lad.  God bless you!"
+
+"Good night, sir!"  John waited until the broken old man reached his
+room, and then closed his door.
+
+With a last look round his little room, John swiftly undressed, stood
+pyjama clad and barefooted a moment after brushing his hair, looking
+out on the bright moonlight night, and the quaint caricature of the
+Campanile.  Then he turned off the light and leapt into bed.  But not
+to sleep.  This was his first day, and he now slept for the first
+night in the city he had come to conquer; so far he had done little
+conquering, he thought, as he reviewed the events of this day.  The
+moonlight flooded his room, making it still more unfamiliar.  He
+watched the swiftly fading glow of the gas fire, and his eye caught
+the portrait of Muriel, illuminated in a direct beam of moonlight on
+the mantelpiece.  Mastered by an impulse, he threw back the clothes
+and put a foot on the cold floor, then sprang out and took the
+portrait from its place.  For a long moment he looked at it in the
+dimness, then pressed his lips to the cold glass, and was about to
+get into bed, when he did what he had not done for a long time.  He
+had never given any serious thought to religion; perhaps he was
+instinctively rather than formally religious.  The times when he had
+sat in school chapel had been irksome, though occasionally a hymn,
+and the high fresh voices of the choir had stirred him,
+aesthetically, not spiritually.  But to-night he felt very lonely,
+and just a little afraid.  Moreover there was a new faith in his
+fervent love for Muriel, which somehow required expression.  So
+quietly he slipped down to his knees, buried his face in his hands,
+and prayed in a somewhat disordered fashion for something which he
+could hardly define.  Then standing up again, he looked at the
+photograph, wondering whether the head he saw, in reality lying on a
+pillow in a quiet country room, flooded with light from this same
+moon, would realise anything of what he had just done and said.  He
+turned to replace the frame, then, on a thought, put it under his
+pillow and got into bed.  Two minutes later, quiet breathing in a
+silent room told of a dreaming head, smiling for some reason, buried
+deep in the pillow.  He was oblivious even of Capt. Fisher's deep
+bassoon in a room above.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+I
+
+He had never experienced anything like this before, and after the
+dismal events of the day, the exhilaration he felt was heightened by
+reaction.  The stall in which he sat was luxurious.  It was good to
+see around him so many prosperous, well-groomed men, and smiling,
+richly clad, or half-clad women.  Then the lights, streaming on the
+gilding, the brass rails, the tall proscenium, and the gaudily
+panelled ceiling, with its naked nymphs, rosy limbed, floating from
+pursuing youths on banks of fleecy cumulus,--all tended to awaken the
+senses.  But oh! the music and the ballet! that wild spontaneous rush
+of thistledown feet and lovely limbs, the glitter, the elaborately
+evolved design, the swift riot of colour swimming on a sea of soft
+melody that poured out over the darkened auditorium!  From the white
+beauty of "Lés Sylphides," dreamlike, as a stirring of lilies on a
+moonlit pool, they had passed to the happy flirtations of "Carnival."
+John, in ecstasy, forgot the sick misery of his heart, forgot those
+cold refusals, the reluctant opening of numerous doors, the frigid
+examination of self-confident men, the waiting, the snubbing, the
+insolence of office boys and porters; his deep hatred of Fleet
+Street, his apprehension of fruitless days, all passed away as he
+peered into these glades of music and loveliness.  With the blaze of
+prodigal splendour in "Scheherezade," the swift change of music from
+revelry to terror, the hurrying and scurrying of silk-clad women, the
+stern dignity of the departing Sultan, John's head swam.  He almost
+forgot to look for Wellington and de Courtrai in that rapturous
+release of the captives and the licentious abandon of the women on
+their entry.  It was with difficulty that he penetrated their
+disguise, for the effeminate dandies of Mariton Street were
+half-naked dusky men with muscular torsos who leapt and danced with
+fierce exultation before their adoring lovers.  John could hardly
+realise that these superb athletes, masters of rhythm and gesture,
+were the two vulgar youths who, despite his coolness, had shown him
+nothing but kindness, with such insistence, that he had accepted
+their pressing invitations to this performance.  And his amazement
+passed to unbounded admiration when de Courtrai died from a stroke of
+the Sultan's scimitar, in a magnificent somersault that laid his body
+prone at the feet of his terrified mistress.  The curtain fell to a
+tumult of applause.
+
+The long interval enabled John to explore the promenade at the back.
+He stood in a corner and watched the parade, and wondered if it was
+always the same, night after night--what kind of lives these people
+lived, where their money came from, their nationality, for there were
+overdressed young Jews with patent-button boots and silver-topped
+canes, elegant dandies with waisted coats, girlish-looking youths
+that smirked and simpered, heavy-jowled men with pendulous stomachs
+and evil gloating eyes under bald, shiny heads.  The women too,
+French, German and Russian, dark, fair, loud-voiced, high-heeled,
+arrayed in furs, small-footed and mincing, they passed, with quick
+eyes and mechanical smiles, or sulky stare and--
+
+"Penny for your thoughts, dearie," said a girl in a large white
+stole, as she laid a kid-gloved hand on John's arm.
+
+He started more in fear than surprise.
+
+"Lord love us--I shan't bite yer!" she laughed.  "So shy! and a
+pretty boy too," she added, giving her fur a twitch while she looked
+audaciously into his eyes with a frank stare.  "How do you keep your
+complexion, lovey?  That ain't Ligett's one and six in cardboard
+boxes, I know."
+
+John smiled, almost unintentionally.  She could only be about
+eighteen, and despite the hard mouth, she had innocent, kind eyes.
+
+"That's right--you're a regular Adonis with that showcase smile," she
+exclaimed.  Several persons were watching them.  John coloured with
+self-consciousness.
+
+"Gawd!  I wish I could do that--an' I did once, dearie, before the
+dirty work on the cross roads.  But I don't mind a Martini before
+Strumitovski waves his stick again."
+
+What could he do?  To say "No" might provoke an outburst.  He moved
+towards the bar, her hand still on his arm.  He felt a thousand eyes
+turn on them, heard a thousand whispers.  He was sure the bar-maid
+smirked satirically when he ordered two Martinis.  He had never had a
+cocktail in his life, and didn't know whether to drink or eat the red
+cherry in the amber liquid.  His companion led the way and he saw she
+expected another, although he had not swallowed half of the bitter
+stuff.  He ordered two more, and while they talked a warm glow crept
+over him, and with it a feeling of distance.  He seemed to be talking
+to her down a corridor.  There was a loud ringing of a bell above the
+babel.
+
+"Where are you sitting?" she said, propelling him out.  Before he
+could answer some one called "Dean!" rather excitedly.  The voice was
+familiar, and turning, in the crush at the door, he saw Lindon.
+
+"What on earth are you--?" began Lindon joyously.  Then, suddenly he
+saw the gloved hand on John's arm and swiftly glanced at his
+companion.  Lindon winked expressively.  "See you later, Scissors,"
+he called.  "I'm at Jules, Jermyn Street," and then disappeared.
+Utter confusion fell upon John.  He strode fiercely along.
+
+"Lord! do you owe him a fiver?" simpered the girl.
+
+"No--certainly not, it's you!" he returned fiercely.
+
+She did not flinch, accustomed perhaps to such remarks.  John,
+although slightly drunk, was aware of his cruelty and felt penitent.
+
+"Don't flare, dearie," she said quietly.
+
+He halted at the corner where he turned for the gangway.
+
+"Good-bye," he said, somewhat ungallantly, to which she responded by
+detaching her arm.
+
+"Aren't you coming home with me, boysie?" she asked plaintively, her
+eyes very serious.
+
+"No--thanks, not to-night--I don't--I--" but he could not say it.
+She divined it, however.
+
+"I know you don't--and I'll not be the first.  You shy darling!" she
+cried impulsively, taking his face between her hands and kissing his
+mouth.  A moment later she had gone, leaving nothing but a faint
+odour of stale scent.  Pale now, John leaned on the wall while the
+blood surged to his brain, then, with a heart thumping tumultuously,
+he found his way back to his seat.  The rest of the ballet passed
+unheeded; his mind was tracking that plaintive little face through
+the dark house.
+
+When the curtain fell on the final divertissement, in accordance with
+instructions John found his way round to the stage door, in a dark
+back street, where stood several luxurious motor cars, a small group
+of young men and women, autograph hunters chiefly, a tout or two, all
+kept outside the stage door, blazing with light, by a hoarse-voiced
+man in livery, to whom in turn, each member of the company called
+"Good night, Billy."  At last Wellington and de Courtrai appeared and
+with them, three young ladies of the ballet, called Fluffy, Pop and
+Pansy respectively.  On the programme they had Russian names, as had
+his two friends, but their accents betrayed familiarity with Balham.
+They were pupils in the _corps de ballet_, and for ten
+minutes--during which they all walked towards Piccadilly Circus,
+there was an animated discussion of the performance, its errors, and
+the wickedness of the conductor who had taken the last score through
+in seven-eight time, causing a collapse of the principals the moment
+the final curtain had fallen, whereupon he had been summoned to the
+wings by Lydia Lamanipoff and had his face well slapped for his
+insolence.  Pop declared that it would end that "affair" which had
+been a subject of current gossip ever since Lydia had thrown over
+Tamanski for biting her shoulder in the "Bacchanale."
+
+John was swept along in the crowd, his own little group noisily
+laughing and talking, Pansy hanging on his right arm, while her other
+fondled a Pekinese dog with an enormous blue bow.  They turned in at
+a restaurant on the corner of a street, descended some marble steps
+that wound round a lift, and suddenly John, pulled through a couple
+of swing doors, halted amazed in a marble panelled room, over-lit,
+with innumerable small tables surrounded by men and women.
+Wellington made his way down the centre of the room, glancing at
+himself in the large mirrors on his left and enjoying the sensation
+their entrance caused.  He commandeered a table down at the bottom,
+near the noisy waitresses' buffet; above the babble of voices rose
+the discordance of an orchestra on a dais.  Its chief function
+appeared to be that of creating as much noise as possible, including
+antics at the piano and on a small drum and an organ.  Wellington and
+de Courtrai appeared to be well-known, for several dandified youths,
+distinguished by spats, cuffs, side-whiskers or monocles, came over
+to speak to them, and all were very convivial, ending their remarks
+with, "Won't you introduce me?"  Handshaking was a great ceremony,
+accompanied with "How d'ye do?" to which was allied its inseparable
+bromide, "Pleased to meet you."
+
+Pop distinguished herself by ordering steak and chips and a bottle of
+stout; Pansy had a more delicate taste, ordering sardines on toast,
+which de Courtrai declared was a specialty in this hall of many
+tables.  Bewildered, John ordered the recommended dish, refused a
+cigarette from a pale gentleman who insisted upon talking across
+Pansy to him, and was suffocated with the heat and tobacco smoke.
+The conversation was still of Lydia and her loves, punctuated by long
+stories of the ladies, and other ladies' furs and "fellahs."  John,
+desperate for a theme of conversation, began by praising the
+Pekinese, and then narrated his experience with the lady and her
+three dogs in the park.  To his surprise it awakened immediate and
+deep interest.  At the end, the girls giggled and Wellington
+exclaimed, "Chase me!"
+
+"It's thumbs up," said de Courtrai, wisely.
+
+"What a cheek!" asserted Pansy, rolling her eyes; Pop declaring,
+"It's a shime to lead awy the young,"--whereupon there was loud
+laughter.
+
+"Mind what you drink," said Fluffy impressively.
+
+"I should take Welly as chaperon," advised Pansy.
+
+John, getting redder and redder, partly in anger at his own naïve
+foolishness, partly at their insinuations, declared he was not going
+at all.
+
+"What!" they all screamed in amazement.
+
+"Wish I'd the chance," commented de Courtrai, adjusting his tie.  "I
+want some one to take a motherly interest in me."
+
+There was another bellow of laughter.  All eyes were turned on their
+table.  John wished he could get away.  But they sat on until the
+lights began to go out, and when at last they were in the street
+again, John discovered, to his dismay, they were not bound for home
+but for Pop's flat off Jermyn Street.  He suggested going home alone.
+
+"Rubbish, the fun's just beginning," cried Fluffy, taking his arm.
+He was swept along with them.  Pop led the way, herded them into a
+small lift that ran up out of a dark hall in the street.  It halted
+on the fourth floor, where they all emerged.
+
+"Wonder if the Colonel's in," said Pop, turning the key.  They all
+followed and the question was answered in the diminutive hall by the
+emergence from a brilliantly lit room of the Colonel himself.  He was
+big fat man, with a treble chin and thin lips.  His eyes were beady
+and their sockets were sunken and baggy.  On his enormous stomach he
+displayed a heavy gold chain, and as if to augment the size of the
+foundations of such an enormous superstructure, he wore white spats.
+A diamond glittered on his finger, six black hairs trailed across his
+gleaming head, and his teeth were stopped with gold.  Anyone more
+unlike a colonel, John had never seen.  When John, later, asked de
+Courtrai for his regiment, the wise young man laughed.
+
+"Oh--he's one of the Nuts," answered de Courtrai.
+
+Certainly he was.  He kissed the three girls in a fatherly way,
+poured for them all a whiskey and soda, offered John a cigar, and
+finally sprang amazingly on to the lid of the baby grand piano, where
+he dangled his enormous legs.  Pop disappeared into an adjoining
+room.  Then it was her home thought John, for she emerged a few
+minutes later in a kimono, with slippers on and her hair down.  She
+curled up on a cushion by the fireplace, lit a cigarette, and looked
+up admiringly at the Colonel.  He had now dismounted, to permit
+Fluffy to sing, Wellington accompanying, after which the latter
+played with a skill and touch that surprised John.  When Pop had
+contributed, "Keep on loving me," to which refrain the Colonel pursed
+his lips frequently, they called for John to perform.  He pleaded
+excuse, but they would not listen.
+
+"I don't know anything, really," he urged, but they forced him down
+to the piano.
+
+"What is it?" asked Fluffy as he played the opening bars.
+
+"_O Lovely Night._"
+
+Pop looked at Wellington.
+
+"My--he's rapid, ain't he?" she said, but John did not hear.
+
+There was a strange stillness as he sang.  Even Fluffy stared into
+space, her pretty little face, under the rose shade, pensive.  "Makes
+me all shivery," she whispered, between the verses.
+
+Why did he sing this, John was asking himself.  It was quite out of
+keeping with the atmosphere.  He was a fool to court failure like
+this, but he struggled through.  No one spoke when he finished.
+Finally Pop asked for another cigarette.
+
+"You've got a lovely voice," said the Colonel.  "Wish I could sing
+like that.  Could once, when a kid--in a choir," he said with a wry
+smile, pouring out a whiskey and soda.
+
+"Lor--you in a choir," smirked Fluffy, pushing a thin finger into his
+pendulous stomach.  The Colonel resented this familiarity.
+
+"Yes, my gal, me in a choir--and solo tenor too, don't you forget
+it!"  He gulped down his drink and sighed.  Pop put her arms round
+his neck and kissed his bald head.
+
+"Did 'ums den," she crooned, and they all laughed.
+
+Soon afterwards they left, Pop and the Colonel standing in the
+doorway until the lift had gone down.  Later, walking down Mariton
+Street, after they had parted from Fluffy and Pansy, de Courtrai
+discussed the girls.
+
+"Orl right, of course, but, as you know, not ladies."
+
+"Is the Colonel Pop's father?" asked John.
+
+His two companions halted and stared at him.
+
+"My dear child--" began de Courtrai.
+
+"Dean's my name."
+
+De Courtrai gaped.
+
+"Really if you resent our--" Wellington drawled.
+
+"I do resent being made a fool," said John, hotly.
+
+The conversation was strained for the rest of the walk home.
+
+The Viennese clock in the drawing-room struck three as they lighted
+their candles in the hall.
+
+
+
+II
+
+The following morning, in a contemplative hour in bed, John was
+conscience smitten.  He was on the road to ruin, exactly as in the
+books he had scoffed at.  Flashy companions, the stage, the stage
+door, actresses, fast places of resort, doubtful flats, men of loose
+morals, and drink--yes, three drinks, two in the bar--the bar!--and
+one at the Colonel's, and then, as ended all vulgar affairs, a
+quarrel on the way home.  What would Muriel think if she knew?  Was
+this the way he was winning through?  He had been in London four days
+and was on the downward path.  Penitent, he sprang out of bed, and to
+strengthen his will, denied himself even a dash of warm water in his
+bath.  At breakfast de Courtrai and Wellington were missing, for
+which he was grateful.  It was good to talk with the Irish girl,
+enjoy her bright laughter and the fresh look in her eyes; what a
+contrast to those bedizened ladies of the ballet.  Mrs. Perdie was in
+her most motherly mood; she came up specially from the kitchen to
+have a look at Mr. John.
+
+"I wondered if you were coming in, Mr. Dean--I was awake with my
+lumbago--but there you are.  It's a strange young man who can resist
+the night air of London!"
+
+He felt inclined to resent her comment, but it was so good-natured
+that he laughed in reply.  The real mother emerged half an hour later
+when she met him alone in the hall, where he came to enquire after
+his laundry.
+
+"You'll soon lose that lovely colour of yours, Mr. Dean, in this
+whirlpool, if you deny yourself proper rest.  I've seen many a bright
+young gentleman go dull through coming home with the milk.  Perhaps I
+shouldn't say it, but lor, Mr. Perdie always said I was mother-mad,
+an' p'raps I am.  You'll not wear yourself out chasing the moon down,
+will you?"
+
+Her good-natured face wore an anxious look.
+
+"An' it's not for me to say really, but them young gentlemen upstairs
+are not your kind, and I'm sorry if I'm presuming, Mr. Dean," she
+said, wiping her hands on her apron.
+
+"Not at all--I appreciate your anxiety, Mrs. Perdie," answered John.
+"I shan't use my latchkey very often, you'll find."
+
+"There, sir, I felt I must say it, seeing you might ha' been my own
+son, sort of fashion, an' I'm easy now."  She disappeared suddenly
+below.
+
+At ten-thirty that morning, John sat in the office of the _New
+Review_.  He had with him a letter of introduction from Mr. Vernley
+to Melton Cane, the editor.  For one hour he sat in the waiting-room
+overlooking Covent Garden, while he listened to the whirr of the
+typewriter in the next room.  A door on his right opened into the
+editor's den, wherein sat the assistant editor reading manuscripts,
+which he took ceaselessly out of a big tin box.  The reader was a
+tall heavy man, with sandy hair and a fresh complexion.  He had
+chatted pleasantly with John and told him poetry was a drug on the
+market, and they were choked with it.
+
+"Ever since we discovered Mayfield's narrative epic, we've been
+inundated with plagiaries of his work.  I wade through them until I
+sink in despair."
+
+"But I haven't brought any poetry," explained John.
+
+The big man gave a sigh of relief.
+
+"You look like a poet--which made me think there was no hope for
+you--all those who look the part write dreadful rubbish.  You saw
+that schoolgirls-dream come in a few minutes ago?"  He alluded to a
+magnificent, leonine-headed youth with flaming tie and dark cloak
+whom John had taken for one of the great on earth.  "Here's the stuff
+he's left--without a stamped addressed envelope for return--
+
+  _My soul is bitter within me,
+  Long nights have I contemplated
+  The ego that is mine
+  And questioned to what immortality
+  Destined I go--_
+
+I can tell him at once--the waste paper basket."
+
+The offending manuscript joined the pile of the rejected.
+
+"You do write?" asked the assistant editor.
+
+"A little."
+
+"Prose or poetry?"
+
+"Prose."
+
+"Ah! there's some hope, but not much.  Are you aware, my dear boy,
+that only three out of every hundred novels bring their authors
+royalties, and that only one of those three provides a decent income?
+Do you know that editors rely on big names, their directors' literary
+shareholders and occasionally, when they have been out of town too
+long and must go to press, the literary agent?"
+
+John did not know this.  The assistant editor stood up and yawned.
+"One day I'm going to run a school of authorship.  Having been a hack
+for ten years with the income of a typist, I shall tell the aspirants
+how to become authors, and get testimonials from all the editors in
+whose papers I shall advertise my prospectus.  Have a cigarette?"
+
+John took one.  They smoked in silence for a while.  The assistant
+editor pointed to a portrait on the wall.  "That poor devil committed
+suicide in Brussels last week.  He had a net income of £4 per month
+from this _Review_.  Why do people write poetry, why do they write at
+all?  Literature is not a profession, it's a form of vagrancy."
+
+"You've been a vagrant?" said John.
+
+"How did you know?"
+
+"I read your travel books and liked them."
+
+"Oh--well, I'm off for good this time.  I'm going to Capri where I
+shall sleep all day and talk all night.  Been to Capri?  No?  Well,
+it's a good place to fade away in.  Are you going to wait for Cane?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"He'll come in with a rush and go out with one.  He's lunching with
+the Irish Secretary.  He's in such a hurry that he's never sure
+whether he is in Constantinople, Berlin or Paris.  His pet theory
+just now is the German menace; have you anything on the German
+menace?"
+
+"No--I've--"
+
+"That's the line at present.  Last month we were Malthusian, this, we
+are standing for strong language in modern verse, next the German
+menace--we don't know what after that; the menace may run to two
+numbers.  You will notice I am discreet.  That is half my charm.
+It's now twelve, I think you'd better wait half an hour, and then
+come out to lunch with me."
+
+"Oh thank you, but--"
+
+"No, it's not kind of me, as you think.  You keep me from being bored
+with myself.  Presently you shall tell me all the ambitions of your
+white young soul, all the sinks you are going to flush with your
+flood of zeal, the heights of fame you will scale, the way you
+propose to pay for board and lodgings, how you'll persuade the
+publisher you are the infallible boom he is waiting for.  But you
+shall not read me any of your poetry."
+
+"I don't write poetry.  I told you I didn't," began John.
+
+"Almost I am persuaded," said the assistant editor.  "But you will;
+the symptoms are there It is a mental measles you cannot escape."  He
+stacked up the unread manuscripts.  "There are poets in that pile who
+can write like Keats, like Shelley, like Byron, like Wordsworth, and
+they do it just as well.  They've been born too late.  What they
+can't do is to write like themselves.  There are over thirty
+Swinburnes here, and enough suggested immorality to poison the
+Vatican library.  Most of it is written by young ladies."
+
+At this moment Mr. Cane came in.  He was a little man, going bald,
+with scrubby moustache.  John was about to retire, but he bade him
+stay.  Rapidly he glanced through half a dozen letters on his desk,
+dictated social acceptances to his typist and then turned to John.
+
+"Now--what can I do?"
+
+John presented his letter.  Cane read it quickly.
+
+"You want work, I see.  There's none worth having in the literary
+world.  You're well informed, I'm told.  Do you know Elverton Thomas?"
+
+"I've heard of him."
+
+"He wants a secretary who can get points for his speeches.  If you
+like, I'll give you a letter to him at the House of Commons."
+
+"It isn't what I want, thank you," said John.
+
+"We don't always get what we want," snapped Cane.  "I can't do
+anything else for you," he added with an air of ending the matter.
+
+"You can if you will, Mr. Cane, please.  You know Mr. Walsh."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I want to see him."
+
+"Newspaper editors are very busy men."
+
+"They've always time for good business," urged John.
+
+"H'm--how old are you?--you can get what you want, I see."
+
+"Nineteen, with lots of drive in me."
+
+"You want to get on a newspaper?"
+
+"Yes--I'm determined to."
+
+"I'll ring up Walsh.  Go to his office at five to-day.  He'll be in
+then."
+
+"Thank you very much."
+
+Cane stood up, buttoned his coat, put on a glove.
+
+"I'm going now," he said to his assistant.  "I'll sign those cheques
+this afternoon.  Send back Professor Railing's articles on
+Shakespeare--there's nothing bar his resurrection could make a noise
+for him."  He strode to the door.
+
+"How's Mr. Vernley?" he asked John.
+
+"Very well, sir, thank you."
+
+"And Muriel?--a bright child that!"
+
+A light leapt in John's eyes.  The other man understood at once and
+gave him the first warm human look.
+
+"Oh--she's very well, sir."
+
+The door closed, he was gone.
+
+"There! what do you think of him?" asked the assistant, somewhat
+proudly, John thought.  "He'll play bridge at the Reform until four,
+dance at Murray's during tea, and rush back here before dressing for
+the opera.  And those simpletons," with a wave towards the pile of
+the rejected, "think he spends his time discovering them for the next
+number.  Our next specialty in verse--is a mechanic poet.  There have
+been navy poets, tramp poets, fishermen poets, postmen poets, porter
+poets, but no one's found a mechanic poet.  I have, and strange to
+say he doesn't write about lathes, cams or beltings.  He's gone back
+to pure Greek.  Here's 'Iphigenia in Balham.'  Victorian bricks and
+mortar mixed with ancient Greece.  We've prevailed on the Bishop of
+London to quote it next month.  That'll start the _Church News_; an
+interview in the _Daily Mail_ with the new poet, and we are well into
+a second edition.  Now let's go to lunch.  I don't know your name.
+I'll call you Narcissus--listening to my echoes."
+
+"That's a lucky shot," said John.  "That is my nickname.  Dean's my
+name."
+
+"Ha!" said the assistant editor.  "You are a reincarnation.  I must
+take you to a lady friend of mine.  She will see the aura of a
+chlamys under your flannel shirt.  My name, too, is strange--not what
+you would think for a moment.  Not poetical or suggestive, scarcely
+practical even--just Smith--you start at the revelation.  It is
+distinguished only by having neither a 'y' nor an 'e'.  We belong to
+the original Smiths--the blacksmiths.  Ready?"
+
+Crossing the Strand, John began to wonder if this was the inevitable
+end of all attempts to do work in London.  It was good-natured of
+this stranger to take him out.  He was amused at his torrential witty
+chatter, but it was not solving the all-pressing problem of getting a
+living.
+
+After lunch they parted in the Strand, John promising to take Smith
+the short story which he confessed he had written.  It was now a
+quarter past three.  He walked slowly down towards Fleet Street.
+Would Cane fulfill his promise and arrange his interview with Walsh?
+He particularly wanted to join the staff of the _Daily Post_.  He had
+read it regularly at school.  Three times they had published letters
+of his, and they had taken two articles.
+
+He found the Square, lying back from Fleet Street, in which the
+offices of the _Daily Post_ were situated.  Through the swing doors
+he came to an enquiry office, and asked for Mr. Walsh.  Had he an
+appointment?  He thought so, through Mr. Cane.  The uniformed
+attendant noted the fact on a slip of paper with John's name.  He was
+then led into a small waiting-room.  It was opposite the lift and
+contained a bare table and four chairs.  The walls were hung with
+portraits of former editors and directors.  John waited, standing.
+His heart was beating with suppressed anxiety; he felt he was on the
+fringe of things.  A long wait, then a page boy asked him to follow.
+He entered the lift, rose several storeys, walked down a long
+white-bricked corridor, turned a corner and found himself in an oval
+hall, with several doors leading out of it.  John was asked to wait.
+Behind one of these doors sat the great man.  There was much coming
+and going of clerks, and possibly reporters.  Half an hour dragged
+by.  John stood up and paced the floor.  Then three quarters of an
+hour, and still no summons.  Through a glass door he could see a
+young man writing under a shaded light He tapped the door, and the
+writer came to him.
+
+"Is Mr. Walsh disengaged yet?"
+
+"I don't know--have you an appointment?  What name?"
+
+John told him.  The dark young man disappeared through another door.
+He came back in a few seconds.
+
+"Mr. Walsh is sorry, but he cannot see you."
+
+Dismay covered John's face.
+
+"But I have been kept--"
+
+"He is very busy to-day ."
+
+"Surely he knew that before?"
+
+"Perhaps--but he can't see you."
+
+"Then I shall sit here until he can."
+
+The young man smiled.
+
+"This office never closes," he said.
+
+"But that door opens," retorted John, nodding at a a door.
+
+It was a lucky guess.
+
+"His secretary won't let you in--it is quite useless, really."
+
+"We shall see," said John, now enjoying his obstinacy.  A door close
+by opened, and a small clean-shaven man, of middle age with gold
+pince-nez, stood by listening to the debate.  He suppressed a smile
+as he looked at the flushed youngster, then came forward.
+
+"What do you want?" he asked.
+
+"I want to see the editor, sir, and if he's a gentleman--he'll see me
+after waiting for him an hour."
+
+The man peered at him through his eye glasses.
+
+"I'm afraid he's not a gentleman, but you can see him."
+
+"Oh, thank you, sir."
+
+"Come along," he said and showed him into a large room littered with
+papers and books.  He motioned John to a seat.
+
+"Now what do you want?" he asked, standing with his back to the door.
+
+"I want to see Mr. Walsh, please."
+
+"On what business?"
+
+"It's personal--" began John.
+
+"Perhaps so--but he must know.  You want to write for the paper I
+suppose?"
+
+"You've guessed it, sir,--but do let me see him," John pleaded.
+
+"He's engaged with the chief reporter at present--but he will see you
+soon, if you're patient."
+
+He then left the room by another door.
+
+John looked out of the window, down across the flat top of temporary
+buildings, and saw the traffic surging along Fleet Street.  He was
+engrossed in the spectacle when his benefactor re-entered and seated
+himself in the revolving chair before the littered desk.
+
+"The editor will see you now," he said.
+
+John jumped up.
+
+"Oh, thank you sir," he cried, and walked toward the door.
+
+"In here!" said the man, waving a hand for John to resume his seat.
+"I am Mr. Walsh--though you may have expected a gentleman."
+
+"Oh!" cried John, and collapsed in confusion.
+
+"Mr. Cane tells me you are an enterprising young man.  I see you are
+an obstinate one.  They are both qualities required on a newspaper.
+I'm sorry we've no vacancies.  The principle on which a newspaper is
+staffed is that we always have more men than we can employ--for
+emergencies and for weeding out.  You have no experience?"
+
+"No sir, but I--"
+
+"Don't worry, experience is unnecessary to any but duffers.  You look
+sharp.  Leave your address with my secretary.  If a vacancy occurs--"
+
+"But it won't sir."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I know that's the way every unsatisfactory interview ends," said
+John, grimly, more desperate than insolent.
+
+Mr. Walsh got up and crossed to the mantelpiece.
+
+"How old are you?"
+
+"Nearly twenty, sir.  You see, I must earn a living, my bit of money
+won't last long.  That has nothing to do with you, but I know you
+will be glad to have me when it is too late."
+
+The editor smiled.
+
+"You believe in yourself, and you'll succeed.  But I can't take you
+on.  I'll attach you, however.  You can do a few theatres, and art
+galleries and perhaps the literary editor can give you a little work."
+
+"Oh, thank you sir."
+
+"And one day we may be able to put you on the reporting staff."
+
+"On what basis am I paid?" asked John.
+
+"For what you do."
+
+"And how much is that?"
+
+"Depends on the chief reporter.  It's all I can offer you, it's a
+chance."
+
+"I'll take it, thank you."
+
+John rose.
+
+"See Mr. Merritt before you go."  He held out his hand.  "And I wish
+you luck."
+
+John was dismissed.  Outside the door he took a deep breath.  He had
+won the first round.  All now depended on Mr. Merritt, who, he
+learned, was out.  John left word to say he would call the following
+afternoon.  His next job was to go into Philip's shop, and buy a map
+of London.  At tea, in a Lyon's shop, he read down a list of
+amusements.  Dramatic critic for the _Daily Post_--he murmured to
+himself.  It sounded splendid.  And what a shock for Wellington and
+de Courtrai!  That evening he wrote to Vernley, to Muriel and to
+Marsh.  He also sent a letter to Mrs. Graham and Mr. Steer, saying he
+was in London, and asking if he might call.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+I
+
+In the entrance of the Circle Theatre there were already several
+loiterers awaiting friends with whom they were going to see the new
+play.  Among them John.  There was of course, nothing unusual in his
+appearance; the gallery queue which had filed past the main entrance,
+after its long vigil, would not know he differed from any other of
+those fortunate fellows who, well-groomed, drove up in taxis and cars
+and walked to their reserved seats, carrying the undigested peacock
+to the stalls.  It was all so new to him, this animated scene with
+its types of humanity.  Merritt, a thoroughly good fellow who had
+immediately shown a kindly disposition to the new man, had introduced
+him to Bailey, the dramatic critic of the _Echo_, who now accompanied
+him.  Together they stood by the portrait of a famous American
+actress and scrutinised the arriving audience.  There were Jews, of
+course, little men, with semi-bald heads and black curly fringes;
+they all wore patent button boots, and very fancy dress waistcoats.
+The cut of their clothes was ultra-fashionable, and there was a glint
+of gold and a flash of diamonds at many points of their ostentatious
+persons.  Gold-mounted walking sticks and cigars were noticeable.
+
+"These are the inner circle of the dramatic world," said Bailey.
+"That's Reinstein; he owns six theatres and a chain of restaurants;
+you eat his dinners and then try to digest them and his plays in his
+stalls.  I've seen great dramatists, men who can make you weep with
+their beautiful sentiment, run across the street to speak to him."
+
+"That's an awful looking beggar," said John, catching a vile leer
+directed at an under-dressed young woman who waved an ostrich feather
+fan as she passed, on the arm of an old man.
+
+"A clever fellow--nine successes this season.  That's Wentz, his
+scout, a word from him will make or mar an actor or actress."
+
+"Who's the man he's talking to?"
+
+"Ah--that's Lewis--he's one of us," replied Bailey.
+
+"Us?"
+
+"The most aggressive, the most feared and advertised of us all.  His
+column every Sunday is said to be the only thing that Reinstein and
+his crowd worry about."
+
+John looked at him.  Hook-nosed he wore an ingratiating smile and his
+voice purred as he spoke; when he laughed he emitted a high falsetto
+note.  John's observation was broken by the entrance of an amazing
+spectacle into the charmed circle.  A man, so diminutive that his
+dress shirt dominated him like a plate on a plate-holder, was shaking
+hands with Lewis.  On his fat nose he balanced, precariously, a pair
+of pince-nez through which he peered bemusedly.  The tips of his
+chubby hands just emerged from two prominent cuffs, his legs being
+wholly lost in corkscrew trousers falling over the feet.
+
+"Good heavens!" cried John, "just look at--"
+
+But another apparition joined the circle.  Nature had created him as
+an antidote to the little man.  He was huge; a behemoth.  His heavy
+jaw, the massive head, the long teeth, made him a perfect ogre, and
+in fulfilment he scowled at his companions.  His large hands hooked
+themselves by the thumbs on to the pockets of voluminous trousers.
+
+"They belong to us," said Bailey, enjoying the shock he administered.
+John's pride in his vocation had been too obvious not to afford
+amusement to a confirmed cynic who had sat in the stalls for twenty
+years, and had never betrayed the weakness of enthusiasm.
+
+"But--but surely," said John, "the newspapers don't send people like
+these--what about their dignity?"
+
+"Dignity!  There's no such thing in journalism.  That belongs to the
+leader-writer--in print."
+
+"Are they all like this?"
+
+"Most of us," replied Bailey, lighting a cigarette from the stub of
+another.  "We're working 'subs' by day and deadhead gentlemen by
+night--the more respectable are civil servants--and they are the
+least civil critics.  Still--there are a few presentable ones; we
+have the Grand Old Man--he's not here yet.  He is a perfect contrast
+to the Nut-food man--they'll be here later."
+
+A curly-headed young man in a fur coat strolled in.  He gave himself
+a side glance in the long mirror, approved of his classic beauty and
+passed on.  Everybody nodded to him and he acknowledged their homage
+graciously.  Several elderly ladies and a flashily dressed actress
+hurried after him into the theatre.
+
+"That's Ronnie Mayfair--the actor.  Freddie Pond will be here soon.
+I've never known him to miss a first night."
+
+Just then, John's attention was attracted by a swift glimpse of a
+passing head.  Its unusual beauty arrested him, the dark vivacious
+eyes flashing under a head of black bobbed hair.  She could not be
+more than twenty, he thought, she was so slim.  The extreme
+simplicity of her dress, falling without any decoration from shoulder
+to the knee, emphasised the lightness of her poise.  She was a swift
+darting creature, with a sensuous mouth, crimson and pensive.  But
+there was determination, defiance almost, in every movement of her
+body.  Passion merely smouldered: she could be a creature of sudden
+contrary moods.  She threw John a quick but searching glance as she
+passed, conscious of her power to attract, and the weakness of all
+his sex to respond, and yet it was not a challenge so much as a
+half-contemptuous provocation of his nature.  Bailey, observant and
+detached, did not fail to see the magic fire that had leapt from one
+to the other.  He saw this youth quiver with a sudden agitation, saw
+the answering challenge of the lithe form that flitted by, sure of
+the spoil if it cared to possess.
+
+"No," said Bailey, laying a hand on John's shoulder, amused at his
+false assumption of indifference, "don't be another moth.  There are
+too many singed already."
+
+The boy laughed, then, with a careless tone----"Who is she?"
+
+"The Chelsea Poppy--she's Hoffmann's famous model."
+
+He knew then in a moment.  So this was the Chelsea Poppy, the much
+sonneted model of Hoffmann's famous heads.  He loathed this forceful
+Jew's sculpture--its deliberate accentuation of the ugly, its cult of
+the repulsive, its coarse workmanship, apologised for as the new art.
+Like others he had wondered how foolish Society women could make
+themselves so extravagant over this ugly little man, the jerseyed
+king of the Café de l'Europe, with a court of disorderly disciples.
+The head of Poppy was famous.  In the marble he had loathed its
+sensuality, the ugliness of the contorted face.  But there was a
+repulsive similarity to the original; it was a cruel travesty of the
+flower-like beauty he had just seen.
+
+"She's--amazing," said John, not trusting himself to say more.
+
+"In many ways," added Bailey.  "Here's Freddie.  It is a perfect
+first-night, if the Grand Old Man will come."
+
+"Curtain up!" came the call.  The lounge emptied into the darkened
+house.  The dramatic critics became very serious.
+
+
+
+II
+
+The end of the first act gave John another glimpse of the Chelsea
+Poppy, a less assuring glimpse.  She was talking, at the entrance to
+the bar, to a cadaverous fellow who leered at her, and an involuntary
+shudder passed over John as he noticed the possessive look in the
+eyes of the man; he resented the fact that the girl seemed in no way
+perturbed.  Probably she was at home with that kind of man; certainly
+she talked with absolute familiarity, and her hoarse little laugh
+jarred on the ears of the youth ready to adore.  Twice she winked at
+a pair of young cavalry officers who sat on a lounge opposite, partly
+to display their seamless boots, partly to catch the girl's eye.
+Snatches of their conversation floated over to the youth who stood
+alone under the mirror.  They were enjoying themselves at the expense
+of the promenaders.  The diminutive fat man provoked their scorn.
+
+"How do such people get into this part of the house?" asked the pink
+and white youth, twisting an auburn moustache.
+
+"Can't say," drawled the pride of the regiment, regarding with
+satisfaction his thin thighs.  "The fellow's a reporter I suppose!"
+They yawned and then watched a girl's ankles until she drew near,
+whereupon they coldly looked at her from head to foot.  She seated
+herself on the lounge.  When John turned away she had taken a
+cigarette from the proffered case.  They did not rise with the call
+of the curtain.  In the interval after the second act, John let
+Bailey point out more celebrities.  There was a distinguished looking
+Jew, with dilated nostrils, iron grey hair and a stoop, handsome in
+the manner of his race, bearing the impress of intellect.
+
+"That's Luboff the novelist!"
+
+The famous portrayer of Jewry passed; his face, despite its lineal
+coarseness, had an amazing beauty in its character.  A few minutes
+later Bailey was talking with the novelist and introduced John, who
+found himself magnetised by an intense personality with great charm.
+He was a man with a hundred fights against poverty, prejudice and
+ill-health, but he had triumphed nobly.  He had interpreted the Jews
+to a scornful world, displayed their poverty, revealed their poetry.
+As a dramatist he had assumed the role of a reformer; he entertained
+the crowd, but he lectured it.  After a few minutes' chat he left
+them to speak to Lord Rendon, who, despite his elephantine exterior,
+had a nimble mind versed in the subtleties of politics and
+philosophy.  At this moment John's attention was arrested by the
+re-appearance of the girl in red.  She was talking to an astounding
+man whose hair straggled in disorder down to and over a soft brown
+collar.  He wore a pair of black metal pince-nez, smoked a stubby
+pipe, the bowl of which he pressed from time to time with fingers
+that scorned the need of the manicurist.  The Socialist was written
+all over him; there was sabotage in his eyes, repressed defiance in
+his gestures.  He wore, to accentuate his untidy eccentricity, a
+faded brown sports coat, the pockets bulging with papers, and most of
+the buttons missing.
+
+"Ah," said Bailey, "now you've seen the nut-food man--that's Adams of
+the _Argus_--clever chap, but thinks untidiness is a sign of
+intellect."
+
+"I see he knows the model--he's a Bohemian?"
+
+"Yes--at least he hopes so.  We haven't any real Bohemians in this
+country.  They live on the Continent.  When Englishmen try to be
+Bohemian they only succeed in being lazy or noisy.  You'll find that
+each of them is regarded as a rising poet, a rising novelist or a
+rising dramatist.  They're always rising until they are middle-aged,
+when they disappear somewhere.  Really, Bohemians are the dullest
+persons; they've no topics but their egotism.  Avoid them,
+Dean--they're never hygienic.  I can enjoy a third-rate artist who is
+ornamental, but these people are merely extravagant."
+
+"But he looks interesting," urged John.
+
+"So he is--you want to meet him?"
+
+"Well--"  He was desperately anxious to know Adams, for Adams knew
+the girl.  He must speak to her before the play ended.  Bailey
+guessed the hope and buttonholed Adams who shook hands.
+
+"This is Mr. Dean.  Tilly," he said, turning to the girl who had
+drawn aside.
+
+"Miss Topham," he informed John.  The girl looked at him casually,
+and merely exclaimed, "Oh!"  It was a shock to the eager youth and
+for two or three minutes she ignored him.  Then--
+
+"You're new to London?" she said coldly.
+
+"Yes, but who told you?" answered John.
+
+"No one,--I could see you were by the way you've been looking at
+people."
+
+This was a set back.  John gave her a frightened look and she was
+pleased by this success.
+
+"Have I--I hope I don't appear--" he stammered.
+
+"It doesn't matter--they like it; that's what they come here for."
+
+John was a little uncertain who "they" meant.  It seemed to include
+every one but herself.
+
+"Have you a cigarette?" she asked, abruptly.
+
+The boy's heart sank.
+
+"I haven't--I don't smoke.  I can get some."
+
+"Don't bother."  She looked at him curiously.  "You don't
+smoke--you're a queer kid."  They stood alone now, for Adams and
+Bailey had strolled on.  He noticed how transparently thin were her
+hands, which she tucked in her belt.  Her neck had a lovely line in
+its perfect sweep from the throat down.
+
+"You are an art student?" she asked, with a faint smirk.
+
+"Oh no--I'm on a paper--why?"
+
+"You examine like one."
+
+He flushed with the detection, and she gave a little laugh of triumph.
+
+"Sit down and tell me all about yourself--you puzzle me," she said.
+"You look as if you'll do all sorts of wonderful things, but people
+who look like that hardly ever do anything."
+
+He was easier now.  They sat side by side on the lounge.
+
+"There's little to tell, Miss--"
+
+"Oh, drop that, I'm Tilly to every one."
+
+"Tilly then,--you see I haven't left school long."
+
+"I can see that--the down's on you yet."  The remark hurt him and she
+saw it, swiftly.
+
+"Don't mind me," she said quietly, putting a hand on his arm.  "You
+see I'm used to men that gloat and want rebuffing."
+
+She laughed at the surprise in John's eyes.
+
+"Don't look like that or I shall melt.  You're a nice boy, and I'm
+afraid of you."
+
+"Of me?"
+
+"Yes--you make me think of lots of things I've given up thinking
+about.  Harry must ask you to tea."
+
+So she was married!  Of course she was married, he reflected, he was
+a fool not to have known from the first.
+
+"I should like very much to come."
+
+She looked at him again, until he looked away, and with a little
+laugh jumped up.  "We must get back now.  I'll see you soon.
+Good-bye!" and she was gone.  What an off-hand creature!  He was
+annoyed at her manner.  She had treated him like an infant.  She had
+laughed at him.  He had let her see too much.  When the play was
+ended and he stood in the crowded vestibule with Bailey, amid the
+crush of fur-wrapped women and black-coated men, he was still
+thinking of her.
+
+"You've made a hit with Tilly," said Bailey.
+
+"I!"
+
+"Yes--and she doesn't pay compliments--but don't let her play with
+you; she doesn't take any one seriously."
+
+"I'm not likely to do that," replied John shortly.
+
+"Come along then--we've to get our work done."
+
+
+
+III
+
+Merritt, chief reporter of the _Daily Post_, was a remarkable little
+man.  He was quite aware of this and retained his reputation with
+ease.  The life of a chief reporter is a desperate one.  The most
+amazing news scoop to-day is dead twenty-four hours later, and a big
+reputation can be lost in a day's idleness.  Merritt showed no signs
+of anxiety.  He sat at his desk in the stuffy little room adjoining
+the reporting room, whence he would dart out to send a man speeding
+across London or to Aberdeen.  His totally bald head gleamed with
+vitality.  He could be very rude and very rough, but men had rushed
+to Ireland at his behest and accounted themselves rewarded when he
+smiled and said "Good!"  He was part of the _Daily Post_ and could
+not conceive how a man could wish to live for anything else.  No one
+ever saw him go home and no one ever saw him come; he was the first
+and the last, and when he had gone, he was not at rest.  His voice
+often spoke over the wire from Brixton, disturbing the early morning
+rest of a jaded reporter.  A fire at Muswell Hill, a murder in Camden
+Town, a burglary in Knightsbridge or an assault at Tottenham--he knew
+of it first, scented the clue, despatched the sleuth-hounds.
+
+It was rumoured that he was married, but for years there was no
+evidence, until one day he disappeared and returned wearing black.
+He had buried his eldest boy of twelve.  The senior reporter to whom
+he mentioned this was about to make a remark, and he saw Merritt's
+mouth twitch, but the next second he was being told of an entry on
+the diary.  It was work, work, work.  Other men fell ill, became
+nervous wrecks, took to drink, were promoted, or left.  Merritt
+remained chief reporter, known from one end of Fleet Street to
+another, perhaps from one end of the world to the other.  He never
+went out, save at four o'clock for an hour, when he would be seen in
+a bar near by, within sound of the buses, and he went there for news.
+He knew every one.  Men in the Lobby of the "House," on the Stock
+Exchange, in Whitehall or at Epsom would ask "How's Merritt?"  He was
+the link to publicity.  He knew enough about the lives of men to
+equip a squad of blackmailers; and K.C.s consulted him when accepting
+briefs.  He had saved a king from assassination and rescued a bishop
+from a charge of being drunk and disorderly.  He had witnessed a
+succession of editors.  Merritt stayed, for Merritt was the _Daily
+Post_.
+
+But above all, this stout little man of fifty knew men.  It was he
+who discovered Burton Phipps, their star descriptive writer, had sent
+him off to Norway to intercept and expose the sham explorer of the
+Pole.  Jane, the finest parliamentary sketch writer in England, was
+trained under his hands.  Merton, the editor of the _Morning
+Telegraph_, Layman, the President of the Board of Trade, Reddington,
+chairman of the United Banks--all had groaned in their youth under
+his merciless yoke of discipline.  Loved and feared, he spared no
+man, and he never encountered rebellion because he never pitied
+himself.  "Merritt's a devil," every one said--"but a wonderful
+devil," they added.
+
+He took John in hand.  He made him compress a column of wonderful
+writing to fifteen living lines.  He made him re-dress a plain
+narrative in a style that "tickled."  He told John to use words of as
+few syllables as possible.  "All sub-editors are ignorant and full of
+malice," he said, with traditional jealousy.  He was never to worry
+about what the public thought of this or that.  "The public don't
+think, they follow."  It was a heartbreaking apprenticeship.  The
+fine column on the Kennel Show went into the waste paper basket.
+"There's two murders come in and the subs say we're overset."  He
+ridiculed a "special" on teashop girls with rapier wit, told John he
+wrote too fast to write well, and was as guileless as an infant in
+arms.  Once, with a brusque committal of a much-esteemed article, he
+brought misery to John's eyes, saw it, and growled,
+
+"You're a journalist all right, but your stalk's green," and with his
+wry smile brought a lump into the youth's throat.
+
+"Am I--am I giving satisfaction, Mr. Merritt?"
+
+The chief reporter looked over the top of his glasses--
+
+"The Chief sent you to me for occasional work.  You've done a
+banquet, a dog-show, four police courts, three inquests, two plays, a
+poster show and several special enquiries.  You've been running about
+like a hare for ten days--you've not been an occasional, but a daily
+event.  And I don't waste my time!"
+
+It was true, John was worked hard every day.  Each night the diary
+had the initials J.D. with a cryptic assignation following.
+Sometimes he accompanied a senior, a note-taker, and looked out for a
+descriptive paragraph; more often he was alone.  On the night that he
+had returned from his first play, after he had sent in his pencilled
+copy to the subs room, he looked at the diary and almost jumped in
+exultation.--"J.D.  7.15., Artists Union, Chelsea Theatre, half col."
+Here was his chance!
+
+
+
+IV
+
+The members of the Artists Union were certainly artistic.  A novelist
+who specialised in love and divorce in the Sunday newspapers and was
+dignified with the title of 'publicist' made a long tirade against
+the ignorant but prosperous industrial classes.  A young man followed
+this, very nerve-racked and bordering on hysteria, with an oration
+proving that hunger and genius were inseparable, whereupon a stout
+lady at the back of the diminutive theatre rose up and declared that
+all artists, musicians, and authors should be a direct charge on the
+Government, a sentiment that was applauded loudly.  Thoroughly
+enjoying himself, John sat next to a young lady in a gaudy kimono who
+was busy sketching the speakers, while a young man with a red beard
+that half hid a very weak mouth, drank tea out of a thermos flask.  A
+wealthy lady, interested in art, occupied the chair, which must have
+been very uncomfortable, for most of the brilliantly insulting things
+said applied perfectly to her husband, a wholesale grocer, who, to
+atone for disfiguring England with placards inciting the public to
+drink Tiffinson's Tea, bought preposterous modern paintings at well
+advertised figures.  John discovered it was a gathering of minor
+notabilities; there was Mr. Shandon Gunn, the cubist painter who
+laboriously disguised the fact that he had ever studied at the Slade
+School, or knew the meaning of perspective.  When slightly drunk, he
+was reputed to be epigrammatic.  His speech was cheered vociferously
+for its cleverness in conveying absolutely nothing to the audience.
+He was followed by Mr. Leslie Bumbo, a pallid fellow, the apostle of
+art with an ego, who wrote art books, and kept a book shop in a slum,
+which revealed a knowledge of business, since the bookshop kept him.
+Moreover, he led a culture movement for leisured ladies, who gathered
+every Wednesday in a shanty at the back of his house, where, in a dim
+light and a dim voice, he droned out his latest discourses on art.
+It was remunerative if mournful, for the ladies paid a shilling for
+admittance, bought the discourses and went home feeling gloriously
+advanced.  His speech this evening was confined to an embroidery on
+"The Ugly as an incentive to Murder."
+
+John was indebted for personal details to the young lady in the
+kimono, who called him "kid" and smoked incessantly while she drew.
+Towards the end of the meeting she waved her hand to a girl who had
+pushed forward in the crowded doorway.  John looked and, with a
+slight thrill of pleasure, recognised Tilly.  In the conversazione
+that ensued when the formal meeting ended, they sat in a corner
+together and drank coffee.  She knew everybody and introduced him
+freely as "Scissors."  When the company was going, Tilly, who had
+collected a small crowd, caught hold of John's arm.
+
+"Come along, Scissors!" she cried, propelling him towards the door.
+
+"Where?" he asked.
+
+"To my studio--we're having a romp."
+
+"But I can't go--I've to get my copy ready for the office."
+
+"Oh damn!"
+
+He wished she hadn't said it.  Perhaps he was old-fashioned, but
+somehow, a girl who used that word was a little--er?  That was what
+John could not precisely say; he had been trying to since their first
+meeting.  He did not want to appear a prig, and yet--.  He knew
+Muriel would not approve, but he laughed at the thought.  A speaker
+had been attacking the Victorians for their smugness--well, he was
+being very early Victorian.
+
+"Come on, kid," cried the young lady in the kimono.  He stood between
+Scylla and Charybdis.  A vision of Merritt nerved him to resistance.
+
+"Then come after, we'll go on till three or four."  Weakly he
+declined and weakly he surrendered.  He took the address and promised
+to return as soon as he could.  It was half-past one when his work
+was done, and he knocked at the door of Birch Lodge Studios, No. 4,
+off the King's Road.  There was a great noise of revelry within.
+When the door opened, he found himself in a large room, with a
+half-roof of sloping glass through which the moon peered down.  A
+dozen Chinese lanterns illuminated the room and were reflected in the
+polished floor whereon about twenty couples were dancing to the music
+of a gramophone.
+
+"Scissors, you dear!" cried Tilly, as he entered.  "I didn't think
+you'd come."
+
+"But I promised," he said, as she took his overcoat.  The next moment
+she had taken him in her arms and they were whirling through the maze
+of the dance.  She was hot and the studio was stuffy, and there was a
+languor in the manner in which she hung in his arms that was
+half-trustful and half-seductive.  At the far end of the room, where
+the candle of the lantern was guttering, it was almost dark as they
+danced round.  She gave a little laugh as the candle went out, her
+mouth provokingly near to his, her eyes softly luminous in the
+moonlight falling through the glass.  The rhythm, the warmth, the
+music worked upon him; he was whirling, he knew not where.  For a
+moment he hesitated, then laughed as she laughed, and the next moment
+quenched his boyish thirst on her lips.  Convulsively she clung a
+moment, then collapsed softly in his arms, and he experienced a
+strength that was weakness, a tenderness that was cruelty.  He
+paused, floundering in a sea of the senses.
+
+"Go on," she whispered, for the other couples in rotation were
+crowding upon them.  She pushed him round, but not before the girl in
+the kimono swirled by and laughed out.
+
+"Caught you that time!"
+
+The tone was vile, the accent inexpressibly vulgar; it jarred on the
+excited youth who danced dizzily.  Tilly, more acutely alive and now
+self-possessed, felt her partner give a shiver of disgust.
+
+"Let's sit this out--I don't want to dance any more--please."
+
+They sat on a camp bed along the main wall, in silence.
+
+"You're angry," she whispered looking at him coyly.
+
+"I'm not."
+
+"Oh, yes you are--look at me, you sulky boy."
+
+He looked into her mischievous eyes, and he had to laugh.
+
+She twined her fingers with his.
+
+"That's sensible," she said.  "We're only young once," and she let
+her head rest on his shoulder, her soft hair warmly clouding his
+cheek.  The next moment he was holding her with all the strength of
+his lissome young body, and laughed delightedly when she winced at
+his ardour.  Yes, he was only young once.
+
+  "_--way down in Tennessee,_"
+
+whined the gramophone.  Only a few were dancing now.  Little bursts
+of laughter and chatter came from dusky groups around the studio.  It
+was all rather unearthly in that aromatic atmosphere.  Some one wound
+up the gramophone and put on a new record--
+
+  "_While shepherds watched their flocks by night
+  All seated on the--_"
+
+
+"Oh, stop it," came a voice, and there was a laugh all round.
+
+"Got 'em mixed," responded another.  "Here's 'In Alabama'--how's
+that?"  The gramophone whirred on, and the dancing began again.
+
+It was nearly three when the guests began to depart.  John knew none
+of them.  He had not seen their faces clearly all the night, but they
+somehow knew his name was "Scissors," and treated him familiarly.
+Most of the men were about his own age, the women a little older.
+The humourist of the party, whom they called "The Doc" was about
+forty-five and seemed to father the assembly.
+
+"Don't go yet," said Tilly as she stood by the door.  "I'm not a bit
+sleepy and I want to talk."  He stood aside and let the others go.
+At last only one girl remained.
+
+John came back to earth abruptly.
+
+"Where's Mr. Adams--I haven't seen him all the evening."
+
+"Harry?--oh, I don't know--he comes in when he likes," replied Tilly,
+drawing up a chair to the anthracite stove.  She began talking to the
+other girl Fanny, who presently rose and said, "Good night,"
+disappearing into another room.
+
+"Is she staying with you?" asked John.
+
+"Who--Fanny?--no, we live here together.  She's getting married next
+week, poor kid, to a little blighter.  Lord knows why she picked
+him--or why any girl marries at all."
+
+"But--you're married!" said John, surprised.
+
+She stared at him.
+
+"Married--whatever makes you think that?"
+
+"I thought Mr. Adams--"
+
+Tilly interrupted him with a short laugh.
+
+"You've been listening to gossip.  Everybody says I'm going to marry
+him--but I say not.  I'm not going to keep any man, and that's what
+marrying a man of genius means."
+
+But John cared nothing for the philosophy.  He was relieved, for the
+last two hours he had felt an unmitigated bounder.  A new
+cheerfulness swept over him, and Tilly noticed it.
+
+"Why, you're waking up--you've been like a bear with a sore head!"
+
+"I'm sorry," he said, simply.
+
+"All right, Scissors!"  She slid on to her knees at his feet.  "And
+kissing's no harm," she sighed, looking up into his face.  "And oh,
+I'm so lonely at times!"
+
+She pulled his face downwards with her tiny hands, and ran her
+fingers through his hair.  The sensation made him laugh as he slipped
+his arms under hers and drew her upwards until their lips met.  In
+the darkness he could hear the beating of their hearts, and the
+silence singing in his ears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+Annie had been upstairs three times that morning to see if Mr. Dean's
+shoes had been taken inside his room.  But the door was still closed
+and the shoes on the mat outside.  At last she gave away her secret
+hero.
+
+"Mr. Dean's not up yet," she said reluctantly to Mrs. Perdie, as she
+came downstairs to the kitchen.  "Shall I keep his breakfast 'ot?"
+
+"What?--not down?  Why it's half past ten!  Have you cleared away
+yet?" cried Mrs. Perdie, emerging wet-handed from the scullery and a
+brisk encounter with saucepans.  "We can't keep breakfast going into
+lunch time."
+
+Annie halted, she did not expect an order that would deprive her
+favourite of his breakfast.
+
+"You'd better take it up on a tray to his room," said Mrs. Perdie,
+relenting--"and I'll speak to him when he comes down."  She
+disappeared again into the scullery where she thought long on the
+ways of young men and how cruelly the wicked city corrupted them.
+Lying in bed late had been the first sign of Mr. Perdie's breakdown.
+Once a man began to lie late, his backbone went, of that there was no
+question.  She tolerated such a thing with de Courtrai and Wellington
+on the top floor.  It was in keeping with their characters.  Weedy
+young men in a fast profession might be expected to lie in bed in the
+morning, even at the cost of losing breakfast.
+
+Strange to say, the one who suffered most, Annie, who carried up the
+breakfast, grumbled least.  She tapped, gently at Mr. Dean's door, to
+absolve her conscience, but not to wake him, then she tiptoed in.  He
+was fast asleep--though she could see very little of him, with his
+head buried in the pillow and the sheets hunched up round his
+shoulders.  Cautiously she drew up the blind and flooded the room
+with light.  Then she placed a small table at the side of the bed.
+Still he slept.  For a few moments she stood in romantic
+contemplation of his tousled head, with its ravelled locks.  How
+lovely he looked, with his boyish colour and his strong throat.  His
+pyjama jacket, unbuttoned, gave a glimpse of a strong chest.  Greatly
+daring, she leaned forward.  Just once she would do it--she might
+never have the chance again--and oh, she had wanted to, so many
+times.  Often she had longed he would just come and put his arms
+round her and kiss her fiercely--she wouldn't have minded if he had
+been cruel even.  She stooped and very lightly kissed his hair, just
+where it fell in a mass to one side of his brow, and she felt her
+very heart would betray her.  But he slept on, unconscious of all the
+love poured out over him.  Softly Annie went out.  She halted on the
+threshold with the tray in her hand, flushed and trembling with
+excitement.
+
+"Lor--I'm daft!" she thought, and then walked loudly into the room
+and deposited the tray on the table with a bang.
+
+"Here's breakfast, Mr. Dean.  It's half past ten and missus says she
+can't keep it any longer!"
+
+He was awake in an instant.
+
+"Good heavens--I've overslept!"
+
+"I should think y'ave, Mr. Dean--that's being up 'o nights at them
+dances."
+
+John laughed.
+
+"Captain Fisher's been asking for you, Mr. Dean, He's very excited at
+breakfast about something in the papers.  He says you're a remarkable
+gentleman.  He was so excited."
+
+"But what about, Annie?" asked John stretching.
+
+"I don't know that, sir, but he wants to see you--come in drunk last
+night 'e did, and was 'orribly rude to Miss Simpson, on the landing.
+Said he hated damn gramophones grinding hymn tunes over his head.  He
+apologised this morning and now says he's been grossly insulted
+because Miss Simpson didn't say anything, but gave him a temperance
+tract.  The missus had to speak to them both and the Captain gave
+notice."
+
+"When does he go?" asked John, cracking his egg.  The gossip of this
+caravanserai amused him.
+
+"He never does go; he always gives notice when Mrs. Perdie says what
+she thinks," replied Annie.  "'Ow could he go anywhere else when all
+know 'is little 'abbits?  But I've got a lot to do.  The tea orl
+right, Mr. Dean?" she said, moving to the door.
+
+"Quite, Annie, thank you," he replied smiling at her.  She closed the
+door on her hero with a resolute sniff.
+
+Drinking his tea, with a head clearing, John became reflective.  This
+would really not do.  Half of the morning gone, and he was due at the
+office at twelve!  Then his mind went back to the night before, and
+to Tilly.  It had all been rather hectic.  Now he thought of it, he
+had been a decided fool, sitting there until the early morn, just
+holding in his arms and kissing a girl whom he had not known six
+hours, and who called him "a dear kid."  Why had he behaved like
+that?  He was lonely perhaps--and he had amused himself, that was
+all.  He didn't, couldn't love her, and certainly she had never for a
+moment thought of him in that way.  Turning to pour out some more
+tea, his eyes fell on a framed photograph on his dressing table.
+Yes, he had been a bounder--he couldn't tell _her_, she wouldn't
+understand, for even he did not.  And yet, if he met Tilly again--he
+dismissed the idea deliberately, but remembered in doing so that he
+_would_ meet her again.  There was a dance at the Studio next Friday.
+No,--he must not go there again.
+
+He slipped out of bed, and bath towel in hand, surveyed himself
+critically in the glass.  Did he look a rake?  Was dissipation
+stamping its marks upon him?  But the vision in the mirror was that
+of youth, flawless in careless health and grace.
+
+When he appeared in the hall downstairs, and Mrs. Perdie hurried
+forth to give a little motherly advice, he looked such a slim picture
+of radiant youth, his dark eyes shining, his face gleaming, with high
+spirits bubbling over, that she lost the opening words of her
+prepared overture, and worshipped for a moment, after which her
+chance was gone, for Captain Fisher emerged from the drawing-room,
+newspaper in hand.  He flourished it in John's face.
+
+"Egad, sir, it's great--I've not laughed so much for years--you've
+got the real touch--I always thought those Bohemians were mad."
+
+He touched his forehead with the rolled-up copy of the _Daily Post_.
+
+"May I look a moment?" asked John, a little bewildered.  He opened
+the paper on the third page and saw his name in black type.  The
+editor had put it to the description of the Artists Union meeting.
+John suppressed a shout of triumph.  There was his name true enough,
+"John Dean," with three quarters of a column of close print
+following!  Of course, the House of Commons was not sitting, so space
+was plentiful; still there was his name, for all the world to see!
+
+The omnibus that carried him on its top that gay spring morning as it
+wound its way past the Victoria Station down Victoria Street, under
+the grey front of Westminster Abbey façade, on up lordly Whitehall,
+might have been the steeds of Apollo the sun-god, so radiantly rode
+youth through the world, all civilisation singing about him,
+organised for his delight.  He remembered hearing an odd remark of
+Merritt's one night.
+
+"The first time you hit a bull's eye with the Chief, he gives you
+credit for it--there's your name on the target--but you've to be a
+marksman for that to happen."  And it had happened.  For the first
+time he experienced confidence, he was now conscious of approval.
+Before, it had been like dropping his articles down a drain.  They
+disappeared for ever.
+
+Merritt said nothing to him at the office, but in the afternoon, as
+he sat writing a letter in the reporters' room, the door of Merritt's
+little office opened.  There was a sound of laughter within, and John
+caught sight of Phipps, who had just returned from a conference at
+Vienna, on which he had been writing with customary brilliance.  John
+had never spoken to their leading man, who was as dizzily remote from
+his humble inquest-police-court haunting orbit, as the Pleiades from
+the sun.
+
+"Dean," called Merritt, putting his head round the doorway.  John
+went in.  "I want to introduce you to Burton Phipps," he said.
+Phipps rose and held out his hand to him.  John could not see him
+clearly in the sensation of the moment.  Why was he so ridiculously
+sensitive that his eyes watered, whenever something really wonderful
+happened?  He gulped and heard Phipps praising and laughing about his
+article.
+
+"Are you doing anything?" asked Phipps.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Come out and have tea with me then.  Good-bye, Merritt."
+
+"Good-bye--Phipps."
+
+John followed as in a dream.
+
+Outside they crossed the square, plunging into the five o'clock
+traffic vortex below Ludgate Circus, walked a short way and then
+turned into a narrow entry.  Through a couple of swing doors they
+found a hall, whose walls were plastered with notices, and then a
+lounge with small tables.  A few men nodded to Phipps, the diminutive
+waiter smiled as on an old friend when taking the order for tea.
+
+Now for the first time John was able to look critically at his new
+friend.  It was a face and head of arresting dignity, beauty almost.
+Of small build, he was a slim, compact man of about thirty-five with
+a boyish expression.  He was pale, his eyes a steely grey, very
+intense, with points of light in the pupils, glowing and alive in
+contrast to the general pallor of the brow.  His hair was short and
+slightly wavy, the nose arched and Roman.  It was a chiselled face,
+that of a man of thought, into whose lines had passed the experience
+of emotion, suffering perhaps.  It was, in a curious way, a face,
+ascetic and carven, that suggested sorrow, sprung from contemplation
+rather than life's trials.  And the voice was in accordance with this
+impression, for it was deep, with notes of rich melancholy, the voice
+of a great preacher.  To John, he seemed much as he would have
+expected to find one of the knights of the Round Table, a strong,
+handsome personality--yet human, and sensitive to the beauty of life
+as well as its ugliness.  There was a quick nervousness in the shape
+and movement of the hands, the right fingers being stained with
+nicotine, for he was an incessant smoker of cigarettes.  In his talk
+he had a sense of humour which seemed to belie the seriousness of his
+expression, but that may have been due to his subject, for John had
+got him to talk of his famous adventure at a Grand Duke's wedding
+when he had figured as a foreign statesman and given Fleet Street an
+"inside" story that kept it talking for twenty-four hours--a long
+time for Fleet Street to discuss any subject.
+
+Then he told John something of his experiences as a war correspondent
+in the Balkan War.
+
+"A bloody, horrible business.  I can hardly forgive the folly of men,
+Dean.  There are people here talking about our next war--with
+Germany.  What insanity--and what wickedness!  If only they had seen
+and not read about war.  I don't think there's any war worth
+fighting."
+
+"Not for honour?"
+
+"Were they ever fought for that?"  Phipps looked at him piercingly.
+
+"I suppose not," assented John.
+
+"And in future, there'll be no war worth winning," he said in his
+deep voice.  "The price of the effort will out-value the prize.
+Well, if another war comes along, thank heaven I shall be too old for
+sending telegrams to the British Public about its picturesque
+bloodiness."
+
+When they had parted John felt he had made a new friend.  That was
+the marvel of London.  You met the men who did things; you were at
+the hub of creation, their names and faces were familiar with the
+day.  Steer, Ribble, Phipps--what would some men have given for his
+good fortune?
+
+When he arrived back at the office, word came that the Chief wanted
+to see him.  He went through to the Secretary's room.
+
+"Oh--Mr. Walsh's just going--I'll ask if he'll see you."
+
+He came back a moment later and ushered John in.
+
+Walsh sat at his littered desk.
+
+"Sit down, Dean.  Do you know French?"
+
+"A little, sir."
+
+"Do you speak it?--can you be understood and understand?"
+
+"I--I hope so sir."
+
+Walsh smiled.
+
+"And how much Danish?"
+
+John looked surprised.  "Danish, sir?"
+
+The editor laughed and then got up, putting his hand on the youth's
+shoulder.
+
+"Don't let that worry you--England was proud of possessing a Viking's
+daughter as queen, but few of us know a word of her language.  On
+Friday, I want you to go to Copenhagen to an international telegraph
+conference.  It will last a fortnight.  Merritt will tell you what we
+want, and our man in Copenhagen will look after you.  You will go to
+Harwich and cross to Esbjerg.  The cashier will give you the
+necessary money.  I hope you'll enjoy the trip.  Good-bye."
+
+He touched a bell, his secretary came in, John went out.  Dizzily he
+walked back to his room.  Travel!  And he was a special
+correspondent!  He could envision the italicised words, the magic
+words he had seen under Phipps' name.  "_Our Special Correspondent._"
+To Merritt he stammered out the news, but the unimpressionable
+Merritt seemed to know all about it.
+
+"Keep your mouth shut until you go--or others will be green with
+envy.  They can't help it, poor fellows.  Half of them are plodders,
+and you don't work for all you do--it's just in you, that's all.
+That's half the tragedy of life--to the plodders.  You needn't come
+in to-morrow.  I'll look up the boats and trains."
+
+Outside, in the street, John stood for a moment, while the world went
+by him.  A queer fellow Merritt.  How he had humbled that
+triumph--"half the tragedy of life--to the plodders."  Somehow it
+made his exultation seem childish and mean.  They were such good
+fellows too, full of kindness, and a spirit of give and take, and he,
+the newest among them, the cub, was racing ahead.  It must be bitter.
+They filed before him--merry little Bewley, daring and audacious,
+Lawton, the dreamer and writer of rejected verse, Russell, the
+ponderous, saving hard for a home and sentimental about children,
+Johnson, who longed to retire on a farm--name after name, each
+coupled with hopes and ambitions.
+
+And now his chance had come.  He must tell some one.  He went back
+into the clerk's office and rang up Mrs. Graham.  Yes, she was in and
+would be delighted if he would dine with her.  At the Temple Station
+he booked for Sloane Square, his nearest point to her flat in Cheyne
+Walk.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+I
+
+The success that fell upon John Dean did not delude him.  He had been
+unnerved too young to feel trustful toward life.  While everybody
+called him lucky or blessed by the gods, and prophesied the dizzy
+heights to which good fortune would carry him, he was, nevertheless,
+suspicious.  Twelve months had gone by since he had secured his
+position with fine work at Copenhagen.  That mission, which from an
+incident had developed into an important European situation, he had
+handled in a masterly manner for his years and inexperience.  Some
+men in Fleet Street called him precocious, others, less complimentary
+and less successful, brazen-faced.  Phipps, with whom a warm
+friendship had grown up, called him "an amazing child," and laughed
+good-naturedly over the adroitness with which he had got his
+despatches through ahead of his colleagues.  They had met, about
+mid-June, at Warsaw, whence Phipps was bound for Constantinople to
+report on the Young Turk party and the revolutions.  It was the
+following Spring when they met again, and greatly to John's delight,
+Phipps had hunted up Ali, at college in Constantinople, and had
+brought back news that the finely grown young Turkish gentleman, now
+a keen follower of Enver Bey, had talked rapturously of John and the
+early days at Amasia.
+
+"You must be one of his gods, Dean, by the way he spoke of you."
+
+"We were great friends, I remember.  I often wondered if he still
+recalled me.  We have ceased to write--how strange to think he is now
+a big fellow--he used to be so shy."
+
+Phipps had brought a letter for him.  Later, in his own room, John
+had broken the seal and read it.  It was a strange epistle, one
+moment full of the formality of the Orient, and then suddenly
+passionate, breaking into ornate declarations of eternal friendship.
+But it was Ali, as of old, and as John read, there were the old
+scents of that gorge in his nostrils; he could hear the tinkle of the
+Yeshil Irmak as it ran down, moon-silvered, over the stones, and, as
+the moon peered into the dark ravine, the distant drone of the drums
+in the valley.  The old thrill was still in his blood.
+
+
+"_O sworn brother, I clasp your hands and look into those wonderful
+eyes of yours.  Still am I Ali, your proud servant, still would I
+follow you, John effendi.  Often I think of you in the night time
+when the _caiques_ are at rest by the Galata Bridge, and the moon
+floods the cypress groves.  Often I wonder if still that gift of mine
+is with you.  Your friend tells me that you prosper, that you are
+fair to behold, a leader among men.  It is well.  I knew this would
+be, of old.  Sad that manhood is upon us and that we hear not the
+voice of each other.  Still in my heart you linger.  In time, it may
+be we meet, and oh, beloved friend, the joy that shall fall upon us,
+Insh'allah._"
+
+
+On the night he received the letter, John went round to Lindon's flat
+at Battersea, which overlooked the river and Chelsea on the opposite
+bank.  It was a grey Spring evening, and the great flood ran linked
+with lights reflected in the stream; the beauty of melancholy was on
+the face of things.  John stood staring out of the window.  Lindon
+was playing by candle light; now grasping fame as a pianist, he was
+attractive and forceful as ever.  John watched his splendid head
+between the candles on either side, as it moved with the rhythm of a
+Brahms waltz.  Suddenly the player stopped.
+
+"A penny, Scissors," he said, seeing the deep gaze.  John laughed and
+looked out of the window again.
+
+"They're not worth it--only--I often wonder, Lindon, if ever we quite
+realize the whole wonder of life--of this--of friendship, of youth?
+It's all slipping by and it's so good, and we make so little of it."
+
+Lindon rose, walked across to the window and put his arm in John's.
+
+"Scissors, you're quite an old sentimentalist.  Of course it's
+good--and we enjoy it, at least I know I do."
+
+They watched the sunset fade in silence.  When a last line of flame
+had died into the grey bank of cloud, John spoke.  It was evidently
+the end of some thoughts.
+
+"It will have been worth it--when it all ends and we look back.  I've
+been lucky."
+
+"Ends?  What a morbid fellow you are!  Why ends?  It's all just
+beginning, Scissors!  Why we've got the world at our feet!"  Lindon
+laughed.  It was so hearty and infectious that at any other time,
+John would have laughed too.  All's letter had upset him a little.
+He shivered in his chair.
+
+"You know, it's silly, Lindon--but I feel there's a tragedy coming.
+Life's just too good--it won't behave always like this.  It waits and
+then pounces and you are in its grip."
+
+"Rot!--Scissors.  Let's have the light on, it's getting creepy."
+
+"No--I want you to play--"
+
+"What, in the dark?"
+
+"Please--play that Brahms again--I can see all kinds of pictures."
+
+For a moment, Lindon hesitated and then, seeing the earnest appeal in
+John's eyes, shook him playfully and went over to the grand.
+
+"I shall have to feel my way, Scissors."
+
+But he played very softly and with great feeling.  John sat in the
+window and let the rich music flow over him in that growing darkness.
+It was of Ali he thought; and then he was a little boy on the
+verandah, in the arms of a grown man; suddenly he was standing with
+him under an almond tree in blossom, and the man's head was bowed in
+grief; out of the dusk came face after face; what did they here in
+this scented Eastern Garden?  He caught the swift animation of
+Marsh's glance, about to speak; there was Vernley, the old poise of
+the head he knew so well; and, somehow, Mr. Fletcher was with them.
+How wonderfully Lindon was playing--and how insistently came the
+muffled pulse of a drum, perhaps down the gorge in the old deserted
+Khan.  He must follow it--how it beat through his brain, insistent
+and full of wonder.  He was going towards it, strangely elated.
+
+It was quite dark when Lindon struck the last chord and let the sound
+flow through the room before the pedal-release curtained the room in
+silence.
+
+John started, as if rudely awakened.
+
+
+
+II
+
+It was a London he knew now.  He had followed the long social
+programme reaching its climax in June.  He watched the fashionable
+crowd at Burlington House on private view day; the smaller, but more
+interesting gathering at the Grosvenor Galleries when the
+International Society's show opened; concerts at Queen's Hall, first
+nights at the theatre, garden parties, polo at Hurlingham, the Derby
+and Goodwood,--all these things occupied his days.  It was a vivid,
+everchanging experience, this life of the journalist, and with it all
+he touched many circles and found new friends.  The cranks, the
+idealists, the hard relentless men of affairs, the propagators of
+creeds,--he met them all, and from them learned something.  There was
+a soft spot in the heart of most men if you could touch it; they were
+very human in one aspect, though he stood appalled at the pace
+humanity set itself in the mad race to success.  How many of these
+hectic men and women ever realized what life was?  They dared not
+stop to contemplate.  On, on, on, lest the horror of their own entity
+should frighten them.  They feared themselves, they must never be
+left to themselves.  Solitude meant madness--there was forgetfulness
+flowing down the crowded thoroughfares.
+
+"Only artificial people praise the country--they feel so superior to
+it," said Harry Merivale, brightly, as he sat at lunch in the Union
+Club, where John was the guest of Major Slade.  The company laughed
+at this statement; it was the applause that always spurred Merivale
+to further efforts in the preposterous.  At thirty he had been
+considered a wit and a man of promise.  Now at forty cautious men
+shook their heads and looked suspiciously at the flippant
+monologue-artist.  Merivale was an advanced revolutionary on five
+thousand a year.  Three years as private secretary to Lord Eastbourne
+had filled him with contempt for those who did not decorate their
+titles.  Merivale, who developed his sense of the theatre assiduously
+and derived pleasure from the fact that persons thought must be
+descended from the famous historian of the Roman Empire, was a
+precisian.  He pronounced his words, despite the pace of an utterance
+made to prevent interruption, with unction; he was as careful about
+their use as he was careless about their meaning.  He would have
+sacrificed his grandmother for an epigram.
+
+His attire was as precise as his small flat in Mayfair.  He hoped he
+was the last to preserve the traditions of the Augustan age.  He read
+Locke "On the Human Understanding" in a room hung with choice
+examples of Signorelli, Lippo Lippi and Angelico.  His furniture was
+Chippendale, his books were all leather bound.  Sometimes in a long
+monologue on the bad government of the age, he quoted John Stuart
+Mill.  He refused to recognise any novelist since Fielding, any
+musician since Handel.  The last statesman died with Pitt the
+younger.  The only persons he really respected were his valet and his
+banker.  They both moved in the best circles.  Major Slade collected
+his epigrams and performed the office of an enlarging mirror.  He
+spoke of Merivale with a note of melancholy as of a man who could
+have been great had it not been vulgar.  Merivale himself found
+comfort in this reflection; after all, he was, among the crowd, the
+one man self-possessed.
+
+His day was perfectly ordered, his trousers perfectly creased.  A
+vellum bound copy of "Marius the Epicurean" always lay on a bedside
+table.  He had a model bachelor's rooms, and kept a full diary.  He
+envied the poor their indifference to dirt and despised the rich for
+their contempt of brains.  He had a beautiful voice, an unfailing
+eloquence and a safe income; few men had attacked the dinner tables
+of Mayfair with more perfect, if restricted, assets.
+
+John met Merivale at the Phyllis Court Club, where he had been
+staying for Henley Regatta.  Marsh was rowing for his college,
+Vernley and his people were also at the club.  Merivale was known to
+Mr. Vernley, who delighted in pairing him with Marsh, now a brilliant
+extempore antagonist.  Those had been great days at Henley.  Marsh
+was radiant.  Never had John seen him more audacious, more
+triumphant.  Merivale, disconcerted, admired, and, being an astute
+tactician, adopted Marsh as his pupil.  Their dinner table was the
+noisiest, their little set the most conspicuous.  They all registered
+a vow to spend August together on the East Coast.
+
+These were days of supreme happiness.  Evenings in Mrs. Graham's
+charmed circle, the intellectual stimulus of a supper gathering at
+Mr. Ribble's house, the glimpse of home, obtained at Steer's, where
+the nursery woke to riotous mirth with the advent of "Uncle John"--or
+those marvellously perfect dinner parties at Slade's house in Braham
+Gardens, with guests as carefully chosen as the menu; the air of
+self-possession and quiet mannered ease, the atmosphere in short
+which is the inseparable adjunct of the Wykehamist the world
+over--or, turbulent and youthful, the late dance-parties in Tilly's
+studio--with Tilly, deep in love this time with the attractive young
+pianist whom John had brought along one evening--yes, it was a
+splendid life, with every hour booked ahead, and heights of glory for
+youth to scale.
+
+But, in all these things the most ardent, John turned aside at
+moments and his thoughts were far away.  If Muriel were here among
+his friends, to share this wine of youth!  At night-time, often in
+the stillness of the long stone streets, so solemn at mid-night, as
+he walked home, he would wonder just how she lay pillowed in her bed
+in a room he knew not in the Convent of the Sacred Heart.  A
+momentary glimpse held him in the spell of recollection--the way her
+little hand tucked away a rebellious curl behind the ear, even the
+way she had of nibbling at a concert programme!  And to see her run
+up a flight of steps--up the terrace at "The Croft," and then turn at
+the top, breathless and flushed, her eyes shining!  Why was she
+exiled from him?  It was cruel to waste the ardour of their youth in
+this senseless fashion.
+
+On his last visit to the Vernleys, he could no longer keep silent
+upon his dream.  Quickly, bluntly almost, he poured out his whole
+heart before Mr. Vernley, who listened to him with a kindly
+tolerance.  It might end everything; he would have to leave the
+house, of course, but this dual existence was intolerable.  To his
+surprise Mr. Vernley just placed his hand on his shoulder, and said
+very kindly--
+
+"You must be patient, my boy--you are but boy and girl yet.
+Twenty-one--and so much before you yet.  Just wait, John, and then
+we'll talk seriously."
+
+"But I'm very serious, sir."
+
+Mr. Vernley smiled in his kindly fashion.
+
+"That is why you should wait.  Come, John--suppose we talk of this in
+a year?"  He looked at the intense young face before him.
+
+"Then you--you don't forbid me, sir--I mean I may hope--" he
+stammered.
+
+"The verdict is with Muriel, John.  She will know her own mind soon,
+and when she is home and has been presented, then you two can decide.
+I am not so old-fashioned as to think a father can do other than
+advise.  If I say 'Good luck' to you, will that suffice for the
+present?"
+
+"Oh, thank you, sir!" cried John, gladly.
+
+So ended the overture.  It was a phase successfully passed.  The
+young lovers breathed freely again.  Time was the enemy now.
+
+The summer wore on.  There were visits to the Fletchers and to
+Marsh's.
+
+"Mother's another 'ism," said Marsh, meeting him at the station.
+"They come and go like Dad's pipes.  She's a Sunphoner this time--all
+gladness and love is transmitted on rays of light.  To smile is to
+love.  Clouds, which obstruct sunshine, are agglomerations of sin.
+When you frown you are abetting the devil.  Mother carefully
+cultivates the gladsome wrinkles of the sunphoners.  Dad calls it the
+Cheshire Cat Society."
+
+John found her as sweet and gentle as before.  Always in her hands
+there seemed to be flowers, and the birds sang louder in her garden.
+Were any evenings, anywhere, more restful than those around her lamp?
+Mr. Marsh came and went from the study.  His hair was a little
+whiter, his belief in the _Nation_ even more unshakable.  As for
+Marsh, was there any one in the world quite like this tall, perverse,
+quick-spoken humourist?  Mrs. Marsh sat and worshipped, her hands
+ever busy in his service, and John thought he treated her like a
+fluttered bird, something to be petted and soothed.
+
+"It is splendid to watch over your success, John," she confided one
+evening.  "But please don't let success harden you."
+
+"Am I hardening?"
+
+"No--perhaps not--it's youth changing, I suppose--I would like to
+keep that first glimpse of you--when Teddie brought you here--so
+nervous."
+
+John laughed happily, and held her hand which, somehow, had found its
+way into his.
+
+"What a silly little woman I am," she whispered.
+
+"I think you're a darling," he responded, "and Teddie's a lucky boy."
+
+It was good to fall asleep in that little chintz-curtained room, to
+watch the moon climbing through the elm-tree branches, to hear the
+owl screech and the church clock strike in the dead of night, or to
+wake with bird song in the cold freshness of the country morning.
+Then Teddie would bang about, pyjama-clad with tousled hair, uttering
+some fantastic epigram, or a new plan for exasperating the
+conservative-minded.
+
+It was he who, one morning in Grafton Street, saw in the shop window
+of an antique dealer, a small bronze statue labelled "Narcissus
+listening to Echo."
+
+"Scissors!" he cried, clutching his arm.  "There's your namesake,
+minus tailor's trimmings!"
+
+In a moment he had rushed into the shop.  A fierce discussion ensued
+with the bespectacled Jew, who began a recital starting at
+Herculaneum B.C., but was interrupted in the Italian Renaissance by
+Marsh, who calmly offered him half what he asked.  They haggled and
+scorned each other while John wondered which traced his ancestry to
+Judæa; then Marsh conquered at his original bid.
+
+They bore it home, swaddled in _The Times_, to John's room.  John
+protested, he could not let Marsh pay so much for a present, but all
+his protests were over-ruled.
+
+"Of course you must have it--and offer libations to your great
+ancestor.  What a leg he's got--he could do with more meat on his
+torso and less on his toes, while you could--"
+
+"Don't be rude," interrupted John.
+
+"It was a trick of the Phidian period of sculpture to lengthen the
+tibia to ensure--" on went the dissertation.  Mid-way through a
+comparison of Michael Angelo with Benvenuto Cellini, there was a
+sudden explosion.
+
+"The old devil!" cried Marsh, looking closely at the statue.  "He's
+swindled us--it's cracked over the thigh--look!"
+
+John looked.  There was a fissure in the bronze about an inch long.
+
+"An appendicitis operation," said John.
+
+"I'll take it back," cried Marsh indignantly.
+
+"Don't--I like the lad better for his imperfections--he's more human."
+
+So the statue remained, raising its finger in a listening attitude on
+the bookshelf, recalling with an antique grace an artist's triumph in
+a dead civilisation.  It revived, indeed, a pagan creed in the Perdie
+household.  True, Mrs. Perdie was shocked by "that 'eathen thing
+without its coverings," and Annie simpered whenever she swept the
+feather brush over it, but Miss Simpson's eyes watered when she saw
+it, for she recalled how her dear brother, the Governor, had shown it
+to her in the museum at Naples--"when I was quite a girl, and
+Lieutenant Ranson, a charming young gentleman, was going to buy me a
+copy, but--"
+
+John had seen his portrait on her table, and had looked silently at
+the laughing face of the lover, drowned a week after it was taken.
+
+Wellington and de Courtrai borrowed "Narcissus" for a tea party they
+gave, with great success, to a crowd of ladies and gentlemen from the
+theatre.
+
+"Yer can't see fer face powder in the air," commented Annie, after
+taking in the tea.  John was a guest.  He enjoyed hearing them lie so
+magnificently to each other about the salaries they earned and the
+promises made by managers.  Yet they were good-hearted backbiters,
+loving the venom for the chameleonic skill with which their tongues
+struck the victims, intending no permanent harm to any one.  They all
+showed the worst side to the world and kept their private griefs
+smothered in the dreary back rooms of dingy lodging houses.  For all
+their cheapness, Wellington and de Courtrai had hearts of gold.  They
+had nursed him through a bad attack of influenza, with unwearying
+devotion, and no woman's hand could have ministered more skilfully
+and patiently.  Their artificiality was on the surface, their
+feminine air companioned a feminine tenderness to each other--and on
+this occasion, to John.  Even Captain Fisher, when they cooked his
+breakfast, on the sudden collapse of Mrs. Perdie and Annie with
+influenza, declared they were born batmen.
+
+"If they'd take a cold bath every morning and crop their hair, they
+might pass as men," he growled.  They would have won him completely
+by their attentions during those influenza days had they not called
+him "dear," in conversation on the third morning, whereupon Captain
+Fisher spilt his coffee in an apoplectic rage.
+
+
+
+III
+
+It was during those weeks of July that Lindon arrived at a condition
+which to John seemed hysterical.  Ever since he had taken him to
+Tilly's studio he had haunted the place like a silent ghost; that he
+was madly in love with her he made no attempt to hide, and she, no
+less than he, found the day dull when he was absent.  He vowed that
+Tilly was necessary to his music; he could not work without her,
+there was no quality in his playing unless he played to her.  One
+night, after John had dined at his flat, Lindon walked up and down
+the room, pouring out his agony of mind.  His people had refused to
+allow him to marry yet.  "I'm tied up with an allowance,
+Scissors--and I can't go on--we can't go on--it's hell!"
+
+"We?--is Tilly unwilling to wait?"
+
+"Yes, to wait--like me--why should we lead this miserable divided
+life, when we belong to each other, when there's no existence apart?
+I tell you it's immoral!  Why shouldn't I marry--in the vigour of
+youth, with a girl in a million.  It's natural, it's right--and we're
+told to wait--for what?  Till we're wiser, if you please.  Wiser!--oh
+my God!  Madness, that's how it'll end!"
+
+Suddenly he turned upon his heel and looked at John, who sat quietly
+in a chair.
+
+"Scissors, sometimes you make me want to kick you--you agree with
+'em!  Have you got an ounce of passion in you?  Do you know what sex
+means?  I doubt it.  Why, there are nights I can't sleep, when I
+think such things as--but you never seem to be aware of anything.  I
+have seen you dancing with girls, your face like a wax mummy.  Why
+when I take hold of them, sometimes I want to make them cry out in my
+grip, and when their hair touches my face, I--I--"
+
+He halted then, and caught John's wrists in a vice.
+
+"I don't believe you've ever felt like crying about a girl just
+because she's been pleasant to another fellow, or wanted to gather
+her up in your arms and carry her off to a secret place."
+
+The younger man broke away from the frenzied grip.
+
+"Lindon, I shall think you are mad in a minute."
+
+"I am--do you wonder?  Here am I, a vigorous man, with abundance of
+life singing through every vein, all nature crying out for me to
+express myself, and night and day I fight the desire down, hold
+myself in leash, shut up in these four walls--you must know what it
+means, you're no longer a kid.  Nature never intended this, she meant
+us to break the barriers.  We're all defying her; I am, you are,
+Tilly is--and it's all wrong!"  He looked desperately at John.
+
+"I don't think love is a thing that you can talk about in this way,"
+said the other quietly.
+
+"For you--perhaps not--you're not hot-blooded like me--you're
+self-contained.  But I'm not like that, I must have somebody I
+worship.  Why, do you know at Sedley, it was you--there, now you know
+I'm mad."  He laughed bitterly.
+
+"I knew," said John, looking out of the window.
+
+"You knew that I cared about you?" asked Lindon.  They heard the
+clock tick in the long interval of silence.
+
+"Yes--I could see you liked me very much, and I was afraid of you--I
+was told you were very jealous."
+
+"By Vernley?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Lindon laughed rather grimly.
+
+"You see how I torture myself--I don't suppose I'm normal," he added
+bitterly.
+
+"No one in love is," added John, half to himself.
+
+Lindon looked at him keenly.
+
+"How do you know that?"
+
+"You're not the only lover, I suppose?"
+
+For a moment Lindon stared at him; there was such a depth of feeling
+in those simple words.  Impulsively, he linked his arm in John's.
+
+"Scissors, old thing, forgive me.  I'm a selfish beast--why do you
+let me carry on in this childish way?"
+
+John half smiled in reply.
+
+"Because I've often wanted to myself.  After all, you know, you
+should be grateful--Chelsea's nearer than Belgium."
+
+
+
+IV
+
+The last week in July saw a great re-union.  The Vernleys had taken a
+house at Mablethorpe, on the East Coast, for the summer.  Its chief
+attraction was that it possessed no distractions.  There were neither
+pierrots, promenades, theatres, nor any of the other feeble forms of
+amusement with which people in search of a holiday disguise their
+boredom.  And to increase the solitude of their retreat, the
+Vernleys' house was a mile out of the village, snugly ensconced
+behind the high sand dunes with which early settlers had fought the
+encroaching sea, and kept for themselves a lowland intersected with
+dykes and devoid of trees.  Bobbie grumbled all day long at the
+obvious insanity of his people in choosing such a place.  A lover of
+the flesh pots, he contemplated the house and surrounding country
+with supreme disgust.  His disapproval was obviously artificial,
+however.  They had brought their horses with them, with which to
+explore the Lincolnshire lanes.  A short car journey took them to
+Skegness, "which is Mablethorpe, only more so," commented Bobbie.
+Kitty found great excitement in riding her mare down the sand dunes,
+until the authorities protested against the breaking down of the sky
+line and Mablethorpe's one claim to singularity.  But the tennis and
+the bathing were without fault.  Even Bobbie was silent upon these,
+and his frequent indulgence in both betrayed almost enthusiasm.  Mrs.
+Vernley had chosen the place for the air, although Mr. Vernley swore
+that it was because no friends would come there to visit them.  He
+was consoled somewhat by the discovery of a radical parson in a near
+village, who knew all the quaint little inns and the merits of beer.
+
+For the greater part of the day they all lived in bathing costumes
+since, as Marsh expressed it, the weather was hot and as perversely
+pleasant as the landscape.  London was with them, Lindon dwelling in
+a wonderful July heaven, for diplomatic John had contrived for an
+invitation to be sent to Miss Topham, whose pleasure coincided with
+the business of painting Kitty on horseback.  Their open delight in
+each other supplemented the mirth of the party, though perhaps John
+felt lonelier in contrast, for Muriel was visiting the home of a
+school friend at Liége until the second week in August.  John's sky
+had just a little shadow in it, but with Marsh and Vernley at hand,
+there were no silences for self-commiseration.
+
+They breakfasted at seven, with the sea wind blowing through the
+room.  It was Mr. Vernley's great complaint that there were neither
+letters nor newspapers until eleven o'clock.  A great strike was
+threatened, and he watched it carefully day by day.
+
+"Have the silly beggars struck yet?" asked Bobbie, one morning as
+they all lay, after bathing, on the slopes of the sand dunes facing
+the sea and the wide flat beach.  As he asked the question he was
+industriously trickling sand down John's bare leg.
+
+"No--the Prime Minister receives a conference to-day.  There seems to
+be more trouble over the Sarajevo incident."
+
+"What's that, sir?" asked Vernley.
+
+"One of the Hapsburgs potted at by a Serbian--those blighters are
+always shooting one another in the Balkans," interrupted Marsh.
+
+"There's a report from Copenhagen that Russia's mobilising," said Mr.
+Vernley.
+
+"Oh, you must never believe reports from Copenhagen, sir," cried
+Lindon, looking sideways at John.  The next moment he just escaped a
+shoe by ducking.
+
+"The Kaiser says that Austria must have guarantees from Serbia, with
+penalties, and that Russia must acquiesce."
+
+"I wish somebody would have a shot at that idiot," said John.
+
+"Well you can, when he's had one at us, as he intends," replied
+Vernley.
+
+"Oh, bosh!" cried Marsh, "every half-pay major who wants conscription
+and has had a week's holiday in Berlin, propagates that yarn.  The
+Germans would no more think of fighting us than the Chinese--they
+wouldn't have a dog's chance."
+
+"With twelve million disciplined troops?" queried Mr. Vernley, over
+the top of his glasses.
+
+"Why, sir, we'd never meet 'em on land.  How would they get
+here--with our navy?"
+
+Vernley got up and shook the sand off his legs.
+
+"Come on, Scissors--let's have that tennis four--if we let Lindon and
+Marsh go on there'll be war in England; I can see Lindon's gorge
+rising at the little Englander!"
+
+"Little Englander--why of course!  We are the wealthiest race on the
+earth, have the greatest possessions, and the worst slums!" cried
+Marsh.  "What good is the wealth of India when there's Sheffield, or
+the possession of Egypt when it can't wipe out the slums of
+Lancashire--we have the largest national debt, the heaviest taxation!
+And there are idiots banging the big drum, raising the German bogey,
+because they want to go and grab more countries, when we can't manage
+what we have got!"  Marsh was flushed and the wind had blown the hair
+down into his eyes.
+
+"But we do manage it--and well," asserted Tod, usually silent, and
+just appointed to a commission in the Guards.  "We have civilised
+India, brought justice and liberty to its people as well as health--"
+
+"And Christianity," added Mrs. Vernley.
+
+"Yes, and thrown away hundreds of lives and millions of money on
+South Africa--only to realise we had no right there and to give it
+back again," retorted Marsh.
+
+"You must admit, Teddie, we have a genius for government," said John.
+
+"Not while we've Ireland threatening insurrection every minute,"
+flared Marsh, his blood up.
+
+"I think you boys had better play tennis," called Mr. Vernley, from
+behind the newspaper.  "You'll get hot to some purpose then.  But
+unless I'm mistaken, this old country will be in the balance soon.
+Austria has attacked Serbia, and is bombarding Belgrade.  Russia has
+sent an ultimatum on behalf of her ally, and the Kaiser is hurrying
+back to Berlin."
+
+"That idiot will only stir up the mess," said Bobbie.  "What's it all
+about, Dad?"
+
+"The Austrian Archduke was assassinated at Sarajevo.  Austria demands
+penalties and will not accept Serbia's offer.  It is reported Germany
+is strengthening Austria's hand, and Russia stands behind Serbia.
+Sir Edward Grey has offered his services as mediator."
+
+"Oh, he'll settle it!" cried Bobbie.  "Clever dog, Grey."
+
+"It looks to me like a European conflagration unless great tact is
+shown," said Mr. Vernley.  He turned to his wife, "I think we ought
+to wire for Muriel to come home."
+
+"But why?  Belgium is not affected."
+
+The whole circle looked at Mr. Vernley who took off His glasses and
+tapped the newspaper.
+
+"It may mean war for us."
+
+"For us!"  They all echoed.
+
+"We've too much sense, sir, to be messed up in these ludicrous Balkan
+squabbles.  The blighters are always nibbling at one another's ears.
+Well, here's one who won't join in.  If every man thought and acted
+as I do, there wouldn't be any wars!" declared Marsh.
+
+"Why?" asked John.  He had never seen Marsh quite so excited before.
+
+"Because if there were no feeble fools willing to be made into gun
+fodder, there'd be no wars.  You can't have wars without soldiers."
+
+"But supposing Germany declared war on us," began Tod.
+
+"Oh, bosh!" interrupted Marsh.
+
+"Germany will not declare war on _us_," said Mr. Vernley quietly,
+"but if this unrest spreads, she may declare war on France--and that
+would involve our honour; we should have to help France."
+
+"It seems a terrible mix-up, all these entangling alliances," sighed
+Mrs. Vernley, "and it is unthinkable that the world's rulers will let
+us slip into war.  To-day war would be terrible with all the science
+and inventions of this age."
+
+"It would be insane!" cried Marsh loudly.  "We must refuse to be
+pushed in by the financiers and land-grabbers.  Think of the millions
+it means, the homes ruined, the sons and fathers butchered--why it's
+incredible!"
+
+"But if our honour--" began Tod.
+
+"Honour be damned!" snapped Marsh.  Then quickly, "Oh, I'm sorry, I
+didn't mean that.  But it's wicked to think of war.  I refuse to
+think of it."
+
+"We may have to, Marsh," said Mr. Vernley.
+
+"I won't."
+
+"If we had to fight, wouldn't you?" asked Kitty.
+
+Marsh stood up, looking very handsome in his flushed indignation but
+John noticed how his lip trembled as he paused before answering, and
+looked out to sea.
+
+"No," he said quietly.
+
+Mr. Vernley looked at him steadily.
+
+"I'm afraid, Marsh, you would be--" he began to say.
+
+"Called a coward, sir--I know.  But war's insanity, and only the
+corrupt, the insane and the ignorant will allow it.  I'll consider it
+my duty to refuse to condone it at any cost."
+
+"Oh--you're--you're impossible," muttered Tod.
+
+"You're--you're a professional soldier," retorted Marsh, and the
+moment he uttered it, turned white in the face.
+
+"Oh--Tod--please I didn't mean it like that--I didn't really."  There
+were tears in his eyes as he turned appealingly.  Tod put his hand on
+his shoulder and smiled at him.
+
+"It's all right, Teddie--you were always volcanic.  I believe you're
+the kind of fellow that would win the V.C."
+
+"I think," said Mrs. Vernley breathing freely again, "that it is very
+silly to take things as seriously as this--there won't be a war."
+
+"Grey'll settle it," said John.
+
+"We hope so," added Mr. Vernley, folding up his paper.  "But I shall
+go to town to-morrow to be at the centre of things and I shall wire
+to Muriel."
+
+"But she will be home in a week, father," cried Mrs. Vernley.
+
+"And she's quite safe in Belgium," declared Bobbie.
+
+"Perhaps--I hope so, but it's too near the storm centre," replied Mr.
+Vernley.  "And now, my dear, what about lunch?"
+
+Walking back to the house, John expressed fears about Muriel to
+Bobbie.
+
+"Oh, she's all right," he replied, confidently.  "The guv'nor always
+takes a serious attitude to things--it's a parliamentary habit,
+Scissors--and Muriel can look after herself."  Marsh walked silently
+with them.  He seemed depressed.  The sky was blue, the sun shining,
+but John felt the air was heavy.  He slipped his arm through Marsh's.
+
+
+
+V
+
+Rumours followed rumours, and one morning as John came down into the
+hall before breakfast, Tilly met him.  She looked very attractive and
+girlish in her white jersey with its blue collar encircling her
+pretty neck.  John could understand Lindon's infatuation.  He had
+watched her slim figure in the water, a graceful sprite, so light and
+vivacious that she might have been a fairy's child.  Her cream skirt
+this morning was short, revealing two shapely legs in white
+stockings, and he could not help looking intently at the little bare
+patch beneath her throat, red with the sun, running down to a channel
+of milky whiteness, dimpled by the suggested proximity of her
+breasts.  She noticed his admiring observation, and placed her hand,
+light as a bird on his arm.
+
+"Scissors, what do you think--Tod's going to town with Mr. Vernley
+this morning!  I tell him he'll spoil the men's four we arranged to
+play the doctor's friends."
+
+"To town, whatever for?"
+
+"I don't know, you persuade him to stay."
+
+"Righto--where is he?"
+
+Tilly nodded towards the dining room.  John walked in, and as he did
+so, he realised something.
+
+"Morning, Tod!" he called brightly.  "I hear you're going to town."
+
+"Yes, Scissors--I've got to see a few friends."
+
+"Oh--you'll be coming back before I go?"
+
+"Oh, yes--"
+
+At that moment Bobbie burst in.
+
+"I say, Tod, what's this nonsense about going to town!  You simply
+can't, you'll bust up the--"
+
+He caught a glance from John that checked him.
+
+"I must see some friends," said Tod.  "I'll be back in a few days."
+
+"Oh, very well," assented Bobbie, lamely.  John had gone out.  He
+followed quickly, overtaking him in the hall.
+
+"What on earth did you look like that for, Scissors?" he asked.  John
+drew him aside from where Mrs. Vernley stood watering a flower pot.
+
+"I thought you did not realise."
+
+"Realise what?" asked Vernley.
+
+"Why Tod's going to town--it isn't to see friends."  Then seeing the
+mystified expression on his friend's face, "I'll bet he visits the
+War Office to find out whether his regiment's likely to get orders."
+
+"Good God!" exclaimed Vernley, "but--surely we're not going to war!"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"We must keep this from the mater," whispered Vernley.  Then, to
+John, "You're a wise old bird, Scissors--I'd never have guessed."
+
+Immediately after breakfast Mr. Vernley and Tod left for London.
+Their going brought one little hope to John.  Muriel would be here
+now in a few days.  This was the last week in July--Tuesday.  He had
+to return in a week, the Tuesday following Bank Holiday, on August
+the fourth.  Muriel would be here by the 1st at the latest.  They
+would have a few days together before he could come back again, early
+in September.  On the fifth he had to leave for Paris, to relieve
+Phipps, who was there on a special mission.
+
+Those jolly days went quickly.  They bathed, boated, played tennis
+and lolled on the dunes.  Marsh made frequent excursions into
+Mablethorpe, where he had contracted a mania for shooting at bottles
+in a booth, returning with a cocoanut and a German watch as prizes.
+He was elated with his great success as a deadly shot.
+
+"I'm surprised you should like shooting," laughed Mrs. Vernley when
+he presented her with a cocoanut, and pinned the watch on the cook's
+blouse.
+
+"But at bottles, not human beings, Mrs. Vernley!"
+
+"Same thing as soldiers," cried John.
+
+"How?"
+
+"According to you--green and empty."
+
+There was a laugh all round and Marsh shied the cocoanut at John, who
+split his white ducks in performing a somersault.  That afternoon he
+infected Lindon and Tilly with his craze and dragged them off to
+Mablethorpe.
+
+John dozed on the lawn, Bobbie was engrossed in a novel, Mrs. Vernley
+was taking her siesta.  Only Kitty was alert.  She had been writing
+to Alice who was singing on the morrow at Manchester.  Suddenly she
+put down her pen.
+
+"Bobbie, I say, just look at Teddie tearing along--has he gone mad?"
+
+She pointed and they looked in the direction of the Mablethorpe road
+that ran between a deep dyke and the sandhills.  He was running
+breathlessly, his shirt wide open at the neck.  He was a lonely
+figure on the road, but, catching sight of them on the lawn, waved a
+paper in the air.  John woke up.
+
+"He's won another prize!" he suggested.
+
+"But where's Lindon and Tilly?" asked Bobbie.
+
+Then John started up and went across the lawn, and Marsh, now within
+hailing distance, shouted--
+
+"Special out--Germany's at war with France--threatening Luxembourg!"
+
+A minute later, panting, he reached the gate, where they ran to meet
+him.
+
+"Hoo!  I'm blown--there!"  He thrust the paper into eager hands.
+"Tilly and Lindon are coming--I've run all the way.  It looks like
+business, doesn't it?"
+
+They read down the column.  It was brief, with messages from many
+sources, none authoritative, but the fact was clear--Germany and
+France were at war.
+
+"Germany has delivered a request to Luxembourg asking for the free
+passage for her troops to the French frontier; her neutrality will be
+respected in the event of acquiescence," read John aloud.
+
+"Neutrality respected--after walking across them!" snorted Bobbie.
+
+Suddenly John gripped the paper.
+
+"Brussels.  From our special correspondent.  It is rumoured that a
+demand for the free passage of German troops, as in the case of
+Luxembourg, has been made to the Belgian Government.  No official
+statement was made at noon, but the Belgian army is being mobilised
+as a precautionary measure."
+
+And Muriel was in Belgium!
+
+At tea they had a thousand hopes, fears, views.  All the evening
+Marsh walked about muttering, "It's incredible--the twentieth
+century, and civilisation to come to this!  But it'll all be over
+quickly, there's that in it."
+
+"Quickly, why?" asked Bobbie.
+
+"The Germans will be in Paris in a fortnight!"
+
+"They won't!" said John grimly.
+
+"Why not?" asked Kitty.
+
+"We shall stop them."
+
+"We?" echoed Tilly.
+
+"Yes--France is our ally, we must stand by her."
+
+"There's no definite treaty compelling us," said Mrs. Vernley.
+
+"It's not a matter of compulsion--it's a matter of honour," asserted
+Lindon.
+
+"Honour!" cried Marsh.  "Honour--and spread the massacre!"
+
+"The French are our allies.  Germany knows that, and has thrown down
+the gage.  We are challenged," said John grimly.
+
+"Then--it--it means war for us?" asked Mrs. Vernley.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Oh dear--oh dear--oh dear!" she murmured, clasping and unclasping
+her hands.  Marsh sat silent with the rest.  The net was closing.
+Not one of them mentioned Muriel's name, chiefly because she was in
+all their minds.
+
+That evening a wire came from Mr. Vernley.  The Belgian Legation
+refused to issue passports.  He had wired Muriel to return at once.
+He was coming down in the morning.  Charlton, of the Foreign Office,
+said there was every hope that they would keep out of the war.
+
+Mr. Vernley arrived in the morning, and with him came the news that
+Belgium had refused Germany the right of access across her territory
+and Germany had declared war and was hacking her way through the
+country.
+
+"That means we are all in," said Lindon.
+
+"We shall know soon.  England has sent an ultimatum declaring she
+will defend Belgian neutrality according to the treaty."
+
+Those were hours of suspense to the Vernley household, all their
+thoughts turned to Muriel.  Where was she?  Mr. Vernley was sure she
+was on her way to England; she had had ample time to reach Ostend.
+
+"Just think, all of these people in a few days will be living in
+apprehension--and every one of us shouldering a gun!" said John,
+looking at the crowd on the shore.  A group of red-faced youths
+sauntered by, hatless, in vivid blazers.
+
+"There goes gun-fodder," muttered Marsh.  The strain was telling on
+him; he had lost his buoyancy.
+
+"You pessimist--youth's going to have the time of its life--action, a
+world in the making!  Why Marsh, it's our age, this.  It means the
+old men take a back seat!" cried Lindon, laughing at Tilly, who hung
+on his arm.
+
+"And what of us?" she asked, a little jealous.
+
+"Nurses, all of you."
+
+She shivered slightly.
+
+"I should be ill at the sight of blood."
+
+It was evening when they sat on the sandhills and saw the wide-winged
+sunset spread across the fen-land.  Suddenly a cry from Bobbie made
+them turn.  There, on the grey horizon, where sea dissolved into
+approaching night, they saw a twinkle of lights, flashing through the
+greyness.  The slim forms of ships were just discernible as they
+slipped northwards into the gathering darkness.
+
+"Warships!" cried Lindon.  "We're ready and watching."
+
+It began to rain.  Bobbie and John were the last to enter the house.
+They halted for a moment in a cutting of the sandhills and looked
+over the dark expanse of sea.  That slow procession northwards of
+ships had given a sudden reality to the rumours.
+
+John took Vernley's arm as they walked on in silence.
+
+"I wonder where we'll all be next year at this time," said Vernley.
+"I suppose this is the end of things--well--we've had a good
+time--haven't we, Scissors?"
+
+John could not speak.  The great drama rendered him speechless.  Out
+there, across the North Sea, lay Germany.  In millions of homes,
+their windows bright in the dusk, mothers and wives were saying
+farewell to their loved ones; in Austria too, in Russia, thousands of
+leagues across the Balkans, from the Bretagne coast to the sunny
+Riviera, the hand of Mars knocked on the door of castle and cottage.
+Already the sky was stabbed with flame, the silence of the harvest
+fields broken with the battery of guns.
+
+John looked across the peaceful fenland.  Here and there a light
+shone in a farmstead; the silence was broken only by the low sighing
+of the sea, fitfully borne inland.  England, his country, sinking to
+sleep, guarded by her inviolate seas.  A great love of this land rose
+in his heart.  God keep her secure!
+
+"Dulce et decorum pro patria mori," he half murmured to himself, but
+Vernley heard him.
+
+"Yes, and there's one thing, Scissors--we're all in it together,
+that'll be the good part of it."
+
+They walked on, arm in arm.
+
+So passed Tuesday, August the fourth; the suspense of the ultimatum,
+and then the fifth, with "WAR" flaring in great letters on the
+bookstall posters.  The station was crowded with the general exodus.
+All the Vernley household were going up to town.  The platform was a
+scene of good-byes.  Hatless lads were bidding one another cheerful
+farewells, the girls, jerseyed and laughing, hung on their arms.
+There was an air of suppressed excitement; they might have been going
+to a picnic, but deeper observation revealed a nervous tension.  At
+Boston, Marsh left them to go on to his people.  He had been very
+silent for the last two days.  He said good-bye gravely.  Only to
+John did he unburden himself in the last minute.
+
+"This is the end of us all, Scissors.  This war will go on for years.
+We shall be worked up into a fierce hate.  The Press will keep it
+going, it'll get bloodier and bloodier--and no one will win in the
+end.  There'll be nothing but widows and cripples, famine and debt.
+Good-bye, Scissors, write to me at home."
+
+They shook hands; neither dared say more.  The next minute, the train
+moved out, leaving Marsh standing amid his luggage, raising his hat
+to them, a graceful figure of youth, outwardly calm.
+
+Intensity increased when they reached London.  They all parted
+hurriedly.  Bobbie was going to enlist at once, Tod had received
+orders.  Lindon hoped to get out as a despatch rider.  John, what was
+he going to do?  He did not know, he was bewildered.  In his head
+there was only one idea, to get to Belgium at all costs, to find
+Muriel, from whom no word had been received.
+
+At his rooms he found a wire from Merritt, bidding him call.  Walsh
+saw him at once.  His wish was miraculously fulfilled.  He was to
+leave immediately for Belgium as special correspondent of the _Daily
+Post_.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK V
+
+THE NEW WORLD
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+I
+
+The crowded steamer from Folkestone reached Ostend in the last glow
+of the sunset as it fell on the straggling Digue, domes, hotels,
+casinos, verandahed houses, the pleasure haunt standing inviolate on
+the edge of the plains, that beyond, were now drenched with blood.  A
+fortnight had elapsed, full of irritating delays.  There were
+interviews at the War Office, where every obstacle had been raised,
+frantic journeys to the Foreign Office, the Belgian Legation, the
+offices of the Newspaper Proprietors Association.  Nobody wanted war
+correspondents out there, except the papers.  Then more delay while
+John bought a car, a rare thing, for every one had been commandeered
+by the War Office; and with all this work he had made desperate
+attempts to get into touch with the _Daily Post_ resident
+correspondent at Brussels, beseeching him to ask for Muriel at the
+Convent of the Sacred Heart.  But all was chaotic at the other end of
+the wire and day after day he had to return to poor Mrs. Vernley with
+no news.  Then, the last day, at the last minute, news came from
+Muriel herself.  She had joined the Belgian Red Cross; the convent
+had been turned into a hospital.
+
+The steamer was warped in at Ostend amid amazing scenes.  The harbour
+was crowded with refugees, pitiable objects, sitting on their small
+bundles hastily gathered before flight.  The moment his car was
+landed, John pressed on towards Bruges.  Again and again he almost
+told his chauffeur to turn round and pick up the wretched people
+straggling along the road towards Ostend and England.  Tired women
+trudged the long roads, carrying infants in their arms, while small
+children clutched at their skirts.  There was no crying, no
+complaining, only dull, voiceless despair on every face.  Old men and
+women went by, pushing their worldly wealth, bedding for the most
+part, on barrows.  Yes, they had seen the war, out there.  The German
+bombardment was terrible.  They were destroying everything.  The
+gallant army resisted every inch, but what could they do, little
+Belgium, against these hordes?  John ran into Bruges soon after dusk.
+
+At daylight, he was on the crowded road again, this time towards
+Ghent, where the other correspondents had established their
+headquarters.  There had been one topic at Bruges.  The wonderful
+English army was over and fighting!  It had all been so swift and
+silent.  The Germans were furious and amazed.  They had orders to
+wipe out the contemptible little army.  Nearing Ghent there were
+signs of war.  Ambulance vans swept by, in them inert swathed
+figures, mud-stained and pallid.  The environs of Ghent were choked
+with cars, lorries, refugees, detachments of men on the march.
+
+John found his colleagues at the long low Hotel de la Poste in the
+Place d'Armes.  There was Tompkins of the _Standard_, tall, lean, and
+depressed with the hopelessness of it all; and V. E. A. Stevenson,
+the veteran, who had seen ten wars, and hated them all.  He was a
+cynic, a pacifist and a revolutionary.  He derived grim satisfaction
+when ardent Belgians mistook him, with his red, weather-beaten face,
+trim beard and white hair, and breast blazing with war ribbons, for
+an English general.  He suffered them to embrace him ecstatically,
+and sighed for his home at Hampstead,--"built out of the blood of the
+Boers," he explained grimly.  Trevor of the _Times_ walked about
+morose and self-important; the heavy brow of Willing of the _Express_
+was seen towering above every group of Belgian generals.  He had a
+miraculous knowledge of the disposition of the armies, and they
+consulted him as a general staff.  Also, genial, and an optimist to
+the core, Biddings of _Reuter_ walked about the lounge in carpet
+slippers.  He refused to go out.  What was the good of running about
+the highways and the byways?  Every general and person who was
+somebody came to the hotel.  He picked their brains--"very poor
+rubbish heaps"--gathered up the gossip and at tea-time had such a
+store that the weary, muddy colleagues were glad to barter news.  He
+was more eloquent, despite an impediment, with the poker in his
+hands, when, with the cinders, he would show why the Germans could
+not possibly get to Paris.
+
+On the third day after John's arrival, Phipps turned up.  He had been
+in the thick of it, at Termond and Alost.  He had had no food, was
+nervy and on the verge of a breakdown.  His eagle features were
+sharper than ever, and his brain wonderfully alert.  His despatches
+had created something of a sensation in England, not only for their
+news, but also for the humanity, the tenderness running through his
+vivid epics of suffering and incredible heroism.  He was in Paris
+when the war broke out, moved up with the French armies, had been
+with the British Army in its great stand at Mons, had dragged back
+through that dogged retreat, "a bloody terrible business,
+Dean--walking on torn flesh all the way,"--and had passed on into
+Belgium.
+
+"God--how I hate it--it's insensate, blowing all these splendid lads
+to atoms, for what?" he cried.
+
+"For England," said Trevor, with disapproving dignity.
+
+"England!  Rubbish!" snapped Phipps.  "They're giving the same reason
+in Germany, Russia, Austria, Serbia--the same fierce old women are
+brow-beating every timid lad, and the same stupid, red-faced Generals
+are sitting at mess while their puppets are pulverised with something
+they can't see, which doesn't give them a dog's chance before
+bespattering the turf with their brains!  If this is civilisation,
+why--" he broke off as though realising the futility of everything.
+"I suppose we shall have to go on writing as if it were a football
+match, and be censored every time we hint at such a thing as spilt
+blood or a nasty mess."
+
+He walked out, even more pallid, and went up to his bedroom where he
+hammered out a long despatch on his "Corona."  Eight other
+correspondents were doing the same thing in other bedrooms.  For an
+hour there was a rapid clatter of typewriter keys.  At five o'clock
+the despatch rider left for the Signal Station, whence their
+despatches crossed the wires overnight, in time for the Englishman's
+breakfast table.  Curiously, those at home knew more than these
+correspondents.  They explored a corner, oblivious of the fate of the
+world beyond.  In England every morning the public watched the ugly
+black snake marked on the map, as it slowly curled its way towards
+Paris.  In a top left hand corner another black line closed in upon
+Antwerp and crept along the coast towards Ostend.
+
+"We shall have to move out soon," said Riddings.  "The streets are
+choked to-day with ambulances--that's a sure sign."  Every night
+sleep was broken by the incessant roar of guns, and the night sky
+flickered and quivered.  Those were the days when the name of Liége
+was on every tongue.  Could General Leman hold out?  Then came news
+of a terrible massacre at Malines.  The name sang in John's heart
+like a bell.  Muriel--was she there?  Had she remained and met the
+German invasion, or where was she?  He wired to the Vernleys'
+beseeching news.  That same day a shell fell into the town.  The
+British had marched through St. Nicolas; the fate of Antwerp hung in
+the balance, the black snake was closing in on Ghent and curling
+upwards towards the coast.
+
+"If we don't move soon, we're luggage for Germany," said Biddings.
+"The generals have all gone and they know when it gets chilly as well
+as the swallows."
+
+Walking down the Grande Place, John suddenly clutched Phipps' arm.
+The next moment he had seized a car standing outside a shop and was
+driving madly down a side street.  Phipps watched him go in silent
+amazement, but John, half-crazed with fear that the car ahead would
+give him the slip, drove furiously, without heeding the traffic
+through which he miraculously raced.  For in the car ahead, he had
+caught a glimpse of a face that had made his heart jump.  Muriel was
+in it, a Muriel he knew despite her nurse's hood and cape!  He was
+gaining on it now; it paused in front of a building.  He alighted on
+the pavement simultaneously with the slim nurse.
+
+"Muriel!"
+
+She turned, then rushed into his arms.
+
+"Oh, John!"
+
+Two ragged children lifted their caps and yelled "Vive les Anglais!
+Vive l'Angleterre!" but the lovers stood there alone in the world.
+
+"Why are you here?" he asked.
+
+She laughed, her fingers playing with the button of his tunic.
+
+"And you?"
+
+"Our headquarters are here--Hotel de la Poste--until to-night," he
+replied.
+
+Her face shadowed.
+
+"I have just been fetched.  Tod--he is here--dying."
+
+"Tod!"
+
+"Yes--he came out with the Antwerp expedition--I am just going in to
+him--come!"
+
+She clasped his hand and they entered the gloomy porch together.  The
+place had been a school--desks and chairs were piled up in the lobby.
+A Belgian soldier saluted and conducted them to the matron, a pale
+little Belgian woman.  Lieutenant Vernley?  Yes, he was here, but he
+could not be seen, M'sieur was ill, very ill, "a la morte," she
+added, raising her hands helplessly.  John explained.
+
+"Ah!--his sister?--pardon!  We expected her.  Yes, come!  You shall
+go in."
+
+They followed down a long ward, with dozens of beds, and groaning
+shapes beneath blankets, and entered a small room, very dull.  In the
+corner was a bed and on it the figure of a boy.  His shirt was open
+at the neck.  His unshaven chin was growing a sandy beard, which
+contrasted with the green-grey pallor of his face; the hands which
+lay over the brown blanket, were red and soiled.  Muriel slipped to
+her knees at his side.
+
+"Tod dear!" she whispered, taking his hand in hers.  But he lay
+without response, his leaden head deep in the pillow.  John stood in
+the doorway.
+
+"In the stomach, m'sieur--a shell splinter," explained the matron.
+"He has been delirious, 'Muriel,' that was all he cried, 'Muriel.'
+We found a letter from Mademoiselle in his pocket, and sent for her
+yesterday."
+
+"He doesn't know me," said Muriel, turning pathetically, but a
+pressure on her hand told her she was wrong.
+
+"Oh Tod, darling, I've come.  I'm going to nurse you."
+
+A glimmer of a smile faded across the lad's face.
+
+John left her then, he would be back in an hour.
+
+
+When he returned, Muriel, very quiet, was sitting in the matron's
+room.  He knew in a moment it was all over.  Very gently he took her
+into his arms, and let her cry, with her head on his shoulder.
+
+They buried Tod the next morning.  Phipps was there, and an English
+Army Chaplain, and two Belgian generals, carrying wreaths from the
+town authorities.  Thus another Englishman was committed to the soil
+for whose defence he had gladly given his young life.
+
+After the funeral, they had to hurry away.  Shells were falling into
+the town.  Melle had been heavily bombarded and the Town Hall was a
+heap of ruins.  Half the inhabitants of Ghent seemed to be streaming
+along the road to Bruges.  The inevitable moment of parting came for
+John and Muriel.  She was rejoining her unit, now at Bruges.
+
+When would they meet again?  For a long moment she clung to him in
+the desperation of love.
+
+"We will get leave together and be married, Muriel," he urged.
+
+"Yes, John but not now--we must go on, these poor things need us.  I
+am almost happy here.  I could not sleep in England, knowing what
+happens day and night!"
+
+"Muriel--promise you will take care, I shall be anxious for you."
+
+"And you--you are running all the risks.  Oh, John, we must come
+through!  Life is going to be so wonderful even yet."
+
+He kissed her hungrily, wrapped the rugs round her in the car, and
+saluted as it carried her away.  He waited until the traffic blotted
+her from view.  Then he joined Stevenson who was waiting with his car
+at the hotel.
+
+It was burdened with their luggage, the precious typewriters
+precariously balanced on the top.  They were going south into the
+British lines and the welter of blood.  Antwerp had fallen; nothing
+could now stop the Germans reaching the coast.  And England perhaps.
+But that was an incredible thought to John.  England could not know
+ruin like this.  He looked up at the moon hanging serenely over the
+flat Belgian countryside.  The same moon peered down on English homes
+and in silent glades where the birds slept.
+
+
+
+II
+
+So ran the drama, act by act, in those epic days.  While England
+waited breathlessly, the terrible tides of war, now sweeping onwards,
+now refluent, devastated the countryside of Europe.  The little fire,
+lighted in Sarajevo, spread outwards until it lapped countries and
+capitals and nations in its lurid glow; until the windy plain of
+Troy, the desert slopes of the Holy Land, the forests of the
+Caucasian mountains, and the shores of the Tigris and Danube shook
+with the tramp of men.  Month after month, the war spread its leprous
+hand across the face of splendid courageous manhood.  Sometimes, in
+the agony of his soul, when coming from dressing stations where men
+held in their entrails, by pools coloured like sunset with the blood
+and limbs of men and horses, John cried out against the monstrous
+infliction of pain.  Was it not better that the world should crash
+into another planet, and find the peace of obliteration?  And to
+heighten the useless agony of this drama, came the reports of
+official squabbles, the blunders of statesmen, the rhetorical
+recriminations of politicians, hurled from nation to nation with
+cheap victories of words, while men struggled with mud under a
+murderous hail of iron.
+
+For fifteen months John rushed about the fringe of war in his great
+car.  They were days of terrible strain, but his efforts seemed as
+nothing beside the herculean labour of those wonderful boys who
+tramped along the tree splintered roads of Flanders, singing in
+defeat as in victory, dropping swiftly by the roadside in a
+convulsive cough as death fell upon them from the air.  He was up
+every morning at five, astir before daylight in the cold wintry air,
+with a long motor journey to the lines, there to watch the coloured
+panorama of a bombardment, the unearthly silence of "zero" when the
+barrage lifted, to wait in those minutes when youth leapt forward
+upon death; and then to visit the clearing stations where men who had
+been splendid to look upon, so full of the vigour of youth, lay torn
+in ribbons, demented, delirious.  Month after month he went through
+the hideous routine when suddenly, one night, after writing his
+despatch, he fell forwards upon his typewriter.  They found him in a
+dead faint.
+
+"I've seen this coming," said Biddings.  "He's worn himself away--and
+he'll have company soon," he said, turning to Phipps, "if you don't
+write and smoke less."
+
+A week later John was at the Vernleys, lying about in their rooms,
+and talking as though all those months had been a nightmare.  It was
+not the same house; Kitty was nursing in London, Alice was on a farm.
+Bobbie was back home with a wound, hoping to be released daily from a
+luxurious private hospital in Sussex, "where the chambermaid's a
+countess and the matron a snob."  Muriel--the saga of Muriel, they
+all called it.  She had contributed to history.  The story of her
+stand at Lens had made all England ring with her fame.  She had been
+mentioned in despatches for her heroism under fire.  John had not
+seen her since that memorable day in Ghent, but letters came and
+went.  She wrote vividly of her experiences, and he began to be a
+little in awe of her obvious efficiency.  News of one, he could not
+gain.  There was no mention of Marsh among any of his friends.
+Bobbie had been curtly silent when asked.  "Never heard of him--don't
+expect he's wounded."  Was that a sneer? thought John.  Even Mr.
+Fletcher, forwarding parcels from the boys of his House asked, "We
+can't trace Marsh--do you know his regiment?  He does not reply to
+letters."
+
+With quiet, and Mrs. Vernley's assiduous attention, John quickly
+recovered.  She had aged much since the death of her eldest boy, and
+sorrow had rendered her more gentle and self-effacing than ever.
+These were lonely days for her, with Mr. Vernley away as a Director
+in one of the Ministries, her daughters all on war work.  They had
+long talks at tea time, when John read the pages he had gathered
+together of a book of despatches.  He was a famous man now, and he
+rather enjoyed the experience.  There was nothing elating in being
+famous, just because every one was glad to shake you by the hand or
+because your name was a password whenever and wherever it was
+uttered; it was indeed wearisome to be pestered with petitions for
+your support of all kinds of fantastic charities, to be expected to
+speak here, there and everywhere, or to be an afternoon's attraction
+at an ambitious lady's drawing-room party.  What he enjoyed was the
+freemasonry in which he could now move among the men and women of the
+earth who did things, and were great, simply because their natures
+were rich in character and prodigal with varying gifts.
+
+After his sojourn at "The Croft," he spent a fortnight in town
+looking up old friends.  It was a London strangely, terribly changed.
+It was, in one phase, a London more interesting.  Down its pavements
+in great variety of uniforms, passed the young men of all the earth;
+youth from the plains, the jungle, the prairie, the veldt, the
+backwoods and the ranch, youth in splendid careless vigour, snatching
+hectically at joy, not turning to see the shadowy spectre over their
+shoulders.  It was strange to stand in Piccadilly Circus, dimly lit,
+and watch the theatres pour out their festive crowds, to sit in the
+busy restaurants, to see mankind, strained, feverish, but debonair,
+trying to laugh in the face of ruin and death.  It was a London of
+extremes; the wounded silently borne from Charing Cross, the
+beautiful living swept out in the deadly maelstrom at Victoria
+Station; the painted women gaily surrendering to the rabid hunger of
+youth in arms, full-blooded and reckless; the air of intense
+expectation of fresh development, the swift rise and fall of national
+heroes, the craving for a strong man to lead the nation to victory;
+the silent evidence of the wreckage in those endless hospitals, the
+fierce old women full of hate, and the beardless boys drilled and
+transported like sheep under the charge of hard-voiced blasphemous
+sergeants,--all these things revealed a nation at war, a nation
+unnatural in its hopes, fears, suspicions, enthusiasms, yet
+heroically treading the inevitable path through chaos to some kind of
+ending, either of victory or defeat.
+
+It was while watching the crowd surging into the Piccadilly Tube
+entrance, that John's heart suddenly leapt up in surprise.
+Surely--yes, it was the undisguisable Marsh--and yet!  John stared a
+moment.  A tall, sun-browned youth in kilts, with the black and red
+hose of the Black Watch, was laughing down into the face of a girl
+whose hand rested persuasively on his arm.  She was pursuing her
+profession, the oldest under the sun, with all the usual assets, the
+flaunting white stole over the shoulders, the large beaded vanity
+bag, one hand gloved, the other thin, manicured and nervous,
+glittering with rings, too large to be genuine.  There was something
+pathetically obvious in the loud declaration of her clothes, the
+challenge of her carriage, the provoking tilt of her hat over large
+observant eyes.  She had found her object of a night's passion and
+pay--the human agent of bread and rent.  Here was another youth,
+beautiful in his strength, snatching at a brief expression of manhood
+as a pleasurable anodyne for an approaching ordeal.
+
+She turned and the young officer half hesitated.  John moved forward.
+
+"Marsh!" he said quietly.  A malevolent look glittered beneath the
+dark hat, the tall youth peered at the intruder half-resentfully;
+even then he seemed confused.  With a shock, more of pain than
+disgust, John saw that Marsh was not quite sober.
+
+"What are you--" began John, when Marsh's senses cleared.
+
+"Scissors, by God, this is great!"  Then, awkwardly, he grew
+conscious again of his company, insistently standing by him--
+
+"This lady is--is--"
+
+"That's all right, Marsh--where are you going?" asked John.
+
+"He's coming home with me," said the girl sullenly.
+
+John put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a note.
+
+"This is an old friend I've not seen for a long time--I want to talk
+to him," he said quietly, putting the note in her hand.  Defiantly
+she thrust it back, and her mouth, hard and unpleasant, curled
+malevolently; she was baulked of her prey.
+
+"Keep yer bl---- money, I'm not depending on missionaries," she
+snarled.
+
+John looked at her calmly.
+
+"I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend you.  Then you will join me at
+supper with my friend?"
+
+There was something so kind and disarming in his voice, that she
+suddenly melted.  Her eyes assumed a tenderness surprising and almost
+pathetic.
+
+"I'll go--he's your pal I see, and you poor boys may not meet again."
+.She turned away, but John put a detaining hand on her arm.
+
+"I really meant my invitation," he said quietly.
+
+Then (God! the horror of it!), she momentarily misinterpreted his
+insistence, and involuntarily her professional air returned, only to
+be dispelled again by the kind cleanliness of the young man's eyes.
+
+"No--kid, thanks, I guess I'll pick up a boy."
+
+John put his hand in hers.
+
+"No--in memory of our meeting, have a--holiday," he added lamely.
+This time she let the note rest in her hand.  He thought she was
+going to cry, but suddenly she turned and was lost in the passing
+crowd.  Marsh stood there, silent, bemused.  John said not a word,
+but called a taxi, and pushed his friend into it.  In the darkness
+Marsh sat huddled up.  They were speeding down Piccadilly and turning
+by Hyde Park Gate when he seemed conscious that he was being carried
+away.
+
+"Where are you taking me, Scissors," he asked in a dull voice.
+(Could this be Marsh, the debonair, the irrepressible?)
+
+"Home," John replied laconically.
+
+"I'm leaving Victoria at four a.m.--for France."
+
+John started.
+
+"But you--you were--" he began.
+
+"Going to spend the night with a gay woman, like the filthy cad I am.
+Oh, I know what you're thinking!  Well, I was--I'd have been one of
+those deserters you see under escort."
+
+"You're drunk, Teddie," said John.
+
+"That's no excuse--in a court martial."
+
+There was silence again.  It was now half-past eleven.  He would get
+him home and make him rest for the few intervening hours.
+
+Mrs. Perdie was up when they arrived.  Fortunately Marsh pulled
+himself together, and was his graceful self, but when he gained
+John's room, he collapsed on the bed.  John went below to ask for
+coffee, a little apologetically.  But Mrs. Perdie was in a delightful
+fluster.
+
+"The bonnie laddie--oh, I want to cry when I see a kiltie.  His
+mother must be proud of him.  An' the Black Watch!  Many's the time
+in Edinburgh I've seen--"
+
+John left her in ecstasies.  He wanted to pull the bonnie laddie
+round, for the credit of his dear mother and himself.  But Marsh had
+recovered and was sitting upright in a chair.  He had been brushing
+his hair and straightening the thin khaki tie.
+
+"I suppose you're thinking--" started Marsh, bitterly.
+
+"What a stroke of luck it was--Jove, Teddie, it does me good to see
+you!  But where have you been?" cried John.  And the other, seeing he
+had no intention of alluding to the circumstances of their meeting,
+took the hint.
+
+"This is the end of two years' resistance to the folly of mankind,"
+said Marsh in a laugh that had no mirth, as he stroked the sporran
+over his knees.  "It's been a long disagreeable story!  Let's see, we
+parted at Boston in August 1914--Lord, it seems ages ago.  I went
+home, and then the battle began.  I didn't believe in war--I don't
+believe in the war," he added with emphasis, "and I've gone through
+hell for my belief.  I'm not going to give you a recital of it all.
+The badgering of one's relatives, the sneers, the fierce old ladies
+who asked if I didn't think I ought to go.  And the mater's had it
+too.  They made it so unpleasant for her that she never goes out now.
+Well, I've stuck it out for two years, and hell every minute of it.
+Scissors, I'm just nowhere at all.  I went to some of the meetings
+held by the conscientious objectors, but they made me ill.  Most of
+'em are long-haired fanatics, living on vegetables and cram full of
+isms.  They've got courage, there's no denying that; it takes more
+courage to stay out of this war in face of public opinion and
+calumny, than to go into it--but they seem to enjoy their persecution
+and welcome it.  I can't--it's misery not to be along with all the
+boys, but I've stuck to my belief until--until--oh, Scissors!"
+
+He bent his head forward, burying his face in his hands, and cried
+like a child.  John moved, and sat beside him on the arm of the
+lounge chair, placing an arm across his shoulders.
+
+"Teddie, old man--I know it must have been awful--you needn't tell
+me."
+
+Marsh lifted his head again, and blew his nose very hard.
+
+"Until, Scissors--" he continued determinedly, "one day, a year ago,
+I was at Paddington Station, and saw Bobbie coming down the platform.
+He was in khaki, looking very fit.  I hadn't seen him since our
+holiday.  You can guess what a joy it was.  I just rushed up to
+him--and--"
+
+Marsh's knuckles whitened as he gripped his handkerchief.
+
+"Scissors, he cut me dead--he didn't even acknowledge that he heard
+me--but he _saw_ me--he looked right through me, and went on, leaving
+me like Lot's wife.  I'd had a hellish time--that just finished me.
+A fellow can't go on fighting the world when his best friends quit
+him.  I just went home and buried myself.  I didn't write to you--or
+to any one; I wasn't going to risk a second incident like that.  I
+kept in,--but--I've been in the war every minute.  I've gone up and
+down those casualty lists, Scissors.  They're all going; there's
+hardly any of the old set left.  Fletcher's House has been wiped
+out--a whole bunch at Neuve Chapelle, and I'm going now.  I don't
+believe in the damn war.  It's mad, it can't bring anything but
+indemnities, starvation, hatred.  Every day I am more convinced of
+the insanity--the beastly, selfish filthiness of it, with all these
+horrible old politicians making speeches out of it, the business man
+'doing his bit,' as he calls his plundering, the fierce old women
+lapping up German blood like vampires.  I've deserted, Scissors, I've
+funked the battle against it--I can't carry on this lone fight any
+longer.  I enlisted a few months ago--been training at Salisbury and
+here I am, a tailored product of Scott Adie, Highland outfitters, and
+one of our 'darling brave lads' ready to die for his country."
+
+He laughed bitterly at the wry humour of his position.
+
+"I'm going to disembowel some mother's son I've never seen.  They
+have been working us up to blood fury on stuffed sacks.  I've learned
+how to draw out my bayonet with a twist, and when I've blotted out
+the light of life in half-a-dozen mother's hearts, a more expert
+pig-sticker than I am will blot out my mother's happiness.  And it'll
+go on and on for years, till there's hardly a sane, able-bodied
+fellow left, and then one side will crack, and the political and
+financial ghouls will gather over Europe's corpse and exact terms and
+wave flags of victory."
+
+Marsh stood up and paced the room.
+
+"Where's the sense of it?" he cried, stretching out his hands.  "What
+has victory to do with justice--the strongest wins!--but it doesn't
+follow the strongest is right!"
+
+His eyes softened.
+
+"And, Scissors, those kids in my platoon--there's not one of them
+eighteen yet; they're just babies and I mother 'em night and day.
+You know how puppies are, with clumsy paws and trusting eyes?---well,
+they're just like that, Scissors--and when they're--they're sent into
+the line--"
+
+Here his words choked him.  Mrs. Perdie entered with the coffee, and
+with further exclamations of delight offered all kinds of service.
+With many thanks and refusals, John got her out of the room again,
+but not before she had asked to give the young gentleman a kiss, "as
+if I was your ain mother, bless her--and God keep you safe," she
+said, retreating to the door with tearful eyes.  Marsh seemed better
+for having unburdened himself.  John wanted him to have a nap, but he
+would not.
+
+"Let's talk, Scissors, till it's time.  We've such a lot to say and
+you never know, we may--"
+
+"Oh, rubbish, Teddie."
+
+So they talked, and the old days with their golden careless hours all
+came back again.  Remorselessly the clock crept on.  At three, Marsh
+said he would have to go.  He had his kit to get at the luggage
+office.  John went with him.  They walked along the silent unlit
+streets.  At Victoria there were signs of life.  Figures in khaki
+loomed out of the darkness; for a moment they halted, the sound of
+marching feet came down the Buckingham Palace Road.  Ghostly they
+sounded in the night hush; a little group under the flare of the
+coffee stall watched them pass a thousand strong, burdened with kit,
+obscurely leaving the homeland many would never see again.  Marsh and
+John watched them pass, grim faces, pallid in the dim light, a few
+whistling out of bravado, but apathetically silent, most of them.
+They followed the detachment into the lighted station, passed the
+barrier at the departure bay.  Marsh found a carriage full of other
+officers, some half-sleepy after long night journeys, two saying
+farewells to their lovers, one very drunk, alternately blasphemous
+and maudlin, kept in control by a friend.  The doors slammed, a
+shrill whistle cut off the useless scrappy conversation.
+
+Their hands met in a firm farewell clasp.  They could not trust
+themselves to speak.  The train moved.  Marsh with a final forced
+smile looked at Scissors, equally mechanical in response.  A yard now
+apart--two yards--the train diminished, the carriage faded--then two
+red lights receded in the girdered darkness; after that a mist and
+the heart's desolation.
+
+
+
+III
+
+The next morning, the _Daily Post_ rang up, asking him to call at
+once, and the same voice told him that news had just come of the
+death of Ronald Stream.  It was difficult for John to realise that
+the death of one so exuberantly young was possible.  He had a vision
+of a night in a room at Cambridge when he had talked there, so
+radiant and intensely interested in anything, and so much the young
+god in his beauty and zest, that John had felt shy of approaching
+him.  And now he was dead, in the far away Dardanelles.  Fame too had
+touched him by his legacy of a few immortal sonnets, in which beat
+the heart of young England.  Death seemed impossible to that
+pard-like spirit, swift and beautiful.  For a space, John thought of
+his friend Freddie Pond.  He had encountered him only two nights ago
+as he leaned against the box office in the vestibule of the Court
+Theatre, during an interval.  John thought he had aged and looked sad
+and tired, perhaps the act of watching the swift passing of so many
+of the brilliant spirits he had herded, was wearing him.  In some
+respects, waiting at home was worse than the struggle at the front.
+
+He saw Merritt at the _Daily Post_, busy and tireless as ever.
+
+"Don't know what the Chief wants--are you better?  You're looking
+fit.  Just heard young Bewley's won the Distinguished Service Cross
+for bombing Bruges docks--a bright kid always."
+
+Walsh rang for John and he went in.
+
+"You're fit, I see," said Walsh.  "Would you care to tackle a naval
+job?"
+
+"Anything," said John, "rather than be out of it."
+
+"I'm sending you to the Dover Patrol.  I know little more, how you'll
+live, on board or ashore.  I'll give you a note to Blackrigg at the
+Admiralty, he'll tell you.  Good luck to you, Dean."
+
+He was outside again.  This time the sea!
+
+
+John called, in the afternoon, on Blackrigg and got his orders, then
+he made his way to Gieve's in Bond Street for a ready-made uniform;
+he was leaving for Dover the next day.  Outside the Admiralty Arch he
+heard his name and turned.
+
+A girlish figure in grey was calling him.
+
+"Tilly!" he exclaimed in glad surprise, "wherever have you sprung
+from?"
+
+"I think I must ask that!" she laughed softly.
+
+She was looking very beautiful and he wished he was not in such a
+hurry; he had much to ask her and she came out of a happy past.
+
+"Are you in the same studio?" he asked, in a string of questions.
+She was thinking how big and strong he had grown, the boy had
+disappeared in this rather stern looking young man.  But he had seen
+things and was a name in the world.
+
+"Oh--no--I'm at our flat," she replied.  Then, seeing the enquiry in
+his face--"Oh, of course, you don't know--we were married a month
+ago--I'm Mrs. Lindon now."
+
+She saw his face brighten with sudden pleasure, and as he expressed
+his wishes, she could not restrain the tears that gathered in her
+eyes.
+
+"You are--are not unhappy?" he asked, suddenly.  "Lindon's all
+right?--where is he?" he added anxiously, as the tears trickled down
+her face.  She choked, and he took hold of her arm to draw her aside
+from the inquisitive glances directed to them.
+
+"He's--he's not killed?" whispered John hoarsely, apprehensive of the
+common answer of these days.
+
+"No--no," she replied, in a quiet nerveless voice--
+
+"worse."
+
+"Worse?" he queried.
+
+"He was wounded four months ago--his right hand shot away."
+
+They stood still, while the traffic roared about them.  Strangely
+detached from the scene, John watched the confluence of the traffic
+around King Charles' statue, as it poured out of the Strand,
+Northumberland Avenue and Whitehall.  He saw the pigeons fluttering
+down upon the placarded base of the Nelson plinth in Trafalgar
+Square, and over it all, his brain was repeating an awful echo, "His
+right hand shot away," the hand that had threaded those swift
+passages of Beethoven, Chopin and Debussy on many memorable nights,
+one of the hands on which rested his future fame.
+
+"Tilly, my poor girl!" he said quietly, as she stood there, frail and
+tearful.  "Let's walk down the Mall--I want to hear all."  He took
+her arm, and led her away from the traffic's vortex.  For a space she
+did not speak, then she smiled wanly.
+
+"Oh, I have him with me--he is so brave, and pretends he never misses
+it--ties his own tie and is so proud when he gets it straight--but I
+know all he's suffering.  Sometimes I have seen him looking at the
+closed piano as if his heart would break."  She said no more, and
+they walked on.  Then abruptly John stopped and looked down into her
+face.
+
+"Tilly--you have been married a month--then his--"
+
+Her eyes met his and answered him simply.
+
+"Oh, you poor brave child!" he cried, his own voice trembling this
+time.
+
+"He needed me so, Scissors--and it makes no difference to me; at
+least I have him safe now.  But for him--"
+
+They walked on in silence.  At the Marlborough Gate he left her, with
+a promise to call on his next leave.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+I
+
+The months slipped, months of peril, of thrills, of human drama and
+comradeship.  On Christmas Day, as they entered Dover Harbour, John
+looked forward to the leave he had obtained.  It had been a dreary,
+nerve-wracking experience, a life in which monotony gave place to
+unexpected activity.  But the moment they reached the harbour, he was
+told to report at the Admiral's office, and half an hour later was
+under orders to proceed to Scapa Flow, the other extremity of Great
+Britain, there to join H.M.S. Fanfare, of the Grand Fleet.  Hastily
+collecting his things, including a bundle of letters awaiting him, he
+bade hurried and warm farewells to his shipmates, good fellows all of
+them, despite the fact that they growled night and day about the
+Service, knowing well they would be broken-hearted if they had to
+leave it.
+
+On the evening of the same day, he was in the night express to
+Edinburgh.  He had had a few hours in London and had made three
+calls--first at Mariton Street to deposit clothes and get fresh ones.
+Here he found Capt. Fisher in a state of high prosperity, as
+something in the Ordnance Survey Department.  He was enjoying the war
+tremendously and prophesied that it would last another five years.
+
+"It has revived British character, sir--the tonic we needed!" he
+said, blithely indifferent to the holocaust of youth.  Miss Simpson,
+too, at the tea-table showed an indomitable spirit.  She had been
+visiting the dear brave boys in a local hospital, and related with
+gusto a story told her of a Ghurka soldier who carried eight Germans'
+heads in a sack, which he had refused to give up.  "That's what
+should happen to all the Germans," she added.
+
+"It's very horrible!" said John.
+
+Miss Simpson opened wide eyes in surprise.
+
+Then he called on Mrs. Graham, for he remembered that her boy was a
+midshipman stationed with the Grand Fleet; perhaps they could meet.
+Her flat, with its exquisite taste, cast the old spell upon him, even
+before she came into the room.  There was something so intimate in
+the books, cushions, curtains, rugs and china, something that
+revealed the hand of Mrs. Graham.  She greeted him with great
+pleasure, made him talk, and as he did so, he sat wondering at her
+beauty, the lovely order of her hair, the music of her voice.  She
+had just had a letter from Muriel.  That opened the flood-gates and
+for an hour a wonderful little nurse near Amiens was the sole topic
+of conversation.
+
+"It's more than a year since I saw her," he said, "and I am getting
+more desperate every day."
+
+"You poor thing!" smiled Mrs. Graham.  "This war is very hard for
+young lovers; I pity them most of all.  But she writes?"
+
+"Now and then--and wonderful letters too.  I'm going to make extracts
+and publish them."
+
+"You mercenary man!" she laughed.
+
+The hour fled.  He had to go.  She pressed a little autographed copy
+of Flecker's Poems into his hand.  He could smell the particular
+perfume she used, for an hour afterwards.
+
+It was not until John was seated in the train, speeding northwards
+through the night, that he had time to open his letters.  There was
+one from Marsh, in a base hospital, wounded but cheerful and
+recommended for the M.C. "for conspicuous bravery in attack."
+
+
+"_Just fancy how all the 'brave lad' stick-at-homes will be writing
+to congratulate me on coming to my senses and showing my courage!
+Ough!  Scissors, it makes me sick.  One hundred glad-eyed youngsters
+were minced by steel in that attack--we gained eighty yards and lost
+it all an hour afterwards.  What idiots we humans are!_"
+
+
+A very short letter from Muriel.  She was resting after a nervous
+breakdown.  How long was the war going to last?  It was very
+wonderful being in the midst of things, but sometimes she wanted to
+cry out; was Europe quite indifferent to all the suffering?
+
+
+"_Oh, John, if only we could just romp into tea at 'The Croft' as in
+those old days, with Dad and Mr. Ribble discussing the Insurance
+Bill, and poor Tod banging in, covered with motor grease, and you and
+Bobbie eating up all the bread and butter.  It is awful to think it
+will never be like that again...  I feel ages old...  If this--_"
+
+
+Here came a break in the letter.
+
+
+"_I've been called away for half an hour--a poor fellow in my ward
+who kept asking for me.  He's only twenty-five, and so young and
+strong, with the dearest funny little smile.  He's so helpless.  I
+feel just like a mother, with all these big babies around me--and
+they're quite as troublesome, but very dear.  I begin to realise,
+John, that I had never really lived.  I see things quite differently,
+and you'll probably find me another kind of Muriel altogether.  I
+expect you've changed also--haven't all values changed these days?
+We lived in a very little world once, and thought too much of
+ourselves._"
+
+
+He dropped the letter, a chill had come over him.  Was it envy of
+those big babies, and particularly the one "with the dearest funny
+little smile?"  Changed!--what did she mean by that?  He hadn't
+changed, why should she?  True, they hadn't met for a year--and she
+had not written lately.  Why had he not insisted on their marriage?
+He laughed then, a little uneasily at a thought that said, "You're
+jealous!" and read on--
+
+
+"_It was very wonderful when you wrote about our settling down when
+it is over--if ever.  Somehow it seems too much to hope from life.
+Things were getting very crazy in 1914 and I feel this war is putting
+our relations on a more sensible basis._"
+
+
+A more sensible basis!--what on earth did the girl mean.  Was she
+getting unnerved?  He read the sentence over again.  Yes, he must
+insist on their marriage.  She wanted a controlling hand; this war
+was too much for her.  With this resolve, he read on again, and
+became easier in mind.
+
+
+"_John, I couldn't leave this now, like this, with all this life
+going on.  It must be terrible for women to sit and wait at home.
+Poor things.  I read some of their letters to the men here and I
+nearly break down.  I am feeling a little shy of you, John, you are
+so famous now.  The nurses here bring me cuttings about you, and in
+the mess room, there's a Sphere photograph of you coming down a
+gangway.  I love the naval uniform, and to think that I've never seen
+you in it!  Be kind to all those dear little middies, they must feel
+so lonely on that big dreary sea._"
+
+
+John smiled as he put the letter away.  At that very moment, one of
+those "dear little middies" lay with his head fast asleep on John's
+shoulder, where he had slipped over.  He would have to tell Muriel
+that they detested being called "dear," "little," or "middies," and
+that the average "snotty" could be entrusted to look well after
+himself.  There was another letter from Bobbie.  He was not fit for
+foreign service and he had been given a post at the War Office.  Miss
+Piggin sent a pair of woollen gloves she had knitted in "desperate
+moments," for Chawley School was now a hospital for the wounded, with
+Mrs. Tobin as commandant, "very successful, her firmness keeping the
+men in order."  Mr. Tobin was a chaplain at the front.  She had had a
+piece of Egyptian pottery sent by Mr. Woodman, who was a lieutenant
+in the Yeomanry stationed near the Suez Canal.
+
+Having read his letters John surveyed his carriage, thinking of
+sleep.  He had been unable to get a sleeping berth, but there was
+only the "snotty" and himself in the compartment.  That young
+gentleman had been solacing himself for his departure from
+home-worship and civilisation, with a copy of _La Parisienne_ and the
+semi-nude mademoiselles therein, all of whom appeared to spend their
+time dressed only in chemises, sitting on the knees of officers.
+John reflected on the necessity of a press censor for the
+safeguarding of "snotties'" morals.  The immediate problem was how to
+dispose of this lad without waking him, if possible.  John looked at
+the face on his shoulder; it might have been a baby's, so fresh and
+unwrinkled, with a little red mouth through which a row of white
+teeth just showed.
+
+Very quietly he lowered the lad until he was reclining on the full
+length of the seat; pulling his legs up entailed risk, but it was
+done, and the Navy slept soundly.  John made himself comfortable and
+dozed off.
+
+
+
+II
+
+He was awakened by a ray of sunlight striking his eyes.  The train
+was standing in a small station.  Looking out of the window, he saw a
+group of houses, all brightly yellow in the morning sun.  A slight
+mist and a chill air told him it was early morning and there was the
+smell of the sea in the air.  A great range of blue mountains loomed
+in the distance, with a flat estuary between, and the tide out.  He
+was alone in the compartment, but in a minute or so his companion
+returned along the platform, fresh-coloured and bright-eyed in the
+nipping air, bearing two cups of steaming coffee.
+
+"Will you have one, sir?" he asked.  "I'm awfully sorry I went to
+sleep on you last night--did I push you off the seat, sir?"
+
+John laughed and explained.
+
+"Where are we?" he asked.
+
+"Bonar Bridge--we're on the Highland Railway now, sir.  We've passed
+Cromarty Firth--we've got a dummy fleet in there to diddle
+Fritz--then through Sutherlandshire--jolly wild and desolate over
+those moors all the way to Thurso.  We'll be there by tea-time, sir."
+
+The boy chatted away brightly.  This was his second journey, he was
+proud of being a veteran.  He had been in the Jutland Battle, blown
+into the sea and picked up from a grating by a submarine, along with
+five survivors of a crew of eight hundred.
+
+The day drew on; noon passed; still they climbed northwards.  They
+were in desolate regions now, with tiny hamlets set in the wild
+moors.  There was a feeling of great space and the silence was broken
+only by the cry of a bird.  They passed Dunrobbin Castle, standing
+high and lonely on its promontory overlooking the desolate sea.  As
+prophesied, they reached Thurso at tea-time.
+
+A motor omnibus took them along the coast from Thurso to Scrabster,
+the point of embarkation.  Here John parted from his young companion,
+who gave him the smartest little salute, bestowed on admirals and
+admiring young ladies only.  John boarded a destroyer.  Half an hour
+later, entering a gate made by two drifters which lowered a boom, he
+saw the Fleet.  There it lay, enormous, like floating animals asleep
+on the water, glittering with the afternoon sun.  Here was the
+strength of England.  It was a sight to quicken the heart.  From his
+place on the bridge, to which the skipper invited him, John surveyed
+this grey steel city of the brotherhood of the brave.  The sea mist
+seemed to cloud his eyes.
+
+That night he met his fellow officers, walked over the ship, a new
+model of the Dreadnought class, installed himself in his cabin, saw
+his office with typewriter, clerk's desk, and telephone to the
+wireless room.  He interviewed his marine orderly, a stocky little
+Cockney youth, shining all over like the breach of a gun.  He slept
+soundly that night, awakened early by his orderly with a hip-bath,
+hot water can and carefully brushed clothes.  At ten a cutter came to
+take him to the flag ship to present his much-examined credentials.
+A smart flag officer met him at the top of the companion way and
+conducted him below.  The Commander-in-Chief would see him in a few
+minutes.  John waited on the deck flat.  Rear-admirals entered and
+emerged from the white-enamelled, brass-handled door on his right.
+There seemed to be a staff of flag officers in attendance, all young
+and alert, with their gold lace and showy aiglettes drooping from
+their shoulders.  Half an hour passed, John growing more nervous
+every minute.  Then the young flag officer called his name and
+ushered him into the presence.
+
+It was a large room, with a fireplace and the far end completely
+windowed, bow-shaped, under which ran a verandah round the stern of
+the ship, where grew potted geraniums.  In the sunlit air above the
+wind-flecked water, small seagulls cried and hovered.  The water
+threw a shimmering reflection on to the white ceiling.  By a table,
+on which stood a silver portrait frame, a small bookrest holding
+novels, a "Who's Who" and an "Army Guide," was a baby grand piano.  A
+red carpet covered the large floor up to the pilastered fireplace.
+All this John saw in a glance before looking into the face of the
+man, who stood, his back to a large flag-dotted map of the North Sea,
+holding out his hand, his face puckered in a pleasant smile.
+
+He was a small man, with dark penetrating eyes, a thin-lipped wide
+mouth, with corners that suggested a vivid sense of humour.  The nose
+was slightly hooked, and John immediately recognised the striking
+resemblance to his brother, a Hampshire vicar who had stayed with the
+Marshs.  But if the great position and fame of the man before him
+made him nervous, it was immediately dispelled by the kindness of the
+voice, and the charm of his personality.  For twenty minutes they
+talked, their conversation touching many points of common interest,
+and on this occasion only briefly upon the work of the new
+correspondent.  Every minute an anxious officer looked into the room,
+but the Chief ignored his hint of fretful persons without.  At the
+end, another warm handshake and John passed out.  Back on his own
+ship again, he was assailed and made to satisfy the general curiosity
+concerning "the Old Man."
+
+Thus he entered upon a new era of experience, and watched Spring give
+place to Summer in the chilly northern waters; and upon the
+precipitous cliffs of the lonely islands saw the bird life,
+indifferent to mankind invading its hitherto unmolested domain.
+
+
+
+III
+
+The tranquillity of his new life, despite the atmosphere of constant
+vigilance, brought a great calm to John.  He had been a silent
+sufferer in the appalling devastation, human and material, he had
+witnessed in Flanders, and under the fearful strain of the Dover
+vigil.  Life on board was industrious but regular, and with the
+cheerful companionship of these well-balanced philosophers around
+him, he began to feel less acutely sensitive to the tragic action of
+the world drama.  In a way he felt uneasy.  He was not quite taking
+his share of the burden laid on the shoulders of youth.  He would
+have liked to stand by the side of Vernley and Marsh and a dozen
+others.  Here he was a spectator, waiting for something that might
+never happen, something which he hoped never would happen, for the
+event was fraught with immense and appalling possibilities.  Often
+John stared, hypnotised by the sleek quiet power of the long guns,
+that moved so slowly in the morning air, like cautious antennæ.  Yet
+swift destruction could pour out of those harmless nozzles under the
+obedience of hidden forces within the turrets.  It seemed incredible
+that floating mammoths such as these ships might dissolve in air
+under the battery of similar guns.
+
+But as the weeks wore on, eventless save for rumours and the
+variations of discipline, the idea of war receded, though
+occasionally incoming destroyers or drifters brought grim little
+stories of short encounters outside their tranquil anchorage.  They
+read the newspapers and closely followed the vicissitudes of the war,
+now spread to many fronts, in many climes, and affecting almost all
+races on the earth, either directly or indirectly.  And the
+incredible was happening, the successive war prophets, the weekly
+commentators, fell into oblivion, for this war went on despite all
+the carefully enunciated reasons why it could not go on.  According
+to statistics, the German legions had been wiped out many times over,
+but still they pressed hard the defending line, changed from the
+defensive to the offensive with astounding virility for an army
+pronounced exhausted and emaciated.
+
+Letters from the front brought John into close touch with realities.
+Muriel now wrote less frequently.  Her hospital work grew heavier; he
+could discern the heartache underlying some of her words, sometimes
+an impatient note of protest against the politicians gaining wordy
+victories, while wrecked humanity poured into the hospitals to be
+botched up and start out again, until the human shuttlecocks fell,
+never to rise.  Then one day, a rare event, a letter from Vernley, a
+poor writer, yet one whose disjointed chronicles were eagerly read.
+John opened the letter in the messroom where he had been talking with
+the ship's doctor, and read through it slowly; then on the fourth
+page his heart seemed to stop.
+
+
+"_Poor old Marsh!  I suppose we'll all go West sooner or later, but
+somehow Scissors, I can't think of him as dead.  He was so full of
+life, such a tireless beggar and such a fund of fun in him.  I'm
+tormenting myself with the thought that I once behaved rather
+silly--I cut him on a platform one day, before he joined up.  I know
+it hurt--I wanted it to--he told me so later when I ran across him
+here.  Thank God we put it right.  Still, I hurt him, Scissors, and
+he was too dear a chap for me to behave like that, and I'm coming to
+think he was right,--the more I see of this bloody mess, with no end
+to it, and all of us wondering why we stand it._"
+
+
+John put the letter down, numbed.  He watched a destroyer through the
+porthole, passing on, saw a gull wheel and turn, with a silver glint
+as the sun caught its wings, heard the siren of H.M.S. Oak, speeding
+on its message-delivering mission; all these things went on about
+him, yet they were in a picture; only he was the unreal thing.  Marsh
+gone!  How could that be with the morning so fresh and active, with
+so much life about?  Surely he would walk in here, and with a laugh,
+clap him on the shoulder, with something thoroughly absurd to say.
+Dead?  Why--fellows like Marsh could not die!
+
+His thoughts flew away to the rambling vicarage.  He saw Mrs. Marsh
+sitting at the piano, under the lamplight; saw Mr. Marsh in his
+study, pipe going, the "_Nation_" in his hands.  Could life go on and
+Marsh not be part of it?
+
+Hours passed before the significance of it became clear to him, but a
+week passed before he was able to take up a pen and write to Mrs.
+Marsh.  That terrible task performed, he felt now prepared for
+anything.  The world was falling to bits; nothing could be saved.
+The bad news from the front affected him little.  He wondered at the
+gloomy faces of the men around him.  Why be affected by the
+inevitable?  It would all be enacted as relentlessly as in a Greek
+play.  Another blow would come yet, of that he was sure; life was to
+be wholly disintegrated.
+
+But the weeks went on and nothing happened.  Letters came, curious
+restrained letters, at longer intervals from Muriel.  Vernley, as if
+conscious of the lessening circle, wrote more frequently.  Lindon, in
+a big boyish left hand sent the town gossip; he had found a
+consolation, he was composing, and Tilly was wonderful.  June came,
+with warmer and longer days in those northern waters, and with it a
+hurried note from Muriel saying she would be in London in a week;
+could he meet her, as she wished to see him?  Her wish was a command
+that found him eager to obey.  A few wires, an interview, and he was
+released; his leave was overdue and the _Daily Post_ offered to send
+a temporary substitute at once.  John waited impatiently four days
+and almost embraced his successor when H.M.S. Oak brought him
+alongside.  He wired to Muriel asking when and where they could meet.
+On Friday night he was back in London, more wonderful, more beloved
+than ever to the exile, and found a reply at Mrs. Perdie's bidding
+him meet her in the lounge at Claridge's on Saturday evening at
+seven.  He pictured her, waiting for him there, in a chic nurse's
+uniform, and to be worthy of her and in celebration of the great
+occasion, he put on his best service jacket.
+
+He was there at five minutes before the hour, and to his surprise she
+was already waiting for him.  He rushed towards her with impetuous
+boyish joy, that raised smiles on many observant faces around.  Her
+greeting was more restrained, and her calmness steadied him.  How
+splendid she was and how lovely, he thought.  She had changed, of
+course, but she was the more Muriel for all that.
+
+"We've a private sitting room--let us go upstairs," she said, when he
+had let her withdraw her hand.
+
+"You're staying here?" he asked, surprised.
+
+"Yes," she answered.  There was nothing said in the lift.  He could
+only look at her, but once the door had closed upon them in the small
+hall opening on the tiny sitting room, he put his arms out to take
+her into them.
+
+"Darling," he whispered, but she seemed too agitated with nervous joy
+to respond, and led the way into the room, where she immediately sat
+down.  Even then he did not see that she was slightly unnatural, as
+under a strain.  The first indication was her voice as she pronounced
+his name.  He looked at her more observantly; a dumb pain in her
+eyes, which met his with a quiet strength, caused his heart to sink a
+little.
+
+"Muriel--there's nothing wrong?"
+
+She looked down at her hands a moment, and then up at him as he stood
+over her.  Something in her whole attitude struck him as piteous.  He
+sat down opposite her.
+
+"John--dear--I am going to hurt you terribly.  If you cannot forgive
+me I shall understand.  I am no longer Muriel Vernley--I am Muriel
+Harvey."
+
+He looked at her.  What was she saying?  She was unnerved, he could
+see that; this strain had been too much for her.  But in that brief
+silence she saw by the kindness in his eyes that he had not
+understood.
+
+"I am Mrs. Frank Harvey, John--I'm married."  And to make her words
+clear, she held out her hand, with its ringed finger.
+
+Even then he just looked at her, and she saw that his eyes were those
+of a troubled child.
+
+"Muriel--you can't mean it!--how can you be married!" he cried, in a
+low voice.
+
+This time she could not look at him, she did not want to see the
+agony that was coming.
+
+"I cannot ask you to forgive me, John--I know that, and if you think
+hardly, perhaps I deserve it--but oh, I don't want to hurt you--I
+don't, John, I--"
+
+He had risen now and had gone over to the window, his face turned
+from her, looking down into the well of the building.  What was he
+thinking?
+
+"It's incredible!" he said huskily, after a pause.  "You cannot make
+a fool of me like this, Muriel, you can't--why, it's impossible!" he
+burst out, turning and spreading his hands wide; and then seeing her
+face clearly for the first time, he knew it was true.
+
+She was talking now--words, words, words.  What could a woman say
+worth listening to by a man thrown on one side like a discarded doll;
+and he knew it all.  Of course she had met him in hospital, there was
+no need to narrate all that.  He had appealed to her sympathies.  But
+he blamed her, not the man, who only pressed his opportunity.  He
+assumed a calm attitude until she had finished, as though he had not
+really heard, for he was busy putting on a mask, determined she
+should not see how cruelly hurt he was.  Once out of the room, he
+could face the thing squarely, but here, she must not see.
+
+"Of course it has all been very silly--our boy and girl romance," he
+said, as lightly as he could, and he found a slight pleasure in
+noticing he had hurt her, for she paled as she stood up.
+
+"Silly?--you cannot think it was that, John--" she pleaded, and his
+heart smote him, but pride insisted on the mask.  He held out his
+hand formally.
+
+"Good-bye, Muriel."
+
+Would he go like this, she thought, so blind to her terrible trial?
+A noise behind made him turn.  A key was being fitted in the lock.
+She saw his face set, and its sudden tension told her more than his
+voice or words had betrayed.  There was the sound of voices.  One he
+knew well, would have rejoiced at on any other occasion but this,--it
+was Vernley's.  And the other?  John's eyes met Muriel's and they
+felt their hearts throbbing in that long moment.  The door swung open
+and Vernley entered, following a young man, an officer,
+fresh-complexioned and of medium height and build.
+
+"John!" cried Vernley, holding out an eager hand, but John was
+looking at him.
+
+"Frank," said Muriel quietly, "this--"
+
+The man interrupted her eagerly.
+
+"Muriel--I'm getting on fine.  I've put the key in myself.  Don't
+move, I know where you are, watch me!  There's a window on the right,
+the lounge on the left wall, you're standing by it--and a chair
+here!" he cried, touching it lightly with his fingers as he walked
+forward.
+
+"Frank--this is my friend--Mr. Dean," she said.
+
+The young officer halted, his hand raised for a moment.
+
+"Oh, sorry," he cried, cheerfully.  "How d'you do?"
+
+He turned and held out his hand, but in front of John, a little to
+the left, as though he might be there, and the face turned that way,
+smiling at him.
+
+A glance, and John took the misdirected hand and looked into
+sightless blue eyes.
+
+"How d'ye do, Mr. Dean?--Glad to meet any of Muriel's friends.  I'm
+rather sudden on the scene, eh!"
+
+He laughed boyishly.
+
+"And they'll wonder why she's got this blind old war horse--won't
+they, Muriel?"
+
+His laughter would have been infectious at any other time, but now it
+echoed as in an empty room and was engulfed in silence.  Vernley
+watching it all, stood by the door.  Muriel was crying now; the blind
+man stood gripping the chair, sensing something unusual.
+
+"I must hurry away now," said John.  "Good-bye."
+
+He shook the soldier's hand again, then moved towards Muriel, and
+without speaking raised her hand to his lips.  For a long moment he
+held it so, while she looked down on his bowed head mistily.  A
+moment later he had closed the door behind him and was in the
+corridor.
+
+But he was not to go alone.  Vernley hurried after him.
+
+"Scissors, my dear old Scissors!" he cried, taking John's arm as they
+walked towards the lift.  "It's a mystery, I don't understand it, I'm
+sure she--she--oh damn! you know what I mean!  Let's go somewhere,
+I'm all upside down!"
+
+The lift took them out to the world again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+I
+
+They were very patient with him at the office of the _Daily Post_.
+He delayed his return to the Grand Fleet again and again.  Merritt,
+with an observant eye saw that the young man was on the verge of a
+nervous breakdown, but he could not disguise his surprise, when,
+after fourteen days' absence, during which they had no word from him,
+Dean entered his room and said he could not go back to Scapa Flow
+again, and wished to resign.
+
+Merritt stared for a moment and poured out a flood of reasons against
+such preposterous folly.  There was his duty to the paper, which had
+given him his chance and helped him to fame.  Would he let Walsh down
+in this manner?  What of the public that read his despatches so
+avidly?  It was base ingratitude, sheer folly.  The gods had poured
+all the good gifts into his lap.
+
+John laughed bitterly at this.
+
+"What's come over you, Dean?  I've never seen you like this before;
+you've been going about with a green hue on your face for the last
+two weeks.  Are you crossed in love?"
+
+"That's no business of yours!" flared John.
+
+The suddenness and intensity of the reply startled him.
+
+Merritt veiled his surprise: he had touched a secret spring somewhere.
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry, Dean--but you're getting a little difficult to deal
+with."
+
+"I'm sick of life!" said John, dropping into a chair and beating a
+tattoo upon the table with his hands.  Merritt let him brood awhile.
+
+"What's the matter?" he asked, "are you tired of the Navy?"
+
+"No--but I want to go away, right away!"
+
+"Well--go back to France.  I'll speak to Walsh."
+
+"No--that's too near--right away, if I go anywhere."
+
+Merritt looked at him, but said nothing.  John rose.
+
+"Come in to-morrow--Walsh may want to see you."
+
+"Right--and I want to see him.  Merritt, I've decided to throw it all
+up--this correspondent work--I'm going to join up."
+
+If Merritt felt like falling, he did not show it.  He was sure now
+that the strain had affected the boy's reason.
+
+"Oh--well, you'll be a quitter if you do."
+
+"How?"
+
+"With a pen like yours, you've a duty to perform.  Haven't you
+thought of all the people who read newspapers for a gleam of comfort?
+You've a sympathetic note in your work--and many a worried mother's
+had a little more hope to hold out with, after she's finished your
+column."
+
+It was the first time Merritt had praised him.
+
+"If you want to go--you'll go, of course, and we can't stop you--but
+you fall in my estimation.  If it's England you want to got out
+of--well, we want a man in Mesopotamia."
+
+Mesopotamia, the East!  Again and again John's thoughts had travelled
+eastwards.  In the last few weeks a deep longing for the skies of his
+boyhood had possessed him; he wanted to throw off all the Western
+civilisation now curbing and fretting him.
+
+"If you'll send me there," he replied quietly, "I'll carry on--but I
+want to get right away."
+
+Merritt had won his point.  John promised to return and see Walsh in
+the afternoon.
+
+The subsequent interview was short and satisfactory.  He was to sail
+from Plymouth in a fortnight, his ultimate destination being Basra.
+
+"It's strange, Dean, but I didn't care to propose this when I first
+thought of it some time ago," said Walsh, as he bade him good-bye.
+"I thought you'd dislike being so far from your home-base."
+
+Downstairs again, John, with the words "home-base" echoing in his
+ears, laughed to himself.  What home-base had he here in England,
+with friends dying in every trench and the world tumbling in ruin
+about his ears?  The East--that was, after all, his true home-base.
+He should never have left it.  To this hour it called him; its
+witchery was in his blood; almost he could smell the distinctive
+odour, hear the jingle of camel bells as the caravans wound out along
+the old highways.
+
+And then a pang of regret smote him.  He had friends here, good
+friends.  Ever since that terrible night when his whole future had
+collapsed like a pack of cards, Vernley had been assiduous in his
+attention.  They had passed the ensuing days together, doing nothing
+in particular, strolling here, eating there, talking of everything
+but the one thing that obsessed them both.  Once only had they faced
+reality.
+
+"I can't think why she did it, Scissors, I can't really.  She must
+have been deranged with all she'd seen, and her pity overcame
+her--women are at the mercy of moods.  I've not spoken to her yet
+about it--I daren't trust myself at present, but when I do, I--"
+
+John put a detaining hand on his arm.
+
+"Bobbie--please don't.  It can make no difference now.  Perhaps we
+are all wrong--the whole world's upside down somehow.  I don't want
+to feel bitter--I'm not going to feel anything again, I think, and if
+she's happy--"
+
+"She can't be, Scissors!" interrupted Vernley vehemently.
+
+"Then she is suffering too--don't make it harder."
+
+"It's her fault--no, it's his, I think--he's played upon her
+sympathy--he caught her with a--"
+
+"Bobbie--don't!--We--we can't hit him--now, as he is."
+
+Vernley whisked his stick through the air, as though beating his way
+through a tangle.  They walked on in silence.  Suddenly he stopped,
+and confronted his friend, his face quivering, his voice ringing with
+suppressed emotion.
+
+"Scissors--you're a wonderful chap to take it like this!  God! if it
+had been me--I'd have--I'd have--"
+
+"Faced it, Bobbie," said John simply, "but why talk about it any
+more?"
+
+But his calm belied him.  To the wondering Vernley, it was marvellous
+self-control and astounding resignation.  Even Vernley did not
+realise that his friend had sunk so low in the waters of despair,
+that a numbness was upon him; that light and air were no longer the
+craving of life.  He was drowning, and the first fearful struggle had
+given place to a benumbed acquiescence in Fate.  Yes, light and air
+had gone, that was certain.
+
+They never mentioned the subject again, not even when they shook
+hands for the last time, before John travelled down to the Marshs',
+prior to sailing.  Vernley wanted to take him to "The Croft," but
+that would have been too much for him, and Vernley realised the
+artificial naturalness they would all assume, and dropped the project.
+
+The sun had set, and the livid upper sky tinged the sullen waters of
+the Thames, as in the final minutes, they paused at the bottom of
+Mariton Street.  Vernley was walking back along the Embankment to the
+hospital where he was still a patient, with a shell-splintered leg
+now healing, two inches permanently short.
+
+He grew philosophical in those speeding minutes, as the light died,
+and the lamps began to glow dimly along the curve of the embankment,
+running from the darkened East into the fiery West.
+
+"What a mess it all is, Scissors--and some old blighters are making
+speeches about the England that is to be after the war, the era of
+reconstruction, of glory and peace; and here we are blasting each
+other off the earth, many of us dead, half of us limping, and none of
+us quite knowing ourselves as we were.  Jove!  Sedley seems like a
+dream--poor old Marsh and Tod, and--my God, what a mess, what a mess,
+I'm not sure that I care about seeing the end of it!  Scissors, it
+has been wonderful though--we can't be robbed of that by all the
+damned politicians and the butchering generals.  And to have had you
+for a friend--why it's--"
+
+He could not finish--with a silent handshake he suddenly turned, and
+limped away in the gathering darkness.
+
+When he had gained his room John sat down and thought.  He sat
+silently there until the last gleam faded in the sky, until the room
+grew totally dark, and outside a large moon climbed up from the
+chimney stacks.  Mrs. Perdie found him there when she came in to
+light the gas, preparatory to retiring for the night.  She thought
+how worn he looked, and suggested a cup of cocoa, but he declined it
+with a faint smile of thanks.  On her way to the top attic, she
+reflected that only youth could plumb the full misery of these tragic
+days.
+
+
+
+II
+
+In the train to Renstone, John wondered how he would find Mr. and
+Mrs. Marsh.  He had had two letters from them since their son's
+death, letters written by Mrs. Marsh, full of quiet grief and
+patiently uncomplaining.  Somehow this journey to Renstone brought
+Marsh's vivacious personality more vividly before him.  Their days
+together had been without an open confession of friendship, but their
+attachment was deep, and Vernley's part in it equal, so that the old
+adage, "two's company, three's none," was proved utterly foolish.
+
+At the station a trap met him, driven by the old gardener at the
+Vicarage.  The sun beat down fiercely upon them on the slow drive
+along the country road.  The regal splendour of June blazed on each
+side, in the woodlands and on the hills.  Then the trap turned in at
+the familiar gates, past the central holly bush in the drive, and
+halted at the door.  It opened as he alighted, and Mrs. Marsh stood
+there, hatless and smiling.
+
+"You are just in time for tea," she said, as he moved towards her.
+So she had remembered his love of the tea hour and their talks!  She
+had not altered in any way, as he had feared.  Perhaps her hair was a
+little greyer, but of that he could not be sure; as for signs of the
+grief she had suffered, there was none upon that face of almost
+childlike grace.  Far different with Mr. Marsh, however.  John met
+him in the hall, and was shocked at the change in him.  His hair was
+now wholly white, and the characteristic rectitude of his bearing had
+gone.  He stooped slightly, and John felt, as he took the welcoming
+hand, it was a little feeble; but the irradiating kindness of his
+smile was there as ever, and the gentle humorous way of talking.
+
+They had tea on the lawn, under the copper beech, with an arrogant
+peacock attempting to disguise its interest in their proceedings.
+The old cat came out from under the rose bush where it had slept in
+the shadow; a few birds lazily twittered in the screen of elms at the
+far end of the garden, audibly tremulous in their tops as the wind
+passed through them.  The loudest noise was made by the wasps
+crowding about the jam-dish.  They talked of a dozen things, with
+never a mention of Teddie's name, until after half an hour, just
+before Mr. Marsh went in to his study, he said--
+
+"I'm afraid you'll find it very quiet here, my boy.  You see, we've
+not marked the tennis lawn this summer--Teddie always did that, and
+there's no young people call now, they're all away.  So you'll have
+to amuse yourself."
+
+He went indoors, sadly, thought John.  Mrs. Marsh watched him go.
+
+"Poor father," she said at last.  "It has hurt him terribly."
+
+John turned to her.
+
+"And you?" he asked quietly.
+
+She smiled at him.
+
+"Perhaps I am less rebellious, John--I don't know.  But I feel,
+always I have felt, he has not gone, Teddie's here all the time."
+
+"Here?"
+
+"Yes--in this garden.  Sometimes I sit here in the afternoon with my
+sewing and listen to the wind in these trees.  Sometimes there's not
+a murmur of sound, and yet I feel that Teddie's here, just behind my
+chair, or pulling the lawn roller down there, or lying in the sun
+with a cushion under his head, 'basking' as he called it.  I'm not
+what you call psychic, John,--I've never given any thought to these
+things, but I know he is not dead, that he moves with us here,
+perhaps hears all we say.  You know how he loved to talk.  This is
+foolish, perhaps,--but oh John, I am so sure I am right!"
+
+He said nothing, but sat beside her.  It was beautiful in this old
+vicarage garden.  Generations of vicars had tended it, and June came
+year by year, with its profusion of roses, its climbing honeysuckle
+and night-scented verbena.  Was it too much to believe that any one
+who had loved this spot, whose boyhood had passed in its peace, whose
+love still lingered here, should come back, unseen?  This was a
+thought of faith, of love that would not countenance surrender; was
+it a thought any the less reasonable because it sprang from abiding
+love?  He was a child in such experience, it was not for him to
+judge; happy for her if Faith's bright star shone in the darkness of
+these days.
+
+He did not speak, he could not; any words of his would have seemed
+desecration.  He just sat there by her side, in the flower-scented
+glow of the garden, while the sun dropped to the horizon and the
+shadow of the elms lengthened along the lawn.  The birds were now
+twittering before sleep overtook them; the rookery over by the hall
+grew noisy as the sky changed from rose-red to translucent green,
+with an adventurous star here and there in the silver grey of the
+east.  The dinner bell tolled at the Hall.  Mrs. Marsh broke the
+silence.
+
+"There, it is time we dressed.  I have given you Teddie's room, I
+thought you would like it," she said.
+
+Under the pergola they paused and looked back over the gardens
+towards the yew hedge, behind which the fading light of the horizon
+flamed in the heart of the sunset.  Softly she repeated,
+
+  "_Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns
+  And the round ocean and the living air._"
+
+
+"Oh, John, I know I am right--the living air!  I can't think of
+Teddie as dead, he loved life too much for that; he was too joyous to
+end in mere nothingness."
+
+Her eyes shone with love as she spoke, and, that moment, her faith
+became his.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+In those last few days he deliberately kept his thoughts away from
+Muriel.  Not that he was distressed by any bitterness; perhaps a
+little bitterness, a resentment of her injustice, would have
+comforted him.  The inexplicable reasons of her action he ceased to
+ponder, and the consequences, he felt, were not his.  Vernley had
+wanted to talk.  Curiously, he now saw, Vernley revolted far more
+than he against the accomplished fact of her marriage.  Why did she
+marry him?  Was she in her right senses?  Was she a nervous wreck?
+Could she possibly love this man?  How could she treat her lover so
+callously?--all these aspects of the enigma worried Vernley in
+succession, and ceaselessly he battered himself, mothwise, against
+the undiminished, glaring fact of Muriel's marriage to a stranger.
+All this had not helped John, and he had tried to make Vernley see
+it, but the latter fretted ceaselessly against the finality of her
+folly.
+
+"I don't understand women--I don't really.  If ever a girl was madly
+in love, she was with you.  She grew up with the idea of marrying
+you--and suddenly she turns round and bolts without reason."
+
+And John felt also that Vernley could not understand his attitude.
+Vernley did not realise that henceforth he had ceased to feel
+anything, that he was just numb to life.  Muriel had written after
+that dreadful interview.  She made no excuses, gave no explanations,
+only she wanted him to know that always he had been first in her
+thoughts.  He laughed when he read the letter, and in a vindictive
+moment felt he would like to ask her one question.  "Who is first
+now?"  For he knew that would distress her intensely.  She could not
+possibly love this man, he was sure of that.  She had mistaken
+motherliness and the protective instinct for the deeper emotions of
+love, and in a temporary aberration had seen in self-sacrifice
+something greater than a love which had encountered no real obstacles.
+
+Had he but known, as he thought this, she was sitting in Mrs.
+Graham's flat seeking confirmation of her act.  Mrs. Graham listened
+to her sympathetically, but gave her no comfort, for she affected no
+compromise with the hard fact that Muriel had not married the man she
+loved.
+
+"Am I to blame, Mrs. Graham?--oh yes, I am, I am, but he must know I
+am not callous--that I still--"
+
+Mrs. Graham smiled gently, and took the nervously clasped hands in
+hers.
+
+"Muriel--in all you've said when you have said 'him', you have meant
+John.  Need we disguise that?  You can no more explain than I can.
+We women will never know why we throw away our lives."
+
+At that the young wife broke down and wept in the other woman's arms.
+
+"What can I do, what can I do?" she implored.
+
+"Nothing," said Mrs. Graham.  "My dear child you are not the first or
+the last sacrifice to impulse.  You are not going to suffer long;
+your husband needs you so greatly and I think we women, if we realize
+it early enough, are only lastingly in love when we are happy in
+self-sacrifice."
+
+She felt Muriel quiver in her arms and held her a while.  Half an
+hour later, composed again, she went, but not before she had talked
+of her husband, of his cheerfulness, his eagerness to follow all she
+did.  He had planned their whole life together, and she was not to
+realise she had a blind husband.
+
+It was well she had not stayed to tea, for scarcely an hour had
+elapsed when the bell rang.  Instinctively Mrs. Graham knew it was
+John.  That he would come, she had never doubted.  His confidence in
+her had touched her from that moment of boyish ardour in which he had
+acted as self-appointed cavalier on their first meeting at "The
+Croft."
+
+When he entered she saw that he had changed.  He had put on a mask,
+of that she was sure.
+
+"Muriel has just gone," she said straightly, looking at him.
+
+"Oh!" he replied, but with no surprise or embarrassment.
+
+They sat down to tea.  He talked of the Marshs, of their garden, of
+how Mrs. Marsh bore her loss.  Mrs. Graham watched and let him talk
+of anything but the subject on which he really wished to talk.  Then
+quickly, as he leaned over to take a piece of bread.  "How is
+Muriel?" he asked, without a tremour in his voice.
+
+"She has been here and talked to me, John.  It's no use our putting
+masks on.  You know she loves you still."
+
+He sat silent for a few moments, then twisted his handkerchief in his
+hands, and looked down into his teacup.
+
+"I never thought otherwise," he said at last.  And then,
+dispassionately, he told her his plans.  He was going away, he was
+going to keep away.  He would never forget, of course, but she might,
+and that would be half the battle.  If they met later and she showed
+that he had ceased to be first in her love, then he would not find it
+so hard.  To go away, to stay away, only that offered hope for them
+both.
+
+Mrs. Graham smiled in his face as she said--
+
+"That is a desperate remedy," and although nothing had betrayed him
+in his voice, his eyes were full of dumb pain.  "But John dear,
+perhaps you will be unable to stay away--had you thought of that?"
+
+He laughed now, bitterly, she thought.
+
+"Then I must make it impossible for me to return--but no woman can
+mean all that to a man," he added fiercely.  "After all, love is the
+whole of a woman's life, it's only part of a man's--he has other
+interests."
+
+"You don't mean that John, dear," said Mrs. Graham quietly.
+
+"I do."
+
+"You don't!" she reiterated, looking at him steadily.  For a moment
+he returned her look boldly, while her hands closed over his on the
+table; suddenly his eyes filled with tears and he bowed his head over
+her hands.  Neither of them spoke for what seemed a long time.  She
+saw he could not endure this strain, and came abruptly to earth.
+
+"More tea, John?" she asked, withdrawing her hands, and smiling at
+him, as though they had been foolish.
+
+For the next hour they were very practical.  He explained his plans.
+The prospect of his work filled him with lively anticipation.
+
+"You know, I feel as if I were going home--as if I had a home," he
+said, "and if I hear Turkish spoken, although I have forgotten it
+all, I'm sure I shall lapse into those Amasia days again.  I had a
+great friend there, a fellow called Ali--a Turk.  I often wonder
+what's happened to him--whether he's been smashed up in it all.  It's
+a silly world.  Here I am, his official enemy--and we were sworn
+brothers.  Look, I've still got his talisman here."
+
+He opened his shirt and pulled out the moonstone with the word
+"Kismet" inscribed upon it.
+
+"What a beautiful thing!" cried Mrs. Graham.
+
+"Would you like it?" he asked, impulsively.
+
+"No, John--you must not part with it, after all these years--and he
+gave it to you to keep."
+
+"But it's only silly sentiment, Mrs. Graham."
+
+"Sentiment is not always silly, John--'Kismet' who knows?"
+
+He laughed out gaily, and she was glad to hear him laugh so.  There
+was the ring of youth in it still.
+
+"Very well then--I'll wear it because of you," he said.
+
+"And Ali?" she added.
+
+"And Ali," he echoed lightly.  "But you shall have one gift for
+remembrance."
+
+"I would like something, certainly."
+
+"I shall not give it you except in an eventuality."
+
+She laughed at him.
+
+"Dear me, how formal and serious we are!"
+
+"It's a statue--my nickname too--'Narcissus listening to Echo.'  You
+know it?  Dear old Marsh gave it to me in one of his whimsical moods.
+It's damaged, but it's very lovely and I have a sentimental
+attachment to it for his sake.  I want you to keep it safely for
+me--and if I never come to reclaim it," he said quietly, "I want it
+to become yours."
+
+She regarded him a moment, and saw that he was very serious, full of
+the drama of youth.
+
+"John dear, you're talking like a novelette; 'if you never come
+back'--that's always what the rejected hero says in the last chapter
+but one.  You're not made of that kind of stuff.  But I'll keep it
+gladly--and perhaps, when you come to claim it, I shall not be
+willing to part with it."
+
+He rose to go, but she saw that he had still something more to say.
+
+"Well?" she asked him, as he stood, hat in hand, after making
+arrangements for her to receive the statue.
+
+"You are wonderful, Mrs. Graham," he said, frankly.  "You seem to
+read my thoughts."
+
+"Oh, no, but I see you have some.  Tell me, John."
+
+He hesitated briefly, but her eyes helped him.
+
+"There are some letters--Muriel's.  I have them all--she wrote great
+letters from the Front.  They're all numbered in a despatch box.
+Will you keep the box for me--and--" he hesitated again, but she
+waited, uttering no word, "if I don't reclaim the statue--send them
+to her?"
+
+He saw that she assented, and after that he dare not trust himself
+longer.  Almost abruptly he said good-bye and went.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK VI
+
+EAST AGAIN
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+I
+
+John and young Sanderson were half asleep in the orange grove that
+sheltered the row of tents from the merciless midday sun.  All the
+afternoon they had dozed, just under the oranges that ripened within
+their reach; but about four o'clock, the noise of a Ford car coming
+up the boarded track to the aerodrome, from its journey to Jaffa,
+woke them from their siesta.  A party had been down into the port on
+a day's excursion.  It was their last probably, for early at dawn, on
+the morrow, the great attack was to be made and every one of the
+aeroplanes now receiving final touches from the mechanics would be
+soaring in that blue and cloudless heaven whence death would rain
+upon the trenches below.
+
+"I haven't written those blessed letters after all," said Sanderson
+yawning.  "I must do it to-night."
+
+He stood up, a slim graceful youth in his shorts and khaki shirt.
+The fierce Eastern sun had browned his legs and arms, though it had
+not caught him so fiercely as John.  He rubbed his fingers through
+his wavy hair and looked down at his companion.
+
+"Do you know, Dean, I think you must be the re-incarnation of an arab
+sheik--I never knew a fellow who loved the desert heat like
+you--you're looking splendidly fit."  He laughed and threw an orange
+at his companion as he lay in the shade.  "There's something feline
+about the way you purr in this devilish climate."
+
+John smiled, stood up and collected the letters he had written.
+
+"Let's hear the news from Jaffa," he said to Sanderson--and strolled
+across the clearing towards the fringe of tents.  They had been
+together since John's arrival two months back, and this
+happy-go-lucky lad of twenty reminded him at moments of poor Marsh.
+He had the same volatile spirits, now very elated or full of
+apprehension, tireless and restless, and very human and often
+childlike in certain moods.  It was to John that he raved about Mary,
+the little English girl in faraway Sussex, and so deep became their
+intimacy that he entrusted her letters to John, for him to co-operate
+in his intense admiration of her wonderful epistolary style, her
+unbounded lovableness.  John soon knew much about his mother and
+father, the latter a retired naval officer living in a little house
+on the Devon Coast; through Sanderson, he could see the gentle little
+lady who wrote in such a perfect hand with unbroken regularity,
+chronicling the small events of the domestic round.  That Sanderson
+loved her devotedly, John knew from the light that came into his eyes
+when he talked of her.
+
+"You must write those letters, Sandy," said John, as they entered the
+mess-tent.  It was a task Sanderson hated, being always unable to
+find anything to write about.  A letter meant much at home, and after
+to-night they--
+
+"I'll do 'em after dinner," promised Sanderson.
+
+Dinner that evening was a merry affair.  The excitement of the morrow
+was in their blood.  John looked round at his comrades, all very
+young, not one giving any sign of the apprehension he might feel.
+General Allenby was making a great push with his left flank,
+stretching from the sandy coast to the Jordan basin and the rising
+hills of Judæa.  The bombing squadron was engaged in the task of
+cutting off the Turkish army on the line of retreat along the
+Ferweh-Balata road.  The Turk was on the run and this might be a last
+great opportunity.  They were to start before dawn.  Early in the
+day, John had sought and obtained permission to accompany the
+squadron.  Sanderson was to take him in his Bristol fighter.  The
+spirit of victory was in the air.  That evening Sanderson twanged his
+banjo with great spirit and sang "Glorious Devon" and his eyes
+watered when MacDermott gave "Highland Mary," the heavy sentiment
+assisted by many highland toasts.  Scottish or English, it was Mary,
+and Sanderson almost broke down just before they retired to snatch a
+few hours of sleep.
+
+"Have you written those letters?" asked John,--Sanderson stood
+stripped in the moonlight, shaking out his shirt.
+
+"No."
+
+"Then you're not coming into this tent until you have," said John
+firmly.
+
+"Well, I can't write like this, can I?"
+
+John laughed, holding Sanderson's shorts firmly.
+
+"You promise to write at once?"
+
+"Yes--Lord, I'm cold."
+
+"Here you are then, and here's my fountain pen; you can see in this
+moonlight."
+
+Sanderson sat down on a box and put a writing pad on his knees.  John
+walked across the clearing for a final survey before turning in.  He
+climbed a ridge behind the grove, and above the tree tops a vast
+panorama swept into view.  Away to the left in the grey void, the sea
+lay, the blue Mediterranean sea that glittered by day under the
+changeless canopy of heaven.  In the night air he could hear the
+far-off roar of the surf, fitfully borne on a wind blowing up the
+ravine, laden with aromatic night-scents from the orange groves.  A
+full moon hung in the sky, banishing many of the stars.  John stood
+there, with a chill wind intermittently blowing upon him.
+
+
+There had come to him in these days, here, in the hard adventure with
+kindred spirits, in the intoxication of danger and human courage,
+amid all that was splendid, perhaps the more splendid for its pitiful
+transience, a contentment with life.  He was not maimed in the
+spirit, though he had been sorely buffeted.  His greatest ally was
+with him, the Future.  So much subservience to the omnipotent hand of
+Fate had this East wrought in him, he would not rebel.  If Mrs.
+Graham could see him now, see the change that had quieted him,
+instead of recalling the tumult of those days when he had turned to
+her in his blind agony, she might wonder at the quality of his love,
+at a love that surrendered and was happy in the act.
+
+"Muriel seems very happy," she wrote; "if I did not know I should
+think she loved him deeply; they are never apart and she seems
+unwearied in her service to him."  But did she know?  Who knew the
+heart of any woman and who could apportion duty, sympathy and love?
+Now he looked back, he saw that, tacitly, he and Muriel had loved,
+without obstacles, without trials.  From the first dawn of instinct,
+from that wintry day by the copse, when unknown temptings of Nature
+and boyish impulse had made him gather her into his arms, they had
+followed the natural course of their early affection.  For himself,
+even now, he had never doubted but that the fulfilment of that first
+impulse lay in his marriage to Muriel.  Painfully, but frankly, he
+followed the remorseless logic of the facts.  It had comforted his
+egotism, the eternal possessive instinct of man, to think that she
+had married in a mood of pity; what if she also married for love,
+suddenly awakened and all the stronger and more impetuous now it was
+really awakened?
+
+He saw now, that throughout he had insisted upon the requital of his
+love, and perhaps his dominance had won until this stronger instinct
+awakened in her.  He had banished all thought of her unfaithfulness,
+all reproach for the blow he had suffered.  That day, for the first
+time, he had written to her.  It had been a hard thing to do, because
+he realised how kindness, understanding even, would hurt her.  But it
+was not possible to go through life with a barrier of silence
+separating lives that had such great memories in common, when the
+morning hours had been so bright for them.  He had even referred to
+meeting again, feeling in his heart there was nothing to forbid it;
+and when he had written to Vernley, he had spoken of a "phase."  The
+very word hurt him as he wrote, but it was a surgery he had to
+perform, and this great distance made it easier.
+
+Rising, he retraced his steps towards the camp.  He had just entered
+the shade of the grove, when something suddenly tensed his whole
+being into an attitude of listening.  His heart beat, and the blood
+in his veins pulsed through a breathless pause.  Yes, he had heard
+aright.  Once again on the still night air it swelled and died, the
+old, never-to-be-forgotten, age-enduring drone of the _saz_, beaten
+in the Turkish trenches.  Listening there, alert, his face turned to
+the moon-bathed valley.  He was a boy again, the old impulse upon
+him.  As a dream, his years fell from him.  This was Amasia and the
+moon peered into the gorge, silvering the weirs of the old stream.
+Louder and louder, changeless and potent as ever, the night air
+pulsated with the immortal music of the East.  He turned and went
+towards it, then halted with a short laugh at the strangeness of it
+all, a medley of thoughts dancing through his brain to those exotic
+strains, thoughts of deserted khans, crowded bazaars, a cowering
+Armenian, the tragic dumb eyes of a Turkish boy, and another boy, in
+a book-lined room playing a piano.
+
+Then a voice suddenly cut sharply across the whispered suggestion of
+the night.
+
+"Dean!" it rang.
+
+"Here--coming!" answered John, shivering with a nervous chill.  He
+blundered across the stubble, scratching his bare knees.  The figure
+of Sanderson loomed out of the darkness.
+
+"Good heavens, Dean, I thought you'd been kidnapped--it's twelve
+o'clock and we're off at four."
+
+Sanderson had come up close now, and John's face shone clear and
+blanched in the moonlight.  Its expression alarmed the younger man.
+
+"I say--what's the matter?--you look hypnotised!"
+
+"Rubbish," John laughed uneasily.  "I'm cold, that's all."
+
+They walked back to the tent in silence and turned in.
+
+
+
+II
+
+It seemed only a few minutes later that the batman awakened them in
+the dark tent.  Outside there was a movement of feet and voices
+coming from the darkness.  Hastily John and Sanderson dressed, in
+warm things this time, for the morning air was very cold.  All the
+machines were out of the canvas hangars, lined up for the flight.
+There were muffled figures and voices.  The mechanics stood by; there
+was an intermittent roar of an engine as it started up and died down
+again.
+
+Sanderson climbs into his seat, John following.  This first five
+minutes is trying to the nerves, his fingers are cold and he shivers
+slightly.  They have said good-bye to the Wing Commander who has
+wished them good luck.  Some will not return again, but their
+thoughts do not dwell on the fact.
+
+Sanderson turns his head and smiles.
+
+"All right, Dean?" he calls.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The propeller in front moves round slowly and the engine fires and
+begins with a roaring noise.  Now the propeller has vanished as it
+gathers speed and they can see ahead, across the clearing, to the
+orange groves and the blue ridge of moonlit mountains.  The mechanics
+are wheeling the machine round for the run down the field, the engine
+is tested with them hanging on to the wings, Sanderson waves his
+hands, they let go.  They are off.  Imperceptibly they lift from the
+ground up into the cold air of the moonlit night.  The grey-blue
+country spreads around them.  The stars have vanished with a paling
+moon; to the east the silver of the dawn creeps over a black ridge.
+The low flat roofs of Jaffa are dimly visible, here and there they
+catch a glimpse of moonlight rippling on the sea.  They are facing
+the wind, but the roar of the engine is no longer audible, lulled by
+the perpetuity of the sound.  The coast line grows more distant as
+their eyes become accustomed to the light.  But dawn is breaking
+rapidly.  They are flying, for the present, until the enemy lines are
+reached, in close formation; to the left and right, like grey birds,
+soar the other aeroplanes.  In a few minutes they will cross the
+enemy's lines, over which they will have to deploy and run the
+gauntlet of anti-aircraft fire.  Their crossing is well-timed, for
+dawn is advancing.
+
+"We're over--do you hear?" cried Sanderson.
+
+Far below came on the wind a familiar sound.
+
+_Ratatatattatatatatat!_
+
+It was machine gun fire trying to find them in the darkness above.
+They were flying down wind now and had lost their companions.  The
+altimeter registered 8,000 feet.  And then suddenly the world was
+transformed.  From a cloud-bank the sun emerged with a triumphant
+blaze of yellow light.  John saw the light, like a live thing, go
+streaming over the hills and valleys below, flooding in a thousand
+hues the objects of day.  Behind them now, to the left, Jaffa, with
+its white houses, sparkled on the edge of a blue expanse of sea,
+wind-furrowed.  Back on the left like a dull mirror, lay the ghostly
+outline of the Dead Sea, with the barren hills of Judæa.  The
+coloured contours leapt up below them, the brown face of the
+grain-land, the grey villages, the green patches of woodland.  A
+silver spear shot athwart a green-gold valley, where the Jordan
+twisted southwards to the Dead Sea.  From the sand dunes of the coast
+to the Jordan basin a series of brown scars cut the earth's face.
+
+"That's the last enemy line!" called Sanderson, pointing down.  "They
+will be about, somewhere, now," and obedient to his wish, the machine
+lifted her nose and climbed to 12,000 feet.  Already the change in
+temperature was noticeable.  John had discarded his hat and tunic and
+sat in shirt sleeves, the wind blowing through his hair.  They were
+traversing the desolate hill-region of Lower Samaria with Nazareth,
+highly situated to the West, and were now nearing the wild ravines
+where they would find the Ferweh-Balata road.  John's heart beat
+quicker at the approach of the desperate moment.  Far off, to the
+north, a bright light flashed.  John noticed it twice before he
+called Sanderson's attention to it.
+
+"What is it?" asked Sanderson.  "A helio?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Again it flashed.
+
+"I've got it!" cried John, putting his finger on the map.  "It's the
+Sea of Galilee."
+
+The next moment there floated up to them the sound of a dull report.
+
+"That's a bomb--we've found 'em!  Look out, I'm going to
+sweep--they're in one of these ravines.  We ought to pick up the road
+here."
+
+The wind sang down the planes as they banked and dropped, the
+country-side slowly revolved as if on a disc.
+
+"There!" cried John, pointing to a white, ribbon-like road threading
+a deep gorge.  "Look--it's choked with transport!"
+
+An aeroplane ahead hovered like a hawk, then, as if inert, fell to
+within two hundred feet of the road, dropping its bombs.
+
+Boom!  Boom!
+
+There were two clouds of dust high over which the swerving aeroplane
+swept.
+
+_Ratatatatatatatatat!_--whirred its machine gun, ere the bird of
+death leapt skywards again.
+
+Below on the blocked road, pandemonium broke loose.  The mules reared
+amid a debris of destroyed wagons; some of the drivers deserted their
+seats and ran up the steep hillsides looking for shelter.  The
+transport in front backed, the transport behind pressed forward, the
+line swayed, bulged and writhed in confusion and noise.  A second
+aeroplane swooped and increased the panic.  The road was now heaped
+with dead and dying men and horses, abandoned lorries, guns, carts
+and motor cars.  There was no place of refuge in that pitiless gorge.
+
+"Are you ready?" called Sanderson.
+
+John's hand sought the bomb release lever.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The next moment they had nose-dived; at the bottom of the dive,
+Sanderson would pull out John waited for the moment, his eye on the
+bomb-sight through which the road seemed leaping up to meet them.
+Suddenly, the wind caught the rigid planes as the machine pulled out
+of the dive.  Now!
+
+John saw the two bombs go, turn over, fall in the distance; then a
+pause, with the air singing in their ears and--
+
+Boom!  Boom!
+
+They were now climbing joyously.  Their companion, for some strange
+reason, had turned to the west and was circling wide.
+
+"What's he doing?" asked Sanderson, but the question was answered a
+moment later when three enemy aircraft, their wings black-crossed,
+emerged suddenly from a cloud-bank.
+
+_Ratatatatatatatatat! ratatatat! ratatatatat!_ went several machine
+guns.
+
+Sanderson turned and climbed towards the trio swooping down upon the
+lonely prey.  But his man[oe]uvre was seen.  Two of the enemy planes
+detached themselves and turned to meet the aggressor.
+
+"Phillips can look after himself," called Sanderson, but his optimism
+changed when a fourth enemy machine came out of the clouds.  It was
+four to two now.  Still Sanderson climbed.  His machine was faster
+than theirs.  John saw his intention--to make an Immelmann turn and
+get underneath the enemy and rake him with machine gun fire.
+
+At the top of the climb there was a sudden _ratatata!_ which sounded
+in their ears, ominously near.  It came from above them, a fifth
+machine emerging from a cloud-bank, at a distance of eighty yards.
+John felt a sudden buffet, as though the wind had struck him,
+Sanderson's hand shot out to his gun, and there was an answering
+burst of firing, full into the belly of the machine above.  It fell
+swiftly out of control with a wounded or dead pilot.
+
+"Oh, good!  Good!" yelled John.
+
+Sanderson turned with a swift smile of triumph, ere tackling the
+machine below, but his smile changed to a look of concern.
+
+"Dean--you're hit!"
+
+"Hit?" echoed John, and looked down.  His shirt was wet with blood.
+He plunged his hand into the open neck.  A thin stream welled out
+from the left breast.  Yet he had felt nothing.  He was about to
+reassure Sanderson, when a sudden burst of firing broke on his ears.
+The next moment, with a fearful roar, a machine swept over them, the
+sparks from the exhaust trailing behind like a comet's tail.  They
+swerved, climbed, and then fell.  Down they went, leaving the enemy
+above; down, with an increasing roar of the wind, as they gathered
+momentum.  Ten thousand, nine thousand, eight thousand, louder roared
+the wind, and John caught a glimpse of the country below as it leapt
+to meet them.  It seemed incredible that the planes could stand this
+strain.  Every moment he expected the machine to open up, but
+Sanderson knew his work; he was safe in his hands.  They were falling
+still.  Surely only three thousand feet now?  Wasn't Sanderson
+cutting it rather fine.  He could see his head in front, familiar and
+reassuring.  Two thousand!
+
+"Sanderson!" John called.  He had no right to, of course, but
+something impelled him.  The roar of the wind carried his voice away.
+
+"Sanderson!"
+
+Loud, this time, yet the head of the pilot did not move.
+
+"Sanderson!" screamed John.
+
+A sudden swerve, and the machine shuddered from wing tip to tail.  He
+Was pulling out at last.  No! they falling again.  John stretched
+forward, dizzy now with loss of blood.
+
+"Sander--"
+
+The cry was unfinished.  Sanderson lay with his head inert on the
+side of the fuselage.  They were out of control!  Faint, John fell
+back; the wind screamed in his ears as they swept to earth.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+An hour before sunset, a group of Arab horsemen came over the scrubby
+hillocks, following the indistinct route worn by mules, which led,
+five miles to the north, to the main route to Damascus.  Their horses
+were tired, for they had been hard pressed, and on the faces of the
+riders something of the panic of the early morning was still visible.
+They were alive, indeed, and fortunate in the fact, for hundreds had
+fallen in that dreadful massacre in the gorge.  Picturesque they
+were, in an assorted fashion, but as soldiers they were not
+impressive, dressed in ragged gowns and dirty head-dresses, their
+beards untrimmed.  More like a band of brigands, than a part of the
+routed 7th Turkish Army, they rode in disorder.  The level sunlight
+flashed on the strange weapons stuck in their belts, ivory-handled
+knives, murderously long, revolvers of an obsolete fashion and
+pistols with heavy ebony handles.  The young officer in command of
+them could ill-conceal his contempt of this rabble, and watched them
+with a cautious eye, knowing that they would as readily plunge their
+knives into him as into that of any luckless traveller.  Accompanied
+by four juniors he rode behind, saddle-sore and depressed.
+
+A cry at his side made him look up.  His sergeant was pointing to
+something in the ravine below.  Half a dozen Arabs had broken away
+from the column and were racing down the rocky steep to reach the
+plunder.  The officer shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun.  The
+stark outline of a shattered fuselage reared up on end from a twisted
+mass of machinery.  A broken wing lay twenty yards apart, It was no
+unfamiliar sight, this, of a crashed aeroplane.  He made no effort to
+recall the Arabs, for his command would be ignored.  The possibility
+of plunder shattered all discipline.  Contemptuously he reined up his
+horse on the hillock and waited.  The transport halted behind them;
+even in retreat they disliked hurry.
+
+"There's nothing left, I'm sure--it's a bad crash," said the officer,
+surveying the twisted frame-work through his glasses.  "The engine's
+half buried--poor devil!"
+
+The Arabs had soon finished their inspection, and with disappointment
+were riding back, all but two, who suddenly turned aside and
+dismounted.
+
+"Why don't they come?" asked the young Turk, turning to his sergeant.
+"Go--hurry them up--I will not wait."
+
+The sergeant detached himself, his horse carefully testing its way
+down the steep.  The officer gave the command to march, the column
+jogged forward in disorderly fashion, the transport drivers behind
+cracked their whips and swore at the jaded mules, the cloud of dust
+rose again on their trail along the barren hills.  They had not gone
+a mile ahead when the sergeant overtook the commandant again.
+
+"It was a body--they'd stripped him, but I made them give up these
+papers in his pocket, and this."
+
+He handed a pocket book, some envelopes and a thin chain to the
+officer.  On the end of the chain a pendant swung and glinted in the
+sunset.  The officer examined it before looking at the papers.  A
+thin strand of hair, brown hair, was tied round the link that held
+the frame in which an oval moonstone was set.  On one side there was
+a minute engraving of an eye, on the other, one word, in Turkish,
+"Kismet."
+
+For a long moment, the young officer spoke no word as he held the
+stone in his hand.  The sergeant waited.  As they stood, the
+transport column filed past them, lorries and guns, and all the
+impedimenta of an army in retreat.  The men were badly shod, their
+uniforms ragged.  They were ill-fed and half rebellious, but the
+enemy were sweeping up behind and safety lay ahead; only the impulse
+for safety spurred their flagging spirits.
+
+"Where was the body?" asked the Turk, without apparent interest.
+
+"About twenty yards from the aeroplane, sir."
+
+"The other--there were two?"
+
+"Yes, sir, the pilot probably--the machine fired and there's little
+left."
+
+The end of the column was in sight now.  The sergeant turned his
+horse as if to join the line, but his officer did not move.  The last
+lorry lumbered by in a cloud of dust.
+
+"I will have a look at this machine, it may tell us something," said
+the officer, turning his horse.  The sergeant followed.
+
+"No," he said, sharply.  "You go on--I will overtake you in a few
+minutes."
+
+"Yes, sir."  The man saluted and rode off after the cloud of dust.
+The lonely horseman waited.  Quiet was settling down in the hills
+again.  The next transport column would be an hour's march away yet;
+it would be dusk ere they arrived.  Spurring his horse, he went back
+along the rutted road until the ravine with the crashed aeroplane at
+the bottom came into sight.  Dismounting, he tethered his horse by
+the path and made his way slowly down the slope, still holding in his
+right hand the talisman taken from the dead Englishman.  If what he
+feared was true it was a strange meeting after these many years.
+Kismet indeed!
+
+He had reached the bottom of the slope now, dusty and shaken by his
+swift descent.  It was dusk already in the ravine and the level rays
+of the sunset were gilding the ridges of the hills above.  He
+shivered in the cool shade, and the silence grew oppressive.  The
+call of a jackal came from a thicket near by, a horrible,
+blood-chilling whine.  He stumbled.  The light would be gone if he
+did not hurry.
+
+He could see the object he sought, a small patch on the ground ahead;
+breaking into a run, he approached the naked body of the dead man.
+Those bandits had stripped him, and he lay stretched out, his set
+face turned to the sky.  Two birds took sudden flight at the approach
+of the man, and rose with a whirr of large black wings, sinister and
+sickening to the sight in their repulsive portent.
+
+Flinging himself to his knees, he bent over the slim body lying so
+inert.  For a few moments he had no courage to look into the face.
+Beautiful, he lay in death, like a perfect figure of marble,--the
+whiteness only broken on the left breast, bloody and scarred.  Had
+the miscreants murdered him in their plundering?  No, for this thin
+stream of blood from the wound had dried long ago.
+
+Bending forward, the living face looked on the dead, and in that
+moment of recognition a sharp cry of pain broke on the desert hush.
+Gathering him up in his arms, he pressed the lifeless body to his
+breast.
+
+"Oh, John effendi!  Oh, John effendi!" he sobbed, brushing back the
+hair from the brow of the dead man.
+
+"See, I have our token and thou wast faithful, John effendi!  Great
+brother of my heart, what woe is come upon us!  Dost thou not hear
+me?  'Tis I, Ali, thy friend of boyhood's days.  O thou unfortunate
+one!  Unhappy the servant of Allah, that these eyes thus behold thee,
+most beloved brother of my soul, John effendi!  Oh, John effendi!"
+
+He bent over the lifeless form, peering into the unclosed eyes of the
+dead man as if he would read therein some words of recognition, of
+greeting.  He had not changed, this friend of happy days by Yeshil
+Irmak's singing waters.  The face that had faded in distance from the
+fountain at Amasia was this face of death found in the desert, and
+the years had scarcely touched it, perhaps only to make it sterner,
+more handsome.  Great was the will of Allah to bring them together
+again across the ways of the world.  Thus had he beheld him on the
+hill on that last day of parting when the night crept over the gorge
+at Amasia; night crept on now, night with its stillness and its
+stars, and he could not go hence again.  Brothers in life they were,
+were they not brothers in death; were not their feet wedded to the
+same great adventure?
+
+With his handkerchief he wiped the sand and blood from the face of
+the dead man, smoothed the bruised brow.  Beautiful he was, in this
+hour of meeting.
+
+"O John effendi," he cried, pressing his mouth to the cold brow.
+"Our footsteps have gone out upon the dusty way and we are met again.
+Allah in his greatness willed it so!"
+
+The darkness of night gathered about the living and the dead.  Above,
+the brazen dome held the last flush of day.  In the cool east a few
+stars came on the flood of darkness.  From hill-top to hill-top the
+greyness crept and the valleys filled with shadow.  The moon, low on
+the dark horizon, brightened; the timorous stars spangled the
+heavenly way with bright battalions.  The hill ridges, black in the
+sunset, softened and sank in the encroaching tide of night.
+
+Such silence, such peace, such coolness after the noisy, parching
+day!  Foolish man, fretful with his bewildering schemes, his fears
+and frenzy, his comings and goings over the face of the indifferent
+earth--all, all engulfed in the enduring silence.  And for the end of
+all--this beneficent peace.
+
+But no, even now, the hush is broken.  Out of the darkness it comes,
+mysterious, stirring, portentous,--the sound of a thousand years, the
+low insistent droning of a drum.  Listening, the living hears its
+mournful, suggestive music, even as he heard it in the khans at
+Amasia.  It rises, it falls, undulating.  And if the dead hear, then
+is the call familiar,--the call of a far-off night, when, under
+almond blossom, a little white figure, dream-impelled, stepped
+towards the moonlit stream.
+
+Nearer it comes, nearer, nearer.  The night winds bear it afar down
+the ravine; it is the music of war, the music of a thousand
+conquerors marching in brief glory out to the silence of death.
+
+Gently the living man lowers the dead from his arms.  He rises to his
+feet, solitary and minute under the inquisition of the stars.  The
+tethered horse on the highway stirs and whinnies.  The transport
+column comes winding along the road of retreat.  Nearer now, sound
+the drums; soon the riderless horse will be found.
+
+Suddenly, shattering the night, a shot rings out, doing violence to
+the quiet of the valley.  The echo ricochets from hill-top to
+hill-top and faintly dies in the distance.  The deep hush flows
+again, the eddies of sound fade out on the pool of silence.  Over the
+grey crest of the eastern hills the moon climbs, pouring its light
+into the ravine.  A jackal cries and slinks away among the scrub; and
+again, the insistent calling of a drum.
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75969 ***
diff --git a/75969-h/75969-h.htm b/75969-h/75969-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..431c3b7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75969-h/75969-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,19370 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html lang="en">
+
+<head>
+
+<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
+
+<meta charset="utf-8">
+
+<title>
+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Scissors, by Cecil Roberts
+</title>
+
+<style> 
+body { color: black; 
+       background: white; 
+       margin-right: 10%; 
+       margin-left: 10%; 
+       font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; 
+       text-align: justify }
+
+p {text-indent: 1.5em }
+
+p.noindent {text-indent: 0% }
+
+p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ;
+      font-size: 200%;
+      text-align: center }
+
+p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ;
+      font-size: 150%;
+      text-align: center }
+
+p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ;
+      font-size: 150%;
+      font-weight: bold;
+      text-align: center }
+
+p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ;
+      font-size: 100%;
+      text-align: center }
+
+p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ;
+      font-size: 100%;
+      font-weight: bold;
+      text-align: center }
+
+p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ;
+      font-size: 80%;
+      text-align: center }
+
+p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ;
+      font-size: 80%;
+      font-weight: bold;
+      text-align: center }
+
+p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ;
+      font-size: 60%;
+      text-align: center }
+
+h1 { text-align: center }
+h2 { text-align: center }
+h3 { text-align: center }
+h4 { text-align: center }
+h5 { text-align: center }
+
+p.poem {text-indent: 0%; 
+        margin-left: 10%; }
+
+p.thought {text-indent: 0% ;
+           letter-spacing: 2em ;
+           text-align: center }
+
+p.letter {text-indent: 0%; 
+          margin-left: 10% ;
+          margin-right: 10% }
+
+p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ;
+            font-size: 80%;
+            margin-left: 10% ;
+            margin-right: 10% }
+
+.smcap { font-variant: small-caps }
+
+p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ;
+             margin-left: 10% ;
+             margin-right: 10% }
+
+p.intro {font-size: 90% ;
+         text-indent: -5% ;
+         margin-left: 5% ;
+         margin-right: 0% }
+
+p.quote {text-indent: 4% ;
+         margin-left: 0% ;
+         margin-right: 0% }
+
+p.finis { font-size: larger ;
+          text-align: center ;
+          text-indent: 0% ;
+          margin-left: 0% ;
+          margin-right: 0% }
+
+</style>
+
+</head>
+
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75969 ***</div>
+
+<h1>
+<br><br>
+  SCISSORS<br>
+</h1>
+
+<p class="t3">
+  <i>A NOVEL OF YOUTH</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+  BY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t2">
+  CECIL ROBERTS<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+  NEW YORK<br>
+  FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY<br>
+  MCMXXIII<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  Copyright, 1923, by<br>
+  FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  All Rights Reserved<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  Published, March 29, 1923<br>
+  Second Printing, April 14, 1923<br>
+  Third Printing, June 29, 1923<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  Printed in the United States of America<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+  VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY<br>
+  BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+  TO<br>
+  H. C. BRODIE<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3b">
+CONTENTS
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BOOK I
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<a href="#chap0101">EAST</a>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BOOK II
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<a href="#chap0201">WEST</a>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BOOK III
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<a href="#chap0301">GROWTH</a>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BOOK IV
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<a href="#chap0401">LIFE</a>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BOOK V
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<a href="#chap0501">THE NEW WORLD</a>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BOOK VI
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+<a href="#chap0601">EAST AGAIN</a>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0101"></a></p>
+
+<h2>
+BOOK I
+<br><br>
+EAST
+</h2>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t2">
+SCISSORS
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER I
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+A cold spray blew over the deck of the steamer as
+it left the calm waters of the Bosphorus, making
+for the open and wind-swept expanse of the Black
+Sea.  Although it was springtime, and the promise of
+summer had made Constantinople a city of warmth and
+cheerfulness, the wind cut through the shivering crowd
+on the deck of the Austrian-Lloyd boat.  A north-easterly
+gale was blowing from the Russian Steppes, and at
+intervals, through mists and clouds closing and parting,
+the passengers caught glimpses of the Anatolian coast
+with its long mountainous barricade rising from the
+surf-beaten strip of shore.  In lee of the deck-houses there was
+also a nurse, a fresh-complexioned English girl, in charge
+of a boy of seven, evidently the son of the Englishman and
+his wife.  The Captain of the steamer, an Austrian,
+regarded the strange party from time to time, for it was
+rarely that Englishmen came to this part of the world,
+and seldom were they accompanied by their women folk.
+Impelled by his curiosity, he approached the tall stranger
+who had now risen and was surveying his fellow
+passengers with amused interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You make to Trebizond, sir?" he asked, in broken English.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, for Samsoon."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah&mdash;then you are of those who make the harbour
+there.  It is a good scheme.  The English have much
+wisdom, but it is a terrible land," he continued, and swept
+his hand expressively toward the grey coastland.
+"Barbarians there&mdash;Turks, Armenians, Greeks, Syrians,
+Circassians, Kurds, and some Americans, they go everywhere,
+like the English.  Ah, a terrible land."  He shuddered
+and drew his fingers across his throat, and then rolled his
+eyes as if the country transcended all words at his command.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you know Asia Minor?" asked the stranger.  "I am
+going to Amasia."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That is inland&mdash;a place of the wolves, the bandits&mdash;no,
+I would never tread that soil.  It is enough to sail the
+sea.  The Black Sea&mdash;ough!"  And once more he
+shuddered.  "The lady&mdash;is it that she goes there, and the
+child?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, I have business in Amasia."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That is the illness of the English,&mdash;business, for this
+they come to these lands.  They are great fools, and brave
+fools, sir!  The sea is more safe.  I hope soon never more
+to see this coast.  I will live in Vienna.  Ah! one can
+live in Vienna, but there!&mdash;"  He gave a short laugh
+and then went about his work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But as Charles Dean leaned over the taffrail and watched
+the flowing coastline dimly streaming into distance, it was
+not without a stirring of deep interest.  This was the
+classic land of great adventure; they were near the coast of
+Phoenicia; behind that range was Sidon, looking towards
+Palestine.  This sea had seen Jason and his Argonauts
+searching the coast of Colchis for the Golden Fleece.  All
+the ancient world of the Greeks was here, and the tides of
+barbaric splendour had swept over that land; Greek,
+Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman rulers had shaped its
+destiny.  It was the great battlefield of the world; the
+Greeks sailing for Troy, the Ten Thousand, had all known
+that shore and the mountains still slept by the thundering
+seas as in the days of Alexander and of Caesar.  Peak after
+peak of those mountains with their historic names arose
+and looked inland, the mountains of Ionia, Ida and Casia,
+of Bithynia, Pontus and Paphlogonia; violet and blue
+and amethyst, they stretched like sleeping animals in the
+March sunlight, clothed with a forest growth and fringed
+with pine trees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So all day long the little steamer went along its
+pathway of foam; during those hours, Charles Dean and his
+wife were sustained by the excitement of their entry into
+a new world.  The last four years of their lives had been
+spent in journeying from city to city, from country to
+country.  Amsterdam, Berlin and Bordeaux had held them
+for a short time.  Eastwards then Charles Dean received a
+call from the trading company employing him, this time to
+Constantinople.  That had been the pleasantest of all their
+sojournings in foreign lands.  The city of mosques and
+minarets, with its beautiful gardens and golden sea, had
+seemed like a dream from one of the Arabian Nights'
+Entertainments.  And now the gradual extension eastwards
+of business, was carrying them to Amasia, the city
+unknown, dwelling inland behind that great mountain
+barrier.  It was a strange life, yet not without its
+fascinations.  Mary Dean insisted upon accompanying her
+husband.  She had the choice of remaining in England, but
+she swept it aside unhesitatingly.  Devoid of fear and
+devoted to her husband, she went with him from land to
+land.  With them also went their young son, John Narcissus
+Dean.  Narcissus! exclaimed everybody, hearing the
+name.  "Yes, Narcissus," answered handsome Charles
+Dean solemnly, while the light of humour danced in his
+grey eyes; and then followed the story of that honeymoon
+in Naples, when Mary, after seeing the famous statue of
+"Narcissus listening to Echo," had pleaded with her young
+husband, assisted by a Jew curio shopkeeper, for a copy
+she coveted.  "But I want a real Narcissus," whispered the
+young man, pressing her hand quietly, while the Jew dusted
+the expensive bronzes on his counter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You shall have one&mdash;if I can have this," she answered
+roguishly.  He nearly kissed her in boyish ecstasy.
+"Done!" he cried&mdash;"and we'll call him 'Narcissus.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Charles Dean was not only a man who kept to his word,
+but also to his joke.  The announcement of the birth of
+John Narcissus at the historic manor of "Fourways"
+filled old Sir Neville, the grandfather, with delight and
+protest; a boy&mdash;excellent, Narcissus&mdash;preposterous!  But
+Charles was obstinate, Mary amused, and Sir Neville
+protested anew.  It was like Charles&mdash;independent, obstinate
+Charles, who had always been so irrational.  It might have
+been expected of a man who had thrown up a diplomatic
+career to breed horses, which he could not afford to breed,
+who had married penniless Mary Loughton, his land-agent's
+pretty daughter.  Charles had always been the
+fool in contrast with Henry, his level-headed elder brother.
+Sir Neville did not protest long,&mdash;he died one month after
+the coming of the grandchild with the freak name; and
+although all babies seem to look alike, many ladies, calling
+on the young mother, vowed the child was a veritable
+Narcissus&mdash;so handsome, so bonnie, so&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The new baronet made one formal protest, but Henry
+knew well he could do nothing with his odd-minded
+brother; still, as uncle, head of the family, and sixth
+baronet, he felt he had some right to protest against
+"Narcissus," if not for himself, then for his own boys, who were
+cousins to this piece of Greek mythology.  The young
+parents only laughed, and John Narcissus, as if seeing the
+joke, gurgled whenever he was shown the statue and told
+to grow up like it&mdash;not altogether of course, for the statue
+proved to be cracked over the left breast, where the dealer
+had carefully kept his thumb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sir Henry, annoyed, kept aloof.  When he heard that
+Charles had ruined himself and lost "Fourways" in a mad
+scheme to sink a shaft, over-persuaded by a gang of
+company promoters, he declared he was in no way surprised,
+shrugged his shoulders, and waited to see what would
+happen now.  The sale of "Fourways," its contents and its
+horses, must have been a hard blow for Charles, but he
+certainly gave no sign when he called to say "Goodbye," before
+taking a position as continental agent offered him by an old
+friend.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And&mdash;the boy?" asked Sir Henry, unable to make
+himself pronounce the ridiculous name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He is going with us."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What&mdash;all over the Continent!" cried the astounded
+baronet.  "You can't take a boy there&mdash;why not send him
+to school?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He's too young&mdash;we want him&mdash;and I don't believe in
+preparatory schools."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Crank!" exclaimed Sir Henry to her ladyship when his
+brother had gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus came John Narcissus Dean to be swinging his
+sturdy legs on a box aboard an Austrian-Lloyd steamer
+bound for Samsoon.  He was a fine boy, well matured for
+his seven years, and already he had a manner of command
+which made a slave of his devoted nurse Anna, a big
+fresh-coloured country girl, one of the small group that had
+gathered, seven years before, at the foot of the staircase at
+"Fourways."  Anna had never intended going to Asia
+Minor, which she looked upon with the same horror as she
+did the South Sea Islands.  Her first excursion, to
+Amsterdam, had been taken with great daring.  Only love
+of the child she nursed and the mistress she served, could
+have prevailed upon her to leave England, for as all the
+peasant class, she had a loathing of foreigners.  But from
+Amsterdam to Berlin had not seemed so far, and then the
+change to Bordeaux was like coming half-way home, so
+she remained with the family, and, as the years went by,
+became more tightly bound by affection to her young charge.
+For, however much she admired her mistress, she never
+doubted for one moment that, without her, young John
+Narcissus could not live.  She had nursed him from a baby,
+was familiar with all his complaints, and also his moods,
+which were peculiar and trying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Anna alone who could curb those terrible fits of
+passion which so alarmed the fond parents.  The child had
+a way of working himself into a fanatical frenzy when
+pleased by anything.  At first these moods had been
+attributed to infant naughtiness and had been punished, but
+without result.  An eminent Berlin specialist, whom they
+had consulted in distress, had said that the child's brain
+was abnormally developed.  He was to be humoured and
+closely watched.  With time and careful guarding he
+would outgrow those storms of passion and ecstasy.  So
+Anna immediately took the specialist's words to heart.
+Without her the child would not live.  When the change
+to Constantinople was announced, her first intention was
+to give notice.  She did not object to France or Holland,
+but Turkey was a barbarian country where Christians were
+crowded together and shot at with bows and arrows, or
+cut to a thousand pieces with terrible knives like those
+which grocers used for carving hams.  But she could not
+think of leaving the child; and, after all, she had been to
+Berlin, which was almost half-way across Europe.  She
+decided to go to Constantinople, for the more she
+considered the matter the firmer grew her conviction that her
+master and mistress were mad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When therefore, one morning, seated on the deck of the
+steamer as it entered Samsoon roads, she was told by
+Mr. Dean that the white path, climbing past the squalid little
+houses up the mountain side, winding in and out like a
+ribbon, was the way to old Baghdad, the ancient city of
+Haroun-al-Raschid and Sinbad the Sailor, she wondered
+whatever her people, far away at home, would think when
+they heard she was travelling in these fairy-tale lands.
+The only real things in her amazing life were John and his
+father and mother.  She looked at John as he sat swinging
+his brown legs on the side of a box, and wondered that
+such a morsel of life should drag her across the world into
+strange and terrible lands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The passage ashore was made in a small boat, and the
+adventure was a somewhat perilous one, for the frail craft
+was swept by the waters.  They were finally landed on the
+beach some distance away from the town.  Here a small
+crowd of customs officials and Turkish luggage porters
+met them; then they were driven along the front of the
+town in an <i>arabya</i>, a native conveyance with curtains for
+warding off the sun, drawn by one horse in the control of a
+Turkish driver.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now the irresistible glamour which the East throws
+over the hearts of all who venture into her domain,
+entranced the small party as it was driven for some two
+miles along the edge of a sandy yellow beach into the town
+of Samsoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The buildings were low and inelegant; the streets narrow
+and filled with that accumulation of smells and filth that
+are to be found in all cities under Ottoman rule.  But
+there was, despite these disadvantages, a definite charm in
+the little town of forty thousand souls.  Samsoon is the
+one accessible port lying on the fringe of a tableland
+containing the richest cornfields and tobacco country of the
+world.  The city itself was built at the great gate of the
+mountains over which the roads wind through the few low
+passes along that impregnable coast.  It was the gate of
+that great historic highway running through Turkey in
+Asia, along which all the traffic had rolled for centuries.
+It was traffic that had scarcely altered in any detail since
+the day of the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid; the sight
+which met the eyes of Charles Dean and his family was
+one that had greeted the traveller for the last ten
+hundred years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the <i>arabya</i> climbed up the steep road leading to the
+centre of the town, it breasted a stream of traffic coming
+down from the high pass.  Young John shouted with glee
+as the solemn camels trudged by, their bells tinkling, their
+backs loaded with great bales of merchandise.  Wagons,
+bullock-carts, donkeys, packhorses, <i>arabyas</i> and men carrying
+great bundles, all seemed destined for one place, the
+block of warehouses above the harbour.  Here and there
+a tired camel knelt for rest in the shade of a wayside tree.
+The drivers were vivid figures in their white cloaks, dusty
+and travel stained, while beside them moved, talked, and
+gesticulated such a mixture of races and colours that the
+eye was dazzled with the indistinguishable medley of blue,
+scarlet, gold, yellow and green gowns and cloaks, nearly
+all richly embroidered; and above all, rose the noise of
+innumerable bells in all keys, some ringing deep and slow,
+others tinkling incessantly as the donkeys wound by, urged
+on by cries and blows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sounds, colours, smells, all mingled in this small town,
+along this crowded highway, and Charles Dean was not
+slow to notice the prosperity of the place.  Every man and
+animal was burdened with merchandise of some kind.
+Carts rolled by with shrieking axles, loaded with wheat
+and barley.  The camels were weighed down under great
+bales of wool, tobacco, mohair and boxes of fruit and nuts.
+Brown-legged boys from the hills drove their flocks down
+the main street.  They had started for the town at early
+dawn, and by eleven were in Samsoon, a distance of twenty
+miles.  They were chiefly Turks, but occasionally one
+noticed the sharp features and clear skin of a Syrian youth,
+or the dark lean profile of a Circassian, always mounted
+and belted with daggers and pistols.  The Greeks too were
+in evidence, walking about with a superior air of possession,
+for they and the Armenians were the chief citizens.
+They kept the shops and ran the small hotels and cafés.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night, Dean and his family slept in Samsoon, but
+they were early astir, and after a short call at the local
+office of his company, Dean, with his wife, child and nurse,
+were seated in the curtained <i>arabya</i> with a Moslem driver
+urging his two cream ponies along the high street.  They
+were now travelling on the Baghdad road, and they had
+for companions on the way an unending line of betasselled
+camels, with great bells clanging as they lurched forwards,
+caravans winding slowly up the mountain side, and many
+<i>arabyas</i> loaded with human beings or boxes, which once, to
+Dean's amazement, included American sewing machines
+destined for Baghdad.  There were also many picturesque
+pedestrians or travellers on the humble donkey.  For miles
+the broad road climbed up the side of the great ravine.
+Early in the afternoon they passed through Chakallu, the
+Place of Jackals, a village in the deep valley, and twilight
+found them at their first halting place.  The town of
+Marsovan lay amid vineyards, orchards, and walnut
+groves.  Above the flat-topped houses towered the slender
+minaret, rose tinted with the flush of waning light.
+Around the town, beyond the open plains, stretched the
+dark mountain ranges running north and south.  As they
+descended into the town the driver pointed with his whip
+to an enormous blue precipice which towered up on the
+distant horizon some thirty miles away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Amasia," he said briefly, and Charles Dean and his wife
+looked at the distant horizon where lay the city in which
+they were destined to abide.  In Marsovan they were
+fortunate in finding an American Medical Settlement where
+they were hospitably entertained for the night.  It was
+with regret that they set out next morning for Amasia.  It
+had been a great delight to live for a space among English
+speaking persons, to exchange opinions with the cheerful
+nurses and listen to the tales of the resident doctors.
+There was even an English garden, a fresh, green,
+home-like space within the walled compound, bordered with
+cherry trees and Easter lilies.  Here at least was a place
+of refuge when the solitude of Amasia became unbearable,
+and as Mary Dean drove out of the courtyard and waved
+farewell to the little group of women gathered to speed
+their guests, she looked back with a feeling of comfort.
+She would be but a day's journey from them, and those
+who know what the sound of one's native speech means in
+an alien land will realise the comfort Mary Dean derived
+from the workers of the Mission.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The road to Amasia was a gradual crescendo of delight.
+The soft blue mountain ranges towered up above the travellers
+as they approached the entrance of the gorge.  Here
+and there a column of smoke wound up the mountainside
+from the fires of the charcoal burners, whose little tents
+were pitched on the slopes.  It was afternoon when they
+entered the ravine along which the white road wound into
+the town.  Above them they saw the Baghdad road, on the
+opposite side of the ravine, half obscured by the clouds of
+dust thrown up by the miscellaneous traffic of carts, herds,
+camels and donkeys driving into the town.  Now the plain
+appeared, and the vision stretched before them was like a
+new garden of Eden, a land flowing with colour, and scents
+from luxurious gardens.  The smooth, quickly flowing
+river tumbled over its weirs; they could hear the singing
+of the water and the creaking of water mills built along
+the banks.  The great crags stretched sheer to the sky,
+blazing with crimson shrubs in the bright, hot sunlight,
+and the further they progressed, the richer, the more varied
+grew the colours of this wonderful land.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently with a sharp turn in the road, they emerged
+from the rocky ravine into a tremendous gorge, with Amasia
+nestling between the folds of the towering mountains.
+The town itself was a maze of little white houses, dotted
+here and there in the small fertile valley, and stretching
+along the two banks of the Yeshil Innak.  A dozen bridges,
+all of quaint design, some going back to Roman times,
+spanned the bright river, and above the banks rose the
+minarets of the mosques, khans, colleges and public buildings.
+The best houses built along the river each possessed
+wonderful hanging gardens blazing with luxuriant growths
+of semi-tropical plants and fruits, but the wonder of Amasia
+lay, not in the gardens or buildings, but in the immense
+cliffs that walled in the town from the outer world.  These
+precipices, scarcely a mile apart, rose up on each side of
+the town to heights of three thousand feet on the western
+and more than a thousand on the eastern side.  They did
+not rise as mountains, but seemed to be walls of rocks
+guarding the town.  A castle stood boldly silhouetted
+against the bronze sky, perched on a frowning crag
+dominating the town.  This was indeed an ancient dwelling
+place, an old world town of wonder, where history seemed
+to sleep, for Amasia was once the capital of Pontus, the
+home of the great Seljuks, the birthplace of Mithridates
+the Great.  On the face of the western precipice there were
+still the five rock-hewn Tombs of the Kings.  When Strabo
+wrote of them in B.C. 65, he was telling an ancient story,
+yet they remained untouched as when he had seen them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As Charles Dean and his family drove into the town it
+was early afternoon, but already one half of the place
+was in shadow, the other half blazed with sunlight streaming
+over the western precipice.  They were driven through
+the main street, a well observed party, giving as much
+interest as they found.  The company employing Dean had
+a house for its agent on the outskirts of the town and to
+that they made their way.  Presently they turned off from
+the road and went down a slope which led them through
+a beautiful garden into a small courtyard.  Here, their
+home came into view, and as the large, low, white-faced
+building rose up among the trees, they all gave a cry of
+delight.  On one side ran a large pergola built of yellow
+stone and black wood, leading to a garden which, even at
+this early time, rioted in colour.  Beyond the pergola,
+approached by broad stone steps, lay the river, bordered with
+trees beneath which several boats were moored.  One end
+of the house, raised upon piles, overlooked the river, with
+a wonderful view down the gorge towards the dazzling
+minarets and towers of the town.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had scarcely noticed this enchanting vista when the
+<i>arabya</i> pulled up in front of a large porch, screened with a
+swinging rush curtain.  Before it, with a smile of
+welcome on their faces, stood the bronzed Englishman and
+his wife, whom Dean had come to relieve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Greetings exchanged, they were led into a large, yellow
+room with French windows opening on to a verandah.
+Passing through the windows they were confronted once
+more with the view down the gorge.  Tea was laid, and the
+travellers were soon exchanging the news.  The agent,
+Mr. Price, and his wife had been in Amasia for twelve years.
+It was six years since they had had their last holiday in
+England.  Now they were going there, never to leave it
+again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And to think&mdash;in six weeks we shall walk down Piccadilly!"
+cried Mrs. Price, the delight of anticipation in
+her voice.  "It is just the same I suppose&mdash;the same
+crowds, the same lights and hurry?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They laughed like children.  It was so good to think
+they would be in England again.  It was a little cruel
+to show their joy in view of the new exiles.  But six years
+away from England had filled them with irresistible longing.
+Their questions too were all of home.  The political
+crisis&mdash;was it over?  The new Premier, how long did they
+think he would be in power?  They had a boy at
+Winchester&mdash;was the tone there still considered good?  He was
+sixteen&mdash;his mother fetched a photograph from the drawer
+to show them.  He was going into the consular service.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then Mrs. Price turned to the little boy standing
+beside Mrs. Dean.  Until now, his whole attention had
+been divided between the novelty of his surroundings and
+the piece of cake he held in his hand.  They hoped the
+summer heat would not be too intense for the child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The poor little chap will find it lonely here," said
+Price, "unless he makes friends with the Turkish
+children."  Privately he wondered what insane motive had caused
+that couple to bring a child to this extraordinary land.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John has always been with us," remarked Mrs. Dean,
+as if reading his thoughts.  "The child seems to be quite
+happy without playmates, though of course, I devote most
+of my time to him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then they passed to business matters; the two
+women discussed domestic arrangements, the men their
+own trading affairs.  Dinner was served in the long yellow
+room that evening.  It was only six o'clock and yet it was
+quite dark.  The light departed rapidly from the gorge,
+for the moment the sun had dipped below the precipice,
+the valley below was plunged into darkness.  But as they
+sat at dinner, and looked out westwards over the mountain
+barrier, they could still see the daylight lingering
+in the glowing sky.  A few stars glimmered in the
+twilight, their brightness and the light blue sky contrasting
+vividly with the black gorge and the dark running river.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were waited upon at dinner by two Armenian boys
+clad in white jackets with brass buttons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We have practically brought them up in our service,"
+said Price.  "Their parents were killed in the last massacre."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Massacre!"  Mrs. Dean dropped her hand on to the
+table and looked across at the speaker&mdash;"When did the
+last occur?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Four years ago&mdash;it was a bad one too.  Some squabble
+in a bazaar began it, I believe.  The Armenians here are
+skilful in trade.  They make hard bargains, and the Turks
+never forget the fact.  There was a dispute in the bazaar;
+it set a light to smouldering passion, and the town was
+ablaze in half an hour.  These Moslems are curious people,
+they kill deliberately, and though the massacre begins
+with a frenzied outbreak, it goes on with a dispassionateness
+which is terrible.  The Armenians immediately
+flocked to the bazaar.  It's in a walled compound with
+strongly barred gates.  I had been out in the country that
+morning and knew that something was astir.  The Turks
+looked askance at me and were sulky whenever I spoke to
+them.  On returning my wife begged me to go down to the
+bazaar and see what I could do, for it is wonderful the
+weight we English have here.  The Turks will listen to
+an Englishman, for they have never forgotten our Consuls
+and their firm, honest treatment of them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So I went.  In front of the bazaar door, I found a
+horde of Moslems, rifles and pistols in hand, waiting for
+their victims to emerge.  The outbreak had occurred at
+ten o'clock that morning.  It was now four in the
+afternoon and they showed no signs of dispersing.  I knew
+they would wait there five or six days if necessary.  It was
+useless to argue with them.  Moslem blood had been shed.
+The Armenians would have to bleed for it.  Finally I
+succeeded in obtaining a concession.  They would allow the
+women and children to go to their homes.  But not the
+men, they said.  So the door was opened and the terrified
+women and children passed out between a sullen crowd of
+Moslems.  When the last appeared in the gateway there
+was a rush, and I saw a helpless woman surrounded by
+a mob of angry faces.  Pushing my way towards her, I
+attempted to give her my protection but before I could
+reach her, she fell forwards, stabbed in the back, and as
+she fell, I saw that the Turks had not broken their word.
+Under the folds of the garment covering her was the
+Armenian pastor who had tried to escape in disguise.
+There was a murmur of intense satisfaction at this
+slaying of the leader of the hated community.  In all these
+affairs, the pastor is the first to go; they seek him out as
+the figurehead, and these poor leaders of a timid flock know
+that; you can see perpetual melancholy in their faces, hear
+it in their voices.  But they are brave men, and there is
+never any lack of pastors.  These two boys who wait on us
+are the sons of that unfortunate man."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a long silence; then, fearing he had alarmed
+his guests, Price added in a cheerful voice&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Still, they never touch us you know.  European blood
+is sacred to them, and I have always found the Turks very
+docile, but if you are wise, you will keep in when the drums
+begin to drone."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The drums?" asked Dean, eager for information,
+although he could see his wife was being unnerved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Harry," interposed Mrs. Price, "don't you think this
+is very trying for Mrs. Dean&mdash;she has only&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh! please go on!" cried Mrs. Dean, "&mdash;there's no
+safety in ignorance."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;you can generally surmise that trouble is brewing
+when you hear the drums begin to drone.  They start
+at sunset and grow louder towards midnight.  It is an
+awful sound, weird, oriental.  You will probably hear a
+few of them to-night, there's always a strolling drummer
+entertaining at one of the khans.  When trouble is brewing
+however, there's not one drum, but hundreds.  They
+sound everywhere.  You hear them in the streets, down the
+gorge, up the mountain-side.  They sound as if Timur the
+Terrible was gathering his army again."  He broke off with
+a laugh, "Really, Dean, I shall give you all the creeps&mdash;you
+are quite safe being English and life is very pleasant
+here, but lonely at times.  You will find even
+Constantinople a change&mdash;have you lived there?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We have been there two months," answered Dean.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Two months!&mdash;then you will know Therapia&mdash;lovely
+Therapia!  We took a bungalow there for two months
+each year.  I have a cousin at the Embassy.  We had a
+delightful time&mdash;nights on the Bosphorus, gay little parties
+embarking in <i>caiques</i>, sunset beyond Therapia, the house
+parties at Buyukdereh.  Oh, it was enjoyable, but to think
+now&mdash;Piccadilly, Oxford Circus, Henley week&mdash;days in
+Surrey!&mdash;there's no place like England."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a boyish gesture of delight, he pinched his wife's
+arm who laughed gaily in response.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We are now going to leave you to talk business," she
+said, rising.  "I am sure Mrs. Dean is tired and wants to
+go to bed, and we two will have a busy day tomorrow."  And
+with that the two women said good-night.  When they
+were gone, Dean and Price sat smoking for a time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come on to the verandah," said Price, leading the way.
+"The moon will be up soon, and moonrise here is one of
+the wonders of Asia."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They seated themselves in low wicker chairs.  It was so
+dark that it was impossible to distinguish anything clearly.
+There was a sound of running water, and a muffled roar
+came back on the wind from the place where the river
+leapt its weirs down in the gorge.  Price's cigarette glowed
+red in the darkness with each draw he took.  The air was
+perfumed and warm.  There was something in the atmosphere
+which made the senses very acute.  It seemed as if
+one was waiting for something to happen&mdash;the singing of
+the stream, the wandering breeze, the perfume and the
+impenetrable darkness were all a prelude to the first act of
+an unknown drama.  The silence grew so oppressive that
+Dean felt he would have to speak or cry out.  He was about
+to force a remark to his lips when his host suddenly sat
+erect, intently listening, his face turned towards the valley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Listen!" he said after a pause.  "Can you hear anything?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even as he spoke, the other man heard a subdued sound.
+It was borne on a wind which died down, but gradually its
+note was more insistent, deepening in tone until it seemed
+to make the darkness tremble.  As Dean listened, he
+experienced a strange thrill creeping over him.  There was
+something so weird, so redolent of the strange land in that
+music as it was borne along the gorge and gave expression
+to the mystery of the night.  Such a sound it was as
+had been heard many centuries ago when the invading
+Turkish hordes had swept over the land.  Those drums
+had heralded the approach of Timur the Terrible on his
+devastating march across Asia, leaving a track of blood
+behind, his name sending terror in advance of his ruthless
+army.  The drum now throbbing down the gorge had the
+same barbaric note, the same sinister significance, and as
+Charles Dean listened he knew that this city of old Asia
+had never changed from the days when the Seljuk sultans
+ruled or Haroun-al-Raschid kept his court in Baghdad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, as if to add to the wonder of the night, the
+two men became aware of a slow change in the scene before
+them.  The objects in the garden grew into vision slowly.
+Along the gorge they could see the houses and under them
+a chill light on the black swirling river.  The dim
+minarets changed from blue sentinels of the darkness to long
+white fingers pointing skywards.  And above the black edge
+of the precipice it seemed no longer dark, for even as
+they looked and wondered, the moon came up over the
+edge, round and full, with its white face peering over the
+great wall shutting in the gorge.  The scene before them
+was now one of indescribable beauty.  The little white flat
+houses, the mosques and minarets and gardens, all glimmered
+brightly in the serene light flooding the gorge.  As
+the river ran between the banks, leaping the weirs and
+rocky obstructions, it flashed silvery under the rays of the
+moon, and as if to keep measure with this revelation, the
+drum-beats grew louder and louder, throbbing in the
+perfumed air until the sound seemed to be closing in from
+all sides.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How long they sat spellbound before this magic of the
+East they knew not, but their inactivity was broken at last
+by the noise of a footfall on the gravel below the verandah.
+Instantly Price was on his feet, peering over towards the
+garden.  His companion too had heard the noise, and
+jumped up just in time to see a white figure turn in the
+path and pass from sight under the darkness of the cherry
+trees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both men looked at one another for the space of a second.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sure there's some one moving in the garden," said Dean.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No one has any right in here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They listened.  The drum droned louder than before
+and as the sound died with the veering of the wind, they
+heard a footfall again, less distinct.  The trespasser was
+going in the direction of the drum.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without hesitation, Price vaulted lightly from the verandah
+to the path below, his companion following.  Quickly
+they traversed the downward slope until they reached a
+grove of cherry trees into which Price plunged.  Behind
+him, Dean, following silently, heard his guide give a short
+cry; peering into the shadow, he saw a small figure some
+ten yards ahead, garbed from head to foot in a loose white
+gown, which fluttered ghostlike in the moonlight.  Price,
+running now, had caught the white form; when Dean came
+up, he turned to him with a nervous laugh.  As the latter
+stopped, he gave a short cry of surprise, wondering what
+trick the enchantment of the night was playing upon his
+senses, for there, firmly held by Price, was his own boy,
+barefooted, in his white nightgown, looking up with startled
+eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John! what are you doing here?"  The father stooped
+and lifted up his boy.  The child's face wore a half
+puzzled expression as if he had suddenly been awakened from
+sleep and was dazzled by the light.  For a moment or so
+he gave no answer, but clutched the lapels of his father's
+coat, his small frame shaking with fright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Daddy, I had to come!  Something called me, something&mdash;"
+and as if unable or afraid to give words to the
+fear in his heart, he sobbed violently in his father's arms.
+It was in vain that Dean tried to sooth the child; he
+shook from head to foot and clutched at his father's hand
+in wild terror.  They carried the sobbing child indoors,
+and when they had gained the lamplit drawing-room,
+calmness had once more come over the child.  He looked about
+him and blinked in the brilliant light like one waking from
+a dream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Price pinched the boy's ear playfully&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A nightmare, old son, eh?&mdash;you've been having too much
+cake!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How did you get out of bed?" asked the father, looking
+anxiously at the boy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know, Daddy&mdash;I can't remember until you
+found me."  It was obvious that the child was speaking the
+truth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, we can't have you sleep-walking like this, John.
+You'll frighten your mother to death."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Take the boy up to his room, Dean," said Price.  "What
+a good thing it hasn't roused Mrs. Dean!  Come along, I'll
+show you the way, he's sleeping next to your room."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They took the boy upstairs and placed him in his bed.
+The child was quite calm now and his head sank on the
+pillow as if heavy with sleep.  For a minute Dean waited in
+the room and then stooped over the bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Will you be all right now, John?"  But there was no
+answer for John was already fast asleep again, his head
+buried in the pillow.  The two men tip-toed silently out
+of the room.  When they had gained the verandah Price
+mixed himself a whiskey and soda.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Drink?" he asked, with an ill-concealed attempt to be
+at his ease.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No thanks."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a long silence; the two men were thinking.
+Price knocked the ash off his cigarette and watched its
+end until the glow died down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is John subject to those&mdash;er&mdash;to sleep-walking?" he
+asked at length, making his enquiry as casual as possible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, he's not.  I have never known him to do this before."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"H'm, perhaps the journey's upset him&mdash;the excitement;
+children are easy victims of nightmare."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;do you think it was nightmare?" asked Dean.
+His tone plainly conveyed the belief that he thought
+otherwise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of course!&mdash;why not?&mdash;the child has no reason for
+going down the garden."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where does the path lead?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"To the river&mdash;there's a footway into the town&mdash;it cuts
+off the bend in the road."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"To the town?&mdash;towards the drum?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Price started.  Dean had noticed then!  He gave a short
+laugh, and got up and stretched his arms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps you'd like to turn in now?" he asked, and then
+as if changing his mind, he sat down suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Look here, Dean," he said earnestly, "I'll be quite
+frank&mdash;it is perhaps better.  You've guessed what drew the boy
+out of his bed?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The drum?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Precisely&mdash;and you're right, I think, though we may be
+making a silly mistake.  I would never have believed it
+myself, but it is certainly curious."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What?&mdash;the sleep-walking?" asked Dean.  "Because I'll
+say plainly that I'm sure the boy wasn't sleep-walking, he
+was wide awake."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You noticed it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, I did&mdash;but I can't account for his expression."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"His half-dazed look?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;it was uncanny.  I've never seen John look like
+that before.  He seemed almost&mdash;"  Dean paused as if
+reluctant to use the word upon his tongue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hypnotised?" suggested Price.  The other nodded, and
+they both relapsed into silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't want to alarm you," said Price quietly, after
+a long pause, "but this thing makes me half inclined to
+believe what I would never credit.  Now, remember what
+I am going to tell you is only an old legend.  There's
+hundreds of silly tales you will be told by the natives here,
+if you encourage them to talk.  They spend nights embellishing
+these yarns in the khans until they believe in their
+own imaginations.  But it is as well you should know, in
+case to-night's event may be repeated.  You noticed the
+boy went in the direction of the drum?  Well, it's
+said that there are certain souls which can be allured by
+the <i>saz</i>&mdash;that's the name of the drum.  They cannot always
+be allured, only when the moon is full can the sound
+attract the souls of its victims, but when that condition is
+fulfilled, there is no power, save intervention by a person
+not under the influence, which can break the spell&mdash;it's a
+silly tale of course, these old khan entertainers always
+make the flesh creep."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But the victims&mdash;you say they are allured&mdash;where?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know, these old legend-spinners never say."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But surely there is some point in this hypnotic
+influence&mdash;why are they drawn by the sound?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's a mystery&mdash;as I've said, there's no sense in the
+whole story.  What an ass I am to tell you all this.  It's
+late, hadn't we better turn in?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The change in the conversation was clumsy, and it did
+not deceive Dean.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're keeping something back, Price&mdash;what is it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Price looked steadily at his interrogator.  It was
+evident that Dean would go to the bottom of the subject.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh,&mdash;er, there's not much else to be told, only a silly
+sort of nightmare ending, that's all."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What kind of ending&mdash;death?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Violent&mdash;dreadful?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh no, in fact, I should think rather sudden, or peaceful,
+that's how it seemed to me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then you've seen it?  Tell me all about it, Price."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Really, Dean, you know this sort of thing is very
+stupid&mdash;a coincidence, that's all, and I may have been
+mistaken."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps so, but I want to hear."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It happened three years ago, just such a night as
+this&mdash;full moon, those damned drums droning away&mdash;when
+my <i>kavass</i>&mdash;the fellow who takes me about the villages
+here, came running in.  He was in a fearful state, so
+excited he could hardly speak.  Had I seen Hafiz? he
+asked,&mdash;that was his son.  I told him I hadn't.  He said he had
+seen him crossing the bottom garden, going towards the
+river path."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Towards the drums?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, we had heard them at dinner.  They were very
+loud that night.  I told the <i>kavass</i> he was mistaken.  Hafiz
+couldn't have gone that way, it was full moon and we
+should have seen him, but the old fellow wouldn't be
+denied.  It was the drum of Timur, he said&mdash;no one could
+resist it who heard.  I didn't know the story then, but the
+old father was so distressed that I offered to go with him
+along the path.  So taking my revolver, we set out.  We
+had gone about a mile along the river's edge when we came
+to an old khan.  The drum was being beaten inside, so
+we thought, but my <i>kavass</i> said it was impossible because
+the khan was roofless and no one lived in it.  Anyhow,
+we could hear the <i>saz</i> droning away.  So we pushed open
+the creaking old gateway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Inside the courtyard there was a pool, and a fountain
+that never flowed.  The moon shone down on the pool
+which was so still that it reflected the stars.  Round the
+old khan buildings ran the galleries, in rectangular form.
+The moon threw a deep blue shadow half across the courtyard,
+and as we stood there, peering into the deserted place,
+it seemed as if we had entered into a strange world where
+only the shadows moved.  We stood there, I should think,
+for quite a minute, transfixed by the silent beauty of the
+place, when the old man suddenly gave a cry.  I followed
+his gaze and saw what he had seen.  There, on the other
+side of the fountain, lay the naked body of a youth.  At
+first I thought it was a marble statue, it was so white and
+perfect in form, but the old man ran forward and as I
+came up to him, I saw the head of the youth was covered
+with a mass of loose, black curls.  The poor old father
+flung himself on his knees and gathered up the body in his
+arms, sobbing as he did so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I never saw such a youth as Hafiz.  He was quite naked
+and the whiteness of his flesh was intensified by the
+moonlight bathing his body, and the head of black hair.  He
+had fallen sideways, with one hand resting on his thigh,
+the other clenched and stretched out towards the basin.
+There was no sign of any struggle.  The face was
+composed, just as if he had fallen asleep, and there was
+nothing on the ground or anywhere about to suggest violence,
+but his clothes were all missing and to me this was
+conclusive proof that robbery had been the motive of the crime;
+no doubt he'd been strangled.  The poor old father who
+had been speechless with grief for some time, shook his
+head when I spoke of strangulation.  'No, effendi,' he
+said quietly, with a touch of fatalism in his voice, 'It is
+the drum of Timur&mdash;look!'  His finger pointed to the
+left breast of the youth, and I saw what had escaped me
+in the first hurried examination.  Just over the heart
+there was a short, red line, not the incision left by a
+dagger, but such as a penknife might make.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There was hardly any blood, a little stream had trickled
+down the breast and dried.  I told the old fellow that his
+son had been shot, but he only repeated, 'The drum of Timur,'
+and that was all he could be got to say.  The <i>zaptiehs</i>
+searched the khan the next day.  They were stupid
+fellows, and shared the old man's conviction.  The fact that
+the unfortunate youth's clothes were never found proved
+conclusively, in my mind, that robbery had been the motive.
+You mustn't believe a tenth of all you hear out here.
+Anyhow, Dean, when the moon's full, watch your boy if you
+really think there's anything in the tale.  I don't.  Why
+should John be attracted by the drum of Timur, even if
+there were such a thing?&mdash;he's English, born in England!
+This is a native spell and only works upon those of Moslem blood."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men talked on for a short time and Price
+watched his companion closely; he was greatly relieved
+when he saw, on retiring, that Dean had dismissed his
+strange apprehension.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0102"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER II
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the verandah, under the shade thrown by the
+blossoming almond tree, sat a boy who at first
+sight would seem to be some fourteen years of age.
+It was a hot day without the suspicion of a breeze, and
+he stretched himself out in a wicker chair while he
+fanned himself with a broad, soft-brimmed white hat.
+He was dressed, although it was only early spring, as
+boys in England dress in the hottest days of summer, that
+is when they are holidaying and have escaped the vigilance
+of their mothers.  A white cricket shirt, open at the
+neck, showed a chest and throat tanned to a rich brown
+by the suns of Asia Minor.  His face had the deep healthy
+tone of one who had exposed himself to the fiercest heat
+of the sun, but the tan could not hide the pink and red
+which mantled the clear skin of the boy's face.  His head
+was covered with a disordered mass of brown hair that
+had a tendency to curl.  The impression of all who saw
+young John Dean, was that of a remarkably handsome
+English boy.  The mouth was finely shaped, the nose
+straight, with a curious little curve in the nostrils which
+gave at times an expression of disdain to the face.  But
+the eyes were the arresting feature, they looked out from
+beneath long lashes, with a light in them so luminous
+that they appeared to be always on the verge of laughter.
+John was now twelve years of age, and not thirteen or
+fourteen as his robust frame suggested.  Dressed in a
+pair of short white knickers, with a long length of brown
+leg showing, his sleeves rolled up at the elbows, he gave
+promise of a wonderful manhood.  For Charles Dean's
+whim was daily growing true.  This straight tall boy
+had a classic mould that followed the grace of the
+"Narcissus" which had given him his name.  And to this
+distinction was added a manner that attracted all.  The boy's
+voice was clear, his laughter infectious; he had an air of
+command which probably was half innate and partly due
+to being a European among foreigners.  For he ruled his
+playmates imperiously.  The <i>arabya</i> drivers who gave him
+many a lift along the roads, the <i>zaptiehs</i> whose rifles he
+handled, and whose stories he listened to breathlessly,
+down to the Turkish and Armenian boys of his own age,
+recognised without question his imperious will.  He was
+"John effendi" in the eyes of all the inhabitants of Amasia,
+not only because he was the son of the Englishman, but
+also by reason of that will to rule.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was one follower of John effendi who not only
+respected and obeyed, but worshipped silently.  It was Ali,
+the son of the watermill owner.  Ali was a Turk and proud
+of his blood.  He was a year older than John, tall, and in
+a different way quite as notable as his friend.  He had fair
+wavy hair, always kept close-cropped.  His whole life had
+been spent playing on the banks of the Yeshil Irmak, or
+the Iris as it was popularly called, and his young body
+was lithe and brown as a panther's.  When he moved it
+was with the sleek grace of that animal.  The muscles slid
+under their satiny sheaths with a suggestion of cryptic
+strength.  He could run like a hare and swim like an
+otter, accomplishments which quickly endeared him to John
+who was his rival in all these things.  Ali, by his father's
+position,&mdash;for he was a well-to-do, judged by oriental
+standard&mdash;though more because of his own spirit and strength,
+was a boy who reigned among his companions.  Only to
+one was he known to give way, to John, whom he followed
+with an intense, doglike devotion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was of Ali that John was thinking this morning as
+he sat on the verandah.  Where was Ali now?  Probably
+he had gone to the mosque with his father, for it was
+nearing noon.  He wondered whether Ali would come round
+to the house.  They had planned a great adventure for
+that day.  They were to meet by the market drinking-fountain
+at eleven o'clock and then to climb the great rock
+on whose summit stood the castle.  Ali's uncle, the
+warden, was going to show them all the dungeons and court
+rooms.  It would have been a wonderful treat, and now
+he had been forbidden to leave the gardens because of a
+silly suspicion of his father's.  Last night they had heard
+the drums droning even louder than usual.  The sound
+grew to such a volume that the whole gorge had reverberated
+with it, and it had awakened him although he always
+slept soundly.  At breakfast his father had looked
+worried, and it was plain to see from Anna's nervousness
+that something was upsetting them.  His father had been
+in the garden soon after rising, and he heard him tell
+Anna that Achmed was like a bear with a sore head.  Then
+Anna did a mean thing.  She said, "Do you think that
+John should go up to the Castle, sir," and his father
+immediately said "No."  It was in vain that he pleaded that Ali
+expected him.  Ali would have to go alone, he was forbidden
+to leave the garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So John sat on the chair idly swinging one leg over
+the arm while he fanned himself.  Anna was becoming
+a nuisance.  She had increased her authority ever since
+his dear mother had died two years ago now.  The
+thought of his mother led his mind back to the almond
+tree he and his father had planted on the grave in the little
+cemetery of the American Mission at Marsovan.  He
+remembered that day clearly, because he could never forget
+seeing his father as he bent down, stamping the soil about
+the roots of the sapling.  His father's shoulders seemed
+to be twitching curiously and when John looked at his face,
+he saw he was crying.  It was strange to see his father cry,
+he did not know men could do that, and it hurt him so
+much, that he had grasped his strong hand and cried
+"Don't Daddy!" which did not improve matters, for his
+father had gathered him up in his arms and pressed him
+to him until he could scarcely breathe.  And then John too
+cried.  He would never forget that day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If only his mother were living now, thought John; she
+would not let Anna be so strict with him, although he
+knew that his nurse was like a second mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he sat there with nothing to do on this lovely morning,
+the spirit of rebellion was strong within him.  Restless,
+he got up and ran down the verandah steps towards
+the courtyard.  In front of the stable door he paused, as
+if thinking, then swung back the door and entered.  It
+was but the work of a minute to saddle his pony.  There
+was just time in which to reach the fountain and tell Ali
+that he could not go and then be back for lunch with
+his father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few minutes later John was cantering down the highway
+into Amasia.  He passed the heavily laden camels
+trudging along with their deep-sounding camel bells slowly
+tolling, a cloud of dust rising about their pounding feet.
+Now and then a Turk would greet the boy with a profound
+salaam, but he could not help observing that the greetings
+were not so cordial or numerous this morning.  A few of
+the Turks he passed, who knew him well by sight, turned
+their faces away as he went by, and John recalled his
+father's words when he had come in from the garden before
+breakfast.  Had they all got sore heads, he wondered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the market place he passed little groups that stood
+talking around their merchandise spread out on the ground,
+but he had no time this morning for sauntering in and
+out of the motley gathering.  When he reached the fountain,
+it was exactly eleven o'clock but there was no sign
+of Ali.  So dismounting, John slung the rein over his arm
+and waited.  A number of dusty <i>arabyas</i> rattled by,
+evidently coming in from Marsovan.  Two Circassians, their
+coloured waist-bands gleaming with dagger handles, and
+long breeched revolvers, rode up to the fountain to water
+their horses, two superb animals which these wild men
+rode as if born in the saddle.  With characteristic
+insolence they pushed away a Turk who was watering his mule,
+and the angry old fellow went off waving his arms and
+leaving a stream of abuse behind him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was very hot and the increasing heat made John
+realise that it must be getting near noon.  There was still no
+sign of Ali, but John dared not wait any longer, for he knew
+the penalty he would have to pay if his escapade were
+discovered.  So mounting his pony, he gave it a flick with his
+whip and started off at a sharp canter on the way home.
+But he had not gone far before he became aware of a great
+commotion in front of him where the street narrowed just
+at the entrance to the bazaar.  A crowd of loose-cloaked
+Turks were seething towards the door, and a frantic yelling
+broke on the boy's ears as he approached.  Impelled by
+curiosity he urged his pony forward and soon reached the
+fringe of the mob.  As he did so a Turk caught hold of
+his rein and forced the pony back on its haunches.  The
+frightened animal immediately wheeled and kicked out,
+scattering the dense crowd left and right, and when the boy
+had managed to rein in his frightened mount, he saw that
+he was hemmed in by the crowd, with his back to the
+wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even then he was not aware of the danger in which he
+stood, but at his side in a heap, huddled against the wall,
+was a figure.  Hastily looking down John saw it was a man.
+One glance told him that the Armenian was dead, and as
+he stared at the corpse, with its bloodstained tunic, the
+yelling broke loose again, and the crowd surged up
+towards him.  From the bazaar door another Armenian
+came out.  Before the man saw his peril, his retreat was
+cut off, and he flung himself behind the pony and the boy.
+Mounted on his saddle, John's head was just above those
+of the crowd, and as he looked down upon the scowling
+angry mob, his heart thumped in his chest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With set face, the boy backed his pony so as to cover
+the terrified Armenian.  But the crowd would not be
+baulked of its prey, it was determined to set blood flowing.
+A bullet sang through the air and hit the wall with a sharp
+thud, and a fat dirty Turk, drawing a wicked-looking knife
+from his belt, tried to get between the Armenian and his
+protector.  Instantly John raised his hand, the lash of his
+whip whistled as it cut through the air, and the man backed
+with a howl of rage and pain.  John raised his whip again,
+his eyes blazing in his tense face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If any of you want a thrashing, come and get it!" he
+cried, his young voice sounding shrilly above the low
+muttering of the crowd.  They stared at this young English
+boy, with his firm set face and defiant head.  Perhaps his
+courage stirred them, or it may have been the fury of this
+child bare-throated and slim, who looked at them
+unflinchingly.  The crowd backed a little and as it did so
+John saw in its midst, Mehmet, the brother of their
+gardener Achmed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mehmet!" he cried, "if anything happens to this man
+I shall give information to the <i>Zaptiehs</i> about you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The threat had its effect, the English never invoked the
+authorities in vain.  Seeing his opportunity, the boy turned
+his pony sideways.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Keep between me and the wall!" he shouted to the
+terrified Armenian, as he urged the animal forwards.
+Out-man[oe]uvred, the mob made no attempt to follow, and the
+Armenian and his protector went their way down the
+street.  When they were at a safe distance and the
+clamour had died away, the boy pulled up his pony to give
+the man time to get breath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, master!" cried the man, "my poor brother!"  John
+looked down at the Armenian.  He was a man of about
+fifty, thin, with black straggling hair and pinched cheeks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Was that your brother?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man nodded his head, choked with tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How did it begin?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A boy stole a ring from our stall.  He fled into the
+street and my poor brother ran after him and was beating
+him when the father came up&mdash;Usef the butcher."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Armenian shook from head to foot, and John waited
+while he gathered his breath, then they moved on again.
+After going for about half a mile, the Armenian stopped
+and clasped the boy's hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Young master, God bless you for this!" he cried, kissing
+the boy's hand.  "I am safe here, my home is near by.
+I shall never forget you, young master," and kissing this
+time the boy's knee, he turned and disappeared down a
+narrow courtway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the outskirts of Amasia, John realised how near he
+had been to disaster.  His courage was sinking rapidly,
+no longer sustained by the excitement.  Whipping up his
+pony he cantered up the home drive and rode with a
+clatter into the courtyard, and as he did so, he saw that his
+thoughtlessness had betrayed him, for his father, hearing
+the sound, came out on to the verandah.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John stabled the pony, and then entered through the
+dining room on to the verandah where his father sat waiting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well?" was his greeting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John hung his head a little; he was still quivering with
+the excitement of the last half hour, but he tensed his
+muscles and threw his head up with a determined look.
+Bean watching his son closely, saw the lithe young body
+stiffen, and he mistook the effort of self-control for one of
+defiance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You know I forbade you to go out: Have you
+anything to say?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, father."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Very well,&mdash;fetch the switch."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Three days later, John sat with his father having
+dinner on the verandah, for it was a warm evening and the
+stars glimmered in a cloudless sky.  Over the western
+precipice the daylight had not quite disappeared, there was
+a strip of red which higher up changed to a light green
+and gradually merged into the dark blue of the night.
+They could hear the Iris singing along its bed, a deep
+full-toned note now, for the melting of the mountain snows
+was increasing its volume.  John did not usually sit up
+to dinner, but to-night he was enjoying a special privilege
+which his father gave him occasionally.  After dinner
+he would sit on his father's knee while he was read
+to from an exciting story book&mdash;a custom of his mother's
+which had been faithfully retained.  So when the dinner
+had been served and the servants had cleared the table
+and shut the windows behind them, John fetched the book
+for his father to read.  As he handed it to him, Dean took
+the child's hand in his own, holding it while the boy stood
+between his knees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John, why didn't you tell me what happened when you
+disobeyed me the other morning?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John looked into his father's face; some one had told him
+then.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I didn't think that was any excuse, Daddy," he said
+simply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he spoke, Dean looked at the boy.  What an astounding
+sense of logic the child had!  Of course it was no
+excuse, he had disobeyed and had accepted his punishment;
+but it was amazing that no advantage had been taken of
+the incident at the bazaar.  For a minute there was silence,
+in which neither spoke, and Dean's hand closed tightly
+over his son's.  This boy was made of good stuff.  A great
+pride in him leapt up in Dean's heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John," he said gravely, "I am very proud of you.  You
+were a young Englishman that morning.  You made no
+excuses&mdash;which I loathe, and you didn't flinch in a tight
+corner, which makes me proud of you," and with that said,
+he lifted the boy up on to his knees and began reading.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John's taste for fiction had undergone a change.  Once
+he had loved tiger stories, and hunting yarns in India;
+now he wanted school stories.  It fascinated him to know
+how English boys lived in that far country where he had
+been born.  Their escapades at school, their tricks on masters,
+their friendships, sports, quarrels, the fagging and the
+lordly prefects, all filled him with wonder and delight.
+As he listened to these tales, a great desire grew up within
+him.  He longed to be with them, to go to an English
+school.  It would be St. Martin's or St. David's&mdash;for all
+big schools began with St. something he discovered.  He
+would be among English boys there and perhaps share a
+study with one of them.  They would be great friends and
+then they would quarrel and "cut" one another.  He didn't
+like the idea of the quarrel, but it was necessary, otherwise
+he couldn't get hurt on the football field, scoring the goal
+that won the match for the school.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, he would have to quarrel, because how otherwise
+could his friend help him to limp back to his study, and
+then shake hands, and sit down to make toast, as in the
+days before they had quarrelled?  John also wondered
+what the school chapel would be like.  He had never been
+in a chapel.  He imagined there would be hundreds of
+boys bowing their heads, and the stern-faced headmaster
+would speak in a deep voice (that was really kind
+although it would seem terrible), and at his side there would
+be a big boy crying, a prefect&mdash;for was not this his last
+Sunday?  There would also be the pealing organ&mdash;he
+wondered how an organ would sound&mdash;and the light would
+stream down through the high-coloured windows and rest
+on the heads of the boys while the lines of the last hymn
+died away.  For the light always streamed through highly
+coloured windows in school chapels&mdash;that was what helped
+the prefect to cry.  It would be&mdash;-
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John, you are not listening&mdash;are you sleepy?" said
+his father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, Daddy&mdash;I was only wondering&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If only I could go to a big school like that, and have
+friends and&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, you will one day."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!  In England?" asked John, his eyes dancing with
+excitement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;when you are a little older."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"O-o-oh!" cried John, flinging his brown arms round
+Dean's neck, and wriggling his body until his face touched
+his father's.  "And shall I have a study, and a big box
+with my name on it&mdash;'J. N. Dean' in great black letters?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Anna will pack it full with your clothes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, how glorious&mdash;and you will come too?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dean laughed, and pinched his son's leg.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, old son&mdash;they won't have daddies at school."  Then
+seeing the young face cloud over, "But I shall take you
+there.  When you are fourteen we will all go to England
+for a holiday, and I shall leave you at school."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And come back here?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, you see your father has to make money to pay for
+your schooling."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young arm tightened around his neck, and in the
+dim light Dean saw the boy's mouth quiver.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't want to leave you, Daddy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It won't be for long, not very long," he said, "and when
+you have grown up you will be able to keep your old Daddy
+always by your side&mdash;if you want him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall always want you.  There's&mdash;there's only us."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a silence then between the man and the boy.
+Dean stared out across the valley.  The stars glittered
+frostily and the moon was coming up behind the precipice.
+But he hardly noticed that, for his thoughts were far
+away in England.  In two years or so he would be alone&mdash;out
+here, an exile, with his boy far away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moon slowly climbed, peered over the precipice and
+then flooded the gorge.  A breeze came wandering along
+the night and stirred the boy's hair as he lay sleeping in
+his father's arms.  It was growing late, but Dean sat on,
+moving not, just looking down on the sleeping face of the
+tired boy.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0103"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER III
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+In the shadow of one of the walls of the castle of
+Amasia two boys were resting during the hot noon-tide,
+for it was near the end of May and the summer
+sun was already scorching the plains and reducing the size
+of the Iris as it flowed along the gorge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another two years had wrought a change in John and
+his friend, Ali the Turk.  They were fourteen and fifteen
+respectively, but John had outgrown Ali, both in height
+and breadth.  This slight period had further developed
+the English boy who now looked sturdy and thickset in
+comparison with the slim Turk.  They had climbed all
+the morning, starting out before the sun had dried the
+dew on the ground.  Ali's uncle had shown them over the
+castle, a treat that had been postponed through one cause
+and another until this day.  The excursion had been made
+at last because the two boys would soon be parted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In three days' time, John was setting out with his
+father for England.  Of that journey and the wonder
+that awaited him at the end of it, John had talked for
+months, and Ali eagerly listened to every detail of the
+new life his friend would soon be living.  England, to Ali,
+was a country of fabulous wealth, where great lords lived
+in wonderful houses; most of them were soldiers, and the
+country in which they lived was so small that open spaces
+were almost unknown.  It was from John that he gained
+his first conception of a public school, which seemed
+something very unlike the great schools in Constantinople
+where his father would send him one day.  As the two
+boys rested in the shade they were busy with their
+own thoughts.  Below them, almost under the high rock
+where they lay, crouched the town of Amasia.  They had
+a bird's-eye view down the gorge, and across to the opposite
+precipice walling in the valley.  They could see the
+course of the winding river until it abruptly turned from
+sight in the bend of the valley; they counted the bridges
+intersecting its silver stream, and saw behind the trees
+fringing its banks, the flat-topped houses, the slender
+minarets, dwarfed by the height from which they looked, and
+the patternless maze of baths, domes, khan courtyards, and
+mosques covering the narrow valley.  Far up the eastern
+precipice they could follow the winding highway, climbing
+like a white ribbon, until it reached even higher than the
+rock where they lay, and disappeared over the pass
+leading to Marsovan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they watched and half dreamed, they heard the muezzin
+calling to prayer.  Ali straightway arose, and as if
+John had not been present, performed his elaborate
+genuflections, bowing his head to the ground.  John did not
+watch Ali closely.  On such occasions he always felt a
+little awkward and hardly knew what he should do.  He
+did not wish to give Ali an impression of irreverence; on
+the other hand, he was English and a Christian, and felt
+he had something which he should uphold.  He pretended
+therefore, whenever Ali performed his religious exercises,
+not to be aware of them.  The subject was one they never
+discussed, each avoiding it with caution.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Ali had finished, he stood up and looked at John
+in silence for a minute.  His friend lay on his back, one
+leg crossed over the other, with a brown arm propping up
+the sunburnt face and head.  As if aware that Ali was
+watching him, John sat upright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ali," he said, "let's have a bathe, I'm baked!  Is there
+any water near?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's a stream half a mile down, it runs into the
+Iris, I've often bathed there&mdash;shall we go?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes!" cried John, springing up.  They set off at a
+brisk pace over the rocky ground.  They found the stream,
+and as if constructed for bathing there was a deep pool
+where it turned into a rocky crevice.  Eager to cool their
+sun-weary limbs, the two boys were soon stripped, and
+splashed and shouted in the clear water.  As they swam
+they seemed like silver fishes in the crystalline stream, and
+long practice had made them adept swimmers.  John who
+had been looking for a place from which to dive, soon
+found a jutting rock lower down the stream.  Calling to
+Ali, he mounted it and stood poised for the dive.  As he
+did so, he stood up straight, cutting the brilliant sky
+with his slim brown body.  Ali, looking up stared at his
+friend, for although only fifteen he had the Asian's keen
+appreciation of beauty.  Behind John's head the sunlight
+danced in his wind-fluttered hair, it gilded his shoulders
+and rimmed with silver the outline of his young body, and
+as the muscles quivered, the wet flesh gleamed like a
+burnished shield.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he watched, John raised his arms straight above his
+head, the slim body was taut for a moment, the muscles
+contracted, then suddenly relaxed themselves and rippled
+as the shining figure leapt through the air and fell like a
+silver arrow into the blue pool below.  For a moment the
+diver disappeared under a broken bubbled surface, and
+then, spluttering and laughing, John had reappeared.  Ali
+stood on the bank, shivering despite the heat.  He was
+unhappy and could not shake off a heavy sense of doom.
+What oppressed him he did not quite know, he could only
+attribute it in some way to John going away from him
+to a distant land.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Swimming to the side, John climbed the bank and was
+amazed to find Ali not there.  Their clothes lay together
+all in a heap, so it was impossible for him to have gone
+far.  There was nothing to be heard save the hum of
+insects and the soft whisper of the grasses as they bent
+under the breeze.  Ali would come back soon, he thought,
+as he lay down in the grass.  It was delicious to feel the
+wind pass over his body.  It touched him as though it
+delighted in rippling over the flesh and he felt its cool hand
+play on his shoulders then run swiftly down to his stomach,
+along his legs and finally make a queer sensation on
+the soles of his feet.  He let his head fall and half-turned
+on his side.  The wind blew down his back and between his
+legs deliciously.  Why didn't Ali come, where had he
+gone?&mdash;it must be nearly two o'clock, they would have
+a&nbsp;&#8230;
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+When John awoke he had a feeling it was late afternoon.
+The sky above him was not such a brilliant blue, some of
+the lustre had gone out of it.  The stream sang louder
+than before, otherwise there was perfect quiet, for the
+insects had ceased humming.  All at once he realised he was
+naked.  Of course, he had been bathing and had slept
+in the grass, waiting for Ali!  Where was Ali?  John
+got up and then gave a low cry.  His friend too, was fast
+asleep at his side.  John stretched out his hand to wake
+him, when he felt something upon his head.  It was a
+wreath, twined out of asphodel, pressed over his brow like
+a crown.  He drew it off with a laugh.  Ali had been
+playing tricks.  His laughter woke Ali, who sat up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hadn't we better get dressed?" asked John, standing
+up.  "What's the wreath for?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"To crown you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John laughed gaily, and then checked himself, for there
+was an expression of pain on Ali's face.  His friend was
+now on his knees, his sunburnt body erect, and he was
+looking at him from under a brow half hidden with hair
+tousled by the wind.  John had never seen Ali look
+like that before.  The eyes were no longer those of a merry
+lad, but belonged rather to a suffering dumb brute.  As
+John looked down at him, their eyes met, and a low cry
+escaped Ali's lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What is it, Ali?" John asked, stooping, and his question
+seemed to loose a floodgate of the emotions, for Ali
+flung his arms round the boy's ankles, and sobbed as if his
+heart would break.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Like all males, John hated the sight of tears; it made
+him feel awkward; he knew not what to say or do.  So
+he just stood still and looked down at the bowed back of
+his friend.  Then, unable to watch Ali's distress any
+longer, he bent down, and with sheer strength, lifted him
+on to his feet and held him just as a mother would a
+troubled child.  Somehow, John felt years older, and
+Ali seemed like a baby&mdash;it was strange, because Ali had
+always been so silent, so reserved, with a kind of hidden
+strength which had often made John admire him
+secretly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, Ali&mdash;you mustn't go on like this,&mdash;what is the
+matter?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are going away, John effendi."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, but I shall come back,&mdash;besides why do you worry
+so?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are my friend, John effendi&mdash;I would never leave
+you&mdash;you are more to me than a brother."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thanks, Ali&mdash;we&mdash;we've been great friends, and when
+I come back&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You will come back?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of course I shall!  I shall spend my summer holidays
+at Constantinople with my father.  He wants to take you
+there with him, unless you are there at school.  I didn't
+know you&mdash;thought so much&mdash;of me, All."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have I not always followed you, effendi?  You are
+English, I am a Turk&mdash;but we are brothers&mdash;and now
+you are leaving me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stood there holding John as if he would hold him
+thus through time.  The English boy, embarrassed, with
+the British instinctive dislike of emotional display, knew
+not what to say.  He wanted to say something that would
+express all he felt, his love for his friend, and all the
+happy times they had had, but no adequate words would
+come.  So he just gave a short, forced laugh, tightened
+his grip on the other boy, and then turned and picked up
+his shirt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, we must get dressed!&mdash;it's getting late."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ali was now calm.  The storm had passed.  They made
+their way down the mountain side almost without words.
+The sun had not set, but the town below was already in
+deep shadow and they could see the lights glimmering.
+Now that the inevitable moment of parting was drawing
+near, John began to feel something of the emotion which
+Ali had shown by the pool.  It was a break in his life,
+this parting; the first he had ever made.  They had been
+jolly days, and although the future had its glamour, things
+would never be quite the same again.  Ali would grow up,
+and he would grow up, each in different worlds, with
+different customs.  They would meet in two years, but two
+years was a long time.  Dear old Ali, if only he could
+take him with him!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had now reached the fountain at the foot of the
+steep street where the ways parted.  The inevitable
+moment had come.  John took All's hand and gripped it,
+English fashion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye, Ali&mdash;I'll write to you often.  We'll meet in
+two years."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Insh' Allah&mdash;God willing," said Ali gravely.  "I will
+make you a gift, John effendi, will you give me a promise?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Ali&mdash;what is it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ali opened his shirt at the neck, and lifted over his
+head a thin chain.  At the end of the chain hung an oval
+moonstone; on one side it had Turkish characters, on
+the other the etching of an eye.  John had often seen
+this charm against the evil eye hanging on his friend's
+neck, but as it no doubt had something to do with his
+faith, John had refrained from asking any questions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"See, effendi&mdash;I give you this talisman.  My father
+brought it from Mecca.  It will keep you from harm, and
+also you will remember me by it.  Will you wear it always?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tone was so earnest, and Ali spoke with such gravity
+that John nodded his head, which he lowered while Ali
+passed the chain over him until the talisman hung on his
+breast.  For a moment there was an awkward pause.  Ali
+seemed about to say something, but his lips did not move.
+John feared another outburst; so gripping his friend's
+hand, he looked into his eyes for the last time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye, Ali!" he said, and was quickly gone into the
+darkening twilight.  Down the street he felt an
+overmastering impulse to turn and wave to Ali, who, he knew,
+would stand watching his going, but such an act would
+only prolong the agony.  With a firm resolve he strode on
+along the way home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was dinner time when John reached the house, and
+he just had time to wash before the gong sounded.  Seated
+at table he was very quiet during the meal, and when
+coffee had been served and they had passed out onto the
+verandah where so many happy evenings had been spent,
+Dean drew John down into his big wicker chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are very quiet, John&mdash;anything the matter?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, father&mdash;I was only thinking."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What of?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;of England, and leaving here, and&mdash;Ali."
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+The moon had come up over the precipice and flooded
+the garden in soft light.  They could see the river, like a
+silver shield where it turned in its course.  Not a leaf
+stirred in the garden, but there were sounds floating about
+the night.  From the orchard came the first notes of a
+bulbul; more distant, they could hear the musical rippling
+of the water as it sang in and out among the rocks, and
+further off, subdued, pulsating with mystery, sounded the
+low droning of a native drum.  It rose and died in the
+night air with its barbaric note insistently calling.
+Calling what?&mdash;they did not know; perhaps it drew towards it
+the Moslem spirits, as it had drawn them on that night
+long ago when Timur came near, red with conquest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dean looked down at the boy sitting quietly by him.
+The moonlight glinted upon something on John's breast.
+He slowly drew out the chain with its talisman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's this?" he asked, reading the Turkish
+characters&mdash;"Kismet!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ali gave it to me for a keepsake&mdash;what does Kismet
+mean, father?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Destiny&mdash;all Moslems believe in it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do we?" asked John.  Dean paused before replying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Some of us do, some of us don't," he said quietly.
+Then there was silence again, save for the drum calling
+through the night.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0201"></a></p>
+
+<h2>
+BOOK II
+<br><br>
+WEST
+</h2>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER I
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+The guard's whistle sounded shrilly, and in John's
+ears it seemed to be cutting through his life as
+he stood on the platform at Sedley and felt his
+hand held in his father's farewell grasp.  The last
+carriage door had been slammed, the perspiring porters
+mopped their brows under the hot September sun, the train
+drew back a little with a hissing of steam and a rasping
+of brakes, then slowly crawled forward.  John ever afterwards
+carried a distinct impression of his father as he saw
+him that afternoon leaning out of the carriage window.
+The tanned face, the clear grey eyes and clean-cut features
+all stamped themselves upon his memory.  The ring in
+his father's voice as he said&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye, John&mdash;you'll soon settle down,"&mdash;then the
+long pause, the last look into his eyes, and the tightened
+hand.  These impressions burnt themselves upon the boy's
+brain, and, somewhat overwhelmed with the pain of it all,
+he stood watching the train dwindle down the line.  It
+drew out of sight, first the long length of carriage windows,
+then the shortened perspective, until the back of the
+guard's van covered the train, finally the lamps, the two
+buffers, and a coiled up gas connection&mdash;and a long stretch
+of shining steel rails that converged to a point.  He
+wanted to run along that iron way, to catch that train, to
+get away from this terrible desolation creeping over him.
+He stood, lonely and miserable, in a crowd of shouting
+boys and porters struggling with luggage.  Just outside
+the station, beyond the white palings where the ticket
+collector stood, was a waggonette packed with boys of all
+ages.  John looked at them curiously.  They were to be
+his companions, to form his life in the coming years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In Amasia he had looked forward to mingling with boys
+of his own age and race, but now their noisy behaviour and
+boisterous good humour repelled him.  He thought how
+much preferable was Ali with his quiet oriental manner.
+There was also another disconcerting experience which
+depressed him&mdash;his new clothes irritated him.  He had worn
+trousers for a week now and hated them.  His waistcoat
+was like a chain round his chest and he wanted to tear the
+vile Eton collar from his throat in rage.  He longed for
+his loose open shirt, his easy shorts and socks.  There
+were other clothes packed away in that white wooden box,
+with black iron flanges.  John stared at his initials,
+black-lettered on the front&mdash;"J.N.D."&mdash;did they belong
+to him?  Somehow they seemed to shout at him, to
+possess him, and the "N" in the middle grew and swelled
+until it dwarfed its companions.  John was terribly afraid
+of that "N".  Why hadn't the porter stuck the luggage
+label over it?  He recalled what that awful boy, at the
+house where his father went to dine one day, had said,
+when he told him his name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Narcissus!  Good Lord, you will get ragged!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ragged&mdash;what's that?" he had asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;knocked about&mdash;chivied."  And then, in a friendly
+tone, "You'd better keep that name quiet."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John must have stood thinking on the platform for a
+considerable time.  It was almost empty.  He would walk
+back to the school.  His housemaster's wife had asked
+him to have tea with her.  He instinctively liked
+Mrs. Fletcher.  She was motherly and there was such a
+pleasant ring in her voice, also she was beautiful and probably
+young.  Her cheeks were very fresh, as if she had walked
+in the wind all day, and John liked the style in which she
+did her hair.  Fletcher too had attracted him, though he
+had not been able to notice him much, for his father had
+talked to him about Eastern affairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When John reached the school, he tapped on his
+housemaster's study door and entered.  He was in no genial
+mood, but full of warlike thoughts.  Mrs. Fletcher smiled
+at him as he entered and motioned for him to sit by her
+side.  There were other boys in the room, seven or eight,
+all laughing and talking with Mr. Fletcher, and John
+wondered whether he would ever be on such familiar terms
+with the master as these boys were.  There was something
+about the book-lined study which pleased John&mdash;it had
+such a homely look and Mr. Fletcher seemed all the more
+attractive because of his study.  The books, portraits and
+pictures were interesting, the chairs were very comfortable,
+and Mrs. Fletcher gave attention to John.  Soon he was
+laughing at something she had said which amused him
+immensely, and he laughed as only a boy can laugh.
+Mr. Fletcher turned from the group about him and looked
+across at John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now I wonder what I am missing, Dean?" he said.
+"Come here.  This is Mason&mdash;Rogers, Russell, Thomson,
+and Vernley."  He indicated the boys with a sweep of
+his hand, and John surveyed his new schoolfellows.  One
+boy attracted him, a heavily-built fellow with carefully
+brushed hair that was thick and shiny.  John saw that
+he was strong, so strong that he looked ungainly in his
+suit, which tightened with every movement, but what
+attracted John was Vernley's smile, it was so good natured,
+and warm, like sunshine.  He was pleased when
+Mr. Fletcher added&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Vernley is in your dormitory, Dean."  Then turning to
+the boy, "You must take charge of Dean until he finds his
+way about.  Now you'd better get along, all you.  Don't
+forget to see the Matron about your things, and chapel's
+at seven-thirty."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John followed the boys out into the corridor.  He shivered
+as he closed the study door.  On this side of it he
+was in the school and it looked so depressingly barren after
+the cosy study.  He watched the other boys with envy as
+they walked down the corridor to the Matron's room.
+Vernley was among them, and seemed to have forgotten
+the master's injunction, but at the Matron's door he
+waited for John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come along, our boxes are up in the dorm,&mdash;yours has
+been put next to mine&mdash;I'll show you the way up."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Putting his arm in John's he led the way, talking as
+they went.  To John it was a novel experience.  He had
+never talked to another English boy in this free manner,
+and the friendliness with which Vernley had taken his
+arm gave him a slight thrill.  It was pleasant to be noticed
+like this, and already he liked his companion.  There was
+something so placid and solid about him which appealed
+to John.  There was nothing Eastern about this boy, he
+talked without reserve and his clear brown eyes seemed
+like those of a young animal rather than a human being.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley sat down on John's bed and explained the various
+contrivances in the room.  It was a long well-lit
+chamber with eight beds on either side, bordered by two
+long strips of carpet.  The middle of the floor was bare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's jolly cold too," said Vernley, "when you stand on
+it with the wind blowing over you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Stand on it, why?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, it's Lindon's fad&mdash;he's a physical culture crank,
+he's prefect here.  He makes us all strip night and
+morning and has us squirming on our backs with our legs in
+the air,&mdash;but he's quite a decent chap.  You'll get on with
+him well."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, you look so splendidly fit&mdash;he's simply mad on
+fitness.  He spends half his time torturing me to get my fat
+down."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But you're strong," said John admiringly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, yes, but it is not strength he believes in&mdash;it's what
+he calls form, the Greek ideal&mdash;he's always talking about
+some Greek johnny, and he's rather like one himself.
+What's the J.N. for?" Vernley broke off abruptly and
+stared at the box.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John Narcissus&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Narcissus!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;it's Greek too," John smiled, and Vernley
+laughed.  John noticed that he had teeth like an
+animal's&mdash;white and strong.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;they'll call you 'Cissy' for short."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, please don't tell them&mdash;I hate it," he said, looking
+at Vernley imploringly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Very well&mdash;then it'll be Scissors&mdash;that's more cutting!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't mind that&mdash;what's your name?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What do you think&mdash;there's only one name for all persons
+like myself&mdash;Tubby&mdash;isn't it a libel?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;you're not too fat.  I think you're&mdash;"  John hesitated,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, what&mdash;let's hear."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're quite&mdash;splendid."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley laughed again in his fascinating way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thanks&mdash;I can return that compliment."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John flushed.  He was glad Vernley had laughed like
+that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's strange, you know&mdash;saying that," added Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Because most fellows never think about appearances&mdash;I
+always do, and you do.  I loathe ugliness.  Lindon's
+always preaching on that text.  You'll hear him later, 'the
+good and the beautiful' that's his pet phrase.  He's
+beautiful enough, but he isn't good."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why?&mdash;does he swear?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good lord, yes&mdash;we all do, there's worse things than
+that."  He stooped down and took a book out of the box
+at the foot of his bed.  Then he glanced at a watch on his
+wrist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Glory!" he exclaimed, "it's a quarter past seven.
+Come along or we'll be late."  He hurried out, John
+following.  He wished Vernley had gone on talking, he
+interested him in Lindon.  What was it Lindon did?
+Perhaps he drank secretly, or cribbed, or&mdash;John hurried on,
+his head filled with speculations.  He was looking forward
+to seeing the terrible Lindon.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0202"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER II
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John's first week at Sedley passed with amazing
+rapidity.  It was all new to him, and enjoyable also.
+The masters were such a decent set of fellows, and
+already John had formed a strong alliance with Vernley.
+He had had tremendous good luck in this.  Vernley was
+in his second year and entitled to a study.  A small room
+at the end of the corridor was vacant, but it was only large
+enough for two boys.  All the other studies had four
+occupants, save fellows in the fifth and sixth forms who had
+attained to the dignity of separate rooms.  When Vernley
+discovered that he was the odd man out with a study of
+his own, he went straightaway to Mr. Fletcher and asked
+permission for John to share it, which was readily granted.
+He and John entered into partnership.  So far the alliance
+had been a great success.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the Wednesday half-holiday and John had just
+had his first game of football.  Exhilarated by the exercise
+and the novelty of it all, he had changed from his muddy
+shorts and red and white shirt, wallowed in the bath, and
+now sat stiff and tired in a wicker chair, holding toast to
+the fire, while Vernley got out the tea cups.  Tea was the
+one meal they had in private, and both boys gloried in it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John, burning the toast furiously, sniffed with delight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say Verny&mdash;toast is the incense of the appetite&mdash;isn't
+it good?" and he sniffed long and loud.  Vernley
+looked at him.  John's curiously turned nostrils always
+fascinated him, they were just like the faun's in the
+drawing class.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You ought to be called Bunny, not Scissors," he said,
+pouring hot water into the teapot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why?" asked John turning round in the chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Damn!&mdash;watch that toast, it'll be black!  Why, because
+you twitch your nose like a rabbit.  That's enough,
+don't toast any more."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a long break in the conversation, filled with
+the noise of crunching.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall have to go in a minute&mdash;I forgot to fill
+Lindon's kettle," said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hang Lindon&mdash;he's always running you about.  I knew
+he would.  He doesn't like your being here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't talk rot&mdash;he's been jolly decent to me, he was
+coaching me all this afternoon.  He's going to give me an
+hour at racquets to-morrow," said John, defending Lindon
+stoutly; then seeing that he had hurt Vernley&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, Verny&mdash;don't be jealous&mdash;only it is decent of
+him.  Why don't you like him?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked at Vernley, who shifted uneasily and kicked
+the fender.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I never said I didn't like him," he answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But I know you don't&mdash;what's the reason?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;it's because you're such a kid, Scissors."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thanks, you're a year older&mdash;but that's no reason."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"P'raps not&mdash;but I knew Lindon would go for you&mdash;I
+said so the first night."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"To-day's the first time he's taken any notice of me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is it?&mdash;he's watched you like a cat for a week.  You
+don't know Lindon&mdash;I do."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then why are you so mysterious about him?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley got up and cut himself a piece of cake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have a piece, Scissors?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thanks."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Look here, Scissors, you've said I'm jealous&mdash;well I
+am, but not for the reason you think.  You're only a kid
+and a green one at that.  I'm a year older, which isn't
+much, but I've been at school five years, in a prep, and
+here, and I know who's who.  Lindon's a clever chap, captain
+of the first eleven, our best bat and all that&mdash;but keep
+clear of him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley would say no more after that.  John went out
+and filled Lindon's kettle and returned.  His forced
+manner made Vernley watch him curiously; John was
+evidently upset.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What is the matter," he asked John, abruptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nothing."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's a lie, Scissors&mdash;try again."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John flushed deeply&mdash;"Well, nothing much," he confessed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Has Lindon said anything?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"About me?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John was silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I guessed so," said Vernley bitterly, "and you believe
+him?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;I don't&mdash;and I don't understand,&mdash;and I don't
+want to understand."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But, Scissors, if&mdash;in the past," added Vernley.  He
+looked anxiously at John, who had picked up Punch and
+was looking through it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;the past is the past, that's all.  I say, Verny,
+listen to this," he said, reading from the paper.  He had
+dismissed the subject, and Vernley sat and listened,
+looking at his friend with a doglike affection.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John enjoyed the Saturday evenings when they all
+gathered in Mr. Fletcher's study.  They sat wherever they
+liked, on the floor, the lounge, or in the windows, while
+Fletcher talked and his wife poured out the coffee.
+Fletcher was a man of ideas and of sufficient strength of mind
+to carry them out.  He was never so happy as when, pipe
+in mouth, he debated with six or eight boys at a time.
+It was a time-honoured custom for the boys of his house
+to come in each Saturday evening to talk over the school
+matches or any other topic that presented itself.  There
+was no attempt to make the conversation "improving."  Sometimes,
+led by a question, Fletcher would tell them
+about his travels in Greece and Italy, illustrating them
+with snapshots in his albums, or perhaps Mrs. Fletcher or
+one of the boys would sing.  The repertoire was in no way
+restricted.  Occasionally Vernley had to be forcibly
+deposed from the piano stool after an orgy of music-hall
+ditties or waltz tunes, and any outburst of ragging was
+quickly suppressed.  The boys were not compelled to enter
+into any conversation.  They could take down the books
+and read if they wished and sometimes complete silence
+reigned until Fletcher stood up, knocked the ashes out of
+his pipe and said "Time, boys."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was one particular pleasure to which John always
+looked forward&mdash;that was Lindon's playing.  There
+was a magic quality in it which held them spellbound;
+even Vernley admitted that Lindon knew his way about
+on the piano.  The pianist would sit down in front of
+the keyboard, wait for the preparatory hush which he
+commanded as a brilliant performer, run his fingers up
+and down the keys once or twice as if making their
+acquaintance, and then begin.  Sometimes it was Beethoven
+he played.  John never forgot the thrill that ran down his
+spine when he heard the <i>Pathetique</i> for the first time.  Its
+great soulful chords crashed through him, echoing along
+his brain like thunder in a valley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But on this particular evening, Lindon was in a more
+festive mood.  He had won glory on the field that afternoon;
+his swiftness, his quick decision had brought victory
+to his house, and some of the seriousness which usually
+invested his manner was forgotten.  It was the last Saturday
+night of term.  The examinations were nearly over.  The
+holiday spirit already made the school restive.  So
+Lindon was in good spirits.  He chose Chopin, and sent the
+melodies rippling from beneath his wonderful fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John, completely fascinated, stood leaning on the flat
+top of the grand, it being his duty to turn over the music
+when the demi-god nodded.  Lindon started off with the
+<i>Valse Brilliante</i> in four flats.  It was hackneyed, but not
+so to John who listened while the magic movement seemed
+to lift him up with ecstasy.  Then the pianist played <i>Op.</i>
+64&mdash;he seemed scarcely to touch the keys, for they whirred
+just like the wind blowing through a leafy tree.  It was
+the speed, the superb vivacity of it all that entranced John.
+Now they were butterflies dancing rapturously, now a
+spinning wheel.  Here was something that reached an
+eloquence beyond words, a joy greater than anything he had
+ever known.  When Lindon ceased, John's eyes were sparkling
+with intense delight.  The pianist, seeing his pleasure,
+laughed lightly.  The applause he did not appear to notice;
+it was John's boyish approval which he looked for and
+found at the conclusion of each piece.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+How long Lindon sat at the keyboard John had no idea.
+His ecstasy was suddenly shattered by the performer who
+said,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Only one more, Scissors, then you can sit down."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And this time it was something that stirred John until
+he felt he must cry out.  It was the exquisite pain of it.
+As he watched Lindon he was strangely attracted; the latter
+was no longer smiling.  He sat with compressed lips and
+stern eyes.  The slender hands flew over the thundering
+bass and swept like a whirlwind into the treble.  The
+player's hair, shaken with the energy of his execution had
+fallen over his brow.  There was something fierce about
+Lindon as he sat there, something that made John draw
+in his breath with half fear and wonder.  He had never
+seen this Lindon before.  The gracious, laughing young
+hero whom he worshipped had changed into a being capable
+of great passion, and perhaps cruelty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the <i>Drum Polonaise</i> which Lindon played.  It
+began like the slow murmur of thunder, and then it broke
+into a wild ecstatic music like the mad flight of a thousand
+horses across a prairie.  John wondered how so much
+sound and furious activity could be torn out of that piano,
+and the player's frenzy almost terrified him as he turned
+the music, but his fear suddenly changed to a feeling of
+dread and helplessness.  The second movement had begun
+with its monotonous bass.  John listened, breathless; it was
+the sound of that drum which enthralled him.  It grew
+in intensity and passion, it called, called, called with a
+horrible fascination.  John looked at Lindon, but the
+latter seemed oblivious of all but the page before him.  The
+sound swelled up and smote on John's ears like a flood
+of waters; a curious numbness stole over him&mdash;the drum
+seemed nearer now, it was soothing, he would know nothing
+soon, already feeling had left him, he&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lindon was the first to jump up as John swayed and fell
+in a heap on the floor.  He sprang from the stool and lifted
+up the insensible lad.  Fletcher and his wife were pending
+over John when he opened his eyes again.  Where was
+he?  He did not quite know, yet he was very tired.  Then
+he heard some one call "Scissors!" and looking up again
+saw Lindon bending over him, with anxious face.  He was
+safe; he could feel the rigid muscles of his arms as he held
+him.  He let his head sink with a sigh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think it's the air, sir, we're rather warm in here," said
+Lindon to Fletcher.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Carry him into the hall, Lindon&mdash;you boys stop here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let me take him," said Mrs. Fletcher, all the mother
+nature of her sounding in her voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's all right, Mrs. Fletcher, I can carry him.  I think
+the porch would be the best place.  The cold air will bring
+him round."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lindon lifted John like a baby and went out into the
+porch followed by Fletcher and his wife.  He deposited
+his burden in a wicker chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't wait, sir, I'll bring him in in a bit&mdash;look, he's all
+right now."  John sat up and looked at the anxious trio.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Better?" asked Fletcher, cheerfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, sir&mdash;I'm awfully sorry," replied John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't worry, my boy&mdash;you've played too hard to-day.
+Now sit here a bit with Lindon.  Ah, here we are!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fletcher had returned with rugs and wrapped the
+boy round with them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Fletcher and his wife had gone, John and Lindon
+sat in silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lindon could see Dean's face in the dim light and his
+eyes were still very bright as he looked up at the sky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors," said Lindon quietly, "why did you faint?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know, Lindon&mdash;you frightened me, I think."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Am I so terrible?" the question was asked jokingly
+but not without an undercurrent of feeling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;but you fascinate me&mdash;you have done since the
+first.  It's only when you are playing that I really seem
+to see you properly."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lindon gave a short laugh.  "What a queer little beggar
+you are&mdash;I suppose the East is in your blood.  I hope
+Vernley hasn't been playing on your imagination too
+much&mdash;he talks about me?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, he doesn't," said John shortly, "and you shouldn't
+ask me&mdash;I'm his friend."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sorry, Scissors&mdash;it is caddish, only&mdash;" he broke
+off and looked out into the night.  John sat in silence and
+waited.  He knew Lindon wanted to say something.
+Presently he spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You see, Scissors, I don't want anything to upset
+our&mdash;well, we get on fairly well, don't we?  Somehow you've
+made me feel&mdash;oh, I'm talking rot."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I suppose you've seen how I watched you," said John,
+"&mdash;I simply couldn't hide it&mdash;I'm a little fool I know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's what made it all so difficult.  It's not easy
+being a god," responded Lindon.  "You've put me on a
+pedestal&mdash;and I want to keep on it."  They talked more
+easily after that.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0203"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER III
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It had been arranged that John should spend the
+Christmas and Easter holidays with his housemaster.
+Fletcher had a cottage in Wales where he went at the
+end of each term to repair his shattered constitution.
+There, he dressed in a most amazing assortment of tweeds,
+smoked endlessly, loved to sit in village bars and listen to
+village gossip, and tramped over the mountains with
+inexhaustible energy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John spent the first fortnight with the Fletchers, after
+which he went on to Vernley's people, who sent him a
+cordial invitation to their home in Essex.  It was there that
+John first became acquainted with the amazing possibilities
+of life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Vernleys lived in a rambling old house with long
+corridors in which John could lose himself.  Indeed, everything
+was on the spacious side, with that heavy, solid prosperity
+stamped on it which somehow fitted the Vernleys
+and all of John's preconceptions of them.  Mr. Vernley
+was a broad-shouldered man with a shock of black hair
+and a tremendous voice.  Mrs. Vernley was stout and tall,
+talked rather loudly and made a draught whenever she
+moved, but she radiated kindliness.  The family, too, was
+on the large scale, for John found himself being introduced
+to a crowd of brothers and sisters who varied from
+being wonderfully beautiful to uncompromisingly ugly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was Kitty, aged twenty-two, a big-boned woman,
+who talked horses all day long; then Alice two years her
+junior, the musical genius of the family.  Vernley had
+great faith in his sister's future as a singer because she
+was so fat.  Tod, twenty, and in the first flush of glory at
+Balliol, was the Vernley Adonis.  He had the good looks
+that wonderful health and spirits bestow.  His cheeks
+were tanned, his laugh cheery, and when he didn't sing or
+talk, he whistled.  Vernley said that sitting near Tod was
+like being near a radiator, he warmed you like an animal.
+With great cheerfulness, Tod offered to teach the two boys
+how to box.  He took them up into a dim roomy attic,
+stripped them, tied the gloves on to their hands, and made
+them pound away at each other while he bellowed his
+encouragement.  At the end of half an hour, the two boys
+being utterly exhausted, he just tucked them under his
+arms, walked down to the bathroom and turned the cold
+water tap on them as if they had been two mice he had
+wished to drown.  They emerged from their first boxing
+lesson with a black eye each.  In addition John had a
+swollen nose and Vernley a cut lip.  When they both
+appeared at tea-time, the family yelled with delight, save
+Mrs. Vernley, whose motherly instinct forbade further
+boxing lessons.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And here it was that the amazing complexity of life
+first dawned upon John's consciousness.  Mr. Vernley was
+a member of Parliament and he brought his friends on
+week-end visits to "The Croft."  John looked at these
+persons with considerable awe.  They were all doing, or
+going to do something big.  Among them was Chadburn,
+quiet, unassuming, strictly conscientious, with a fine face
+and a courteous manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John walked with him through the woods one Sunday
+morning, and at the end of half an hour, fell in love with
+him; all that night he had visions of himself as a private
+secretary.  It would be glorious to be near him each day,
+to go in on a thick-carpeted floor with a sheaf of papers
+and say, "Will you sign these, sir?" or, "A deputation
+wishes to see you, sir," or "Your speech is in your bag,
+sir," and his hero would say, "Thank you, Dean; I shall
+be back to-morrow&mdash;take cuttings from the <i>Times</i> and
+<i>Telegraph</i>,"  Perhaps he could accompany his chief to
+a big meeting and see him sway the crowd, hear him
+cheered in the packed hall and he would want to get up,
+and say, "That is my chief&mdash;I am his secretary."  John
+went to bed that Sunday with life revealing a wonderful
+vista before him, for as he had passed through the lounge
+where the men sat smoking, he had heard Chadburn say,
+"That boy's as intelligent as he's handsome."  As the two
+boys undressed, Vernley noticed his friend's elation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, ripping!  It's glorious here, Vernley&mdash;I don't
+know how to thank you," which sent the devoted Vernley
+to bed equally happy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were two other incidents of that holiday that
+stood out in his memory for many years.  The first dawn
+of adolescence stirred in him, disquieting, but wonderful.
+Muriel awakened him, Muriel the vivacious, sixteen, home
+from school in Belgium, the prettiest of the Vernley girls
+and just ready to fall in love for the simple adventure of
+it.  They liked each other at sight; she admired his slim
+grace, the brown healthiness of his skin, the fine ring in
+his laughter; he, her elusive charm and tomboyish air.
+Her quick, witty chatter in English or French was music
+to the enchanted John; and she rode her horse like a princess.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Each morning, after breakfast, three or four mounts
+were brought round from the stables, the groom waiting
+until the riding party was ready.  Sometimes Vernley and
+Kitty made up the quartette, with John and Muriel.  John
+sat his horse superbly, the legacy of Amasian days, with
+the result that he and Muriel were often far in advance of
+the other couple, for Vernley rolled on his seat like a sack,
+and Kitty acted as whipper-in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One morning, after a breathless gallop, John and Muriel
+found themselves alone together on the white road running
+through a little copse of birch trees.  The girth of Muriel's
+saddle had slackened, and John helped her to dismount and
+tightened it.  Then slipping their reins over their arms,
+they walked the horses on to the soft turf bordering the
+road.  On a barren bough a robin began to sing cheerfully.
+Muriel gave a little cry of delight, and as John looked at
+her, his flesh thrilled with her laughter.  She was flushed,
+with her fair hair falling over two pink ears, and as she
+turned to him with her beautiful eyes, she caught him in the
+act of open admiration.  Muriel looked away, pretending
+she had not noticed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shall we mount and get on?" she said awkwardly.  She
+placed one foot in the stirrup, and John placed his hand
+under the other to help her into the saddle.  It was the first
+time he had ever touched her and a queer self-consciousness
+caused him to bungle, for she failed to gain the saddle.
+The horse moved, and Muriel fell back into his arms.  It
+was an accident which John took as a gift from the gods.
+He gave an awkward little laugh as he looked down into
+her timid eyes and she tried to hide her face on his
+shoulder.  The soft brushing of her hair on his cheek
+gave him courage; holding her in his strong young arms, he
+raised her face with one hand and saw the laughter in her
+eyes.  Then deliberately he kissed her lips, her soft wavy
+hair falling over his brow, her arms pressed tight and warm
+around his neck.  It was a moment's delight, with no
+passion in it&mdash;only youth discovering youth and thrilled
+with the wonder of it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Almost gravely John helped her into the saddle, and they
+started off at a canter.  The wind whipped their faces,
+the superb vitality of the horses seemed to flow through
+their bodies.  Ahead lay the wooded country and the
+chimneys of "The Croft."  John remembered that white
+strip of road, the birch-tree copse and the laughter in
+Muriel's eyes evermore.  In the years that followed he was
+to love, but it was never quite the same, there was more
+intelligence in it, more consciousness, more passion, but
+not the quick edge of sharp surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John's Christmas at "The Croft" was his first experience
+of life at an English country house, and he saw there
+how money and leisure could make existence almost
+ideally tranquil.  He learned too, the patrician order of
+things.  Hitherto, humanity for him had only been classed
+in nationalities.  He had recognised, of course, that
+mankind itself was divided into the rich and poor, those who
+did what they wished, and those who laboured as they must.
+But he now saw that Society was more subtly divided; it
+had its rigorous caste systems, and he was living in the
+strictest caste of all.  The county type that he met at
+"The Croft" was something distinct.  It spoke very
+definitely of humanity as "the masses."  Clearly they were a
+slightly inferior people, to whom a duty must be performed.
+They had to be kept in their places, taught to recognise
+superiority and to render homage without servility; in
+return for this recognition they were rewarded with the
+influence and interest of those who controlled their lives.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Down in the village John found that, as the guest of the
+Vernleys, he was somebody.  The villagers touched their
+caps to him, the postmistress was effusively polite.  All this
+seemed strange at first to John, for accustomed to the
+deference of the Moslem before all Englishmen, he had
+conceived a socialistic idea of the position and powers of all
+who spoke his native tongue.  After a time he grew accustomed
+to the patrician attitude.  It was so easy to assume
+the air of command, to know that servants, even English
+ones, were there to serve, and that one could be perfectly
+polite to them and forfeit no respect or authority.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He admired the young squire manner of his friend
+Vernley&mdash;the way in which he obtained all he wanted.  The
+whole country-side was his, the farmhouses all gladly
+opened their doors at his approach.  The name of Vernley
+was powerful.  The next thing John realised was that
+the name was loved.  The Vernleys had lived on the land
+for generations, and their knowledge of every family on
+the estate was unique.  They knew the hereditary
+tendencies of Farmer Jenkins' children, the constitutional
+inclination of the Wichsteeds to bronchitis, the wanderlust
+that was in the blood of all the Wilkinsons' younger sons.
+John's friend too was intimate with all the village boys.
+He played cricket with them, called them by their
+Christian names, and assumed leadership in their midst
+without any rivalry or jealousy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was new and strange to John; but it all seemed part
+of the landscape.  The village people were the natural
+possessions of the Vernleys, just as much as the fine old copper
+beeches in their drive, or the splendidly level lawn and
+flower-bordered terraces.  It had always been so, and there
+was no reason why it should ever change.  The village
+church, with its tombs of dead Vernleys also showed that
+their religion was a family affair, looked after by the vicar
+who held his living by appointment of a Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Comfort too was so visible in that home.  There were
+solidarity and security in those massive oak doors under
+the stone portico.  The heavy carpets sank richly under
+the feet; one felt majestic ascending the broad staircase
+with its crest-panelled pillars.  The bedrooms with the
+blues, reds, and greens of carpets and eiderdowns and
+couches had a solemn splendour, particularly after the
+coldness of a school dormitory.  It gave John a peculiar sense
+of pleasure to watch the maid in the morning enter his
+room with the hot water.  The copper water can gleamed
+as the felt cover with its monogram came off.  The curtains
+as they were drawn, fell back in heavy beautiful folds, and
+his bed was a massive thing built to endure for generations.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John revelled in all these things so new in his life and he
+looked at Vernley closely when that young gentleman
+expressed no particular delight, no pride of proprietorship.
+John, of course, was careful not to show his ecstasy.  He
+accepted everything without comment, but secretly he
+exulted.  Life was going to be pleasant enough with such
+splendid traditions and beautiful houses.  He would spend
+his days visiting friends; he would find such a house
+himself, and entertain large parties.  The wine should stand
+richly in beautiful glasses, as it did on the Vernleys' table
+at night time, discreetly lit with shaded candles in the
+silver candelabra.  He would find servants as well trained,
+a butler as majestic, and the stables at the back of his
+house should be filled with superb horses, flawlessly
+groomed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dreaming in this manner one night as he lay in bed, he
+suddenly started with a recollection that his home had once
+been like the Vernleys.  He had seen photographs of
+"Fourways," and heard his father speak of Tom the groom&mdash;a
+splendid beater or loader.  With a thrill of discovery
+John recalled his inheritance; it explained so much,
+his joy in these surroundings, the feeling that somehow he
+was at home again among the Vernleys.  This was no new
+life; it was the old life, the one his father had known.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then John realised how much he had lost.  The
+mention of family misfortune had formerly conveyed
+nothing to him.  He had been quite happy in his home at
+Amasia.  There was nothing wanting, and he had often
+wondered at his father's ceaseless recollections of
+"Fourways."  Now he realised all that the change to that hard,
+bright, lonely life in Amasia had meant, and the fuller
+knowledge clouded the boy's happiness.  He would build
+up the family fortune again and take his father back to
+"Fourways."  So thinking, he fell asleep to dream of his
+father greeting Tom who came to welcome him back, and
+somehow in that dream he mingled&mdash;but he was not alone.
+There was Muriel with him, flushed with riding, her
+cheeks whipped with the wind, her eyes bright with
+happiness, and her hand, soft and warm, holding his as he
+helped her down from the saddle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John awoke in the morning to the sound of bells.  It
+was Christmas Day, and springing out of bed he ran to
+the window that overlooked the drive opposite the church
+gate.  The bells were clamouring merrily and he could
+see the villagers making their way to the early morning
+service.  Picking up his towel he rushed off to the
+bathroom, shouted loudly at the shock of the cold shower,
+dressed quickly and ran downstairs just as the breakfast
+gong sounded.  In the dining room the family was busy
+opening presents.  There were three for him, one from
+Vernley and two from his host and hostess.  With boyish
+impulse he went up and kissed Mrs. Vernley delightedly.
+Life was good!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0204"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER IV
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On Christmas eve John had noticed another guest at
+dinner, but he had no opportunity of studying the
+person, who was addressed as Mr. Steer.  The
+next morning after breakfast, there was a walking party
+to Holdfast Covert, about three miles, whence a fine view
+of the surrounding country was obtainable.  John asked
+Vernley all about the stranger, for he was attracted to him
+by his manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Governor's frightfully keen on Steer," said Vernley.
+"He's a poet and quite well-known&mdash;at least I think
+so.  There's always a mild sensation in the district when
+Steer's down here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you read his books?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, I've seen them of course&mdash;they're always prominent
+in the drawing-room when he comes here.  He's not
+like most of those writing people who everlastingly talk
+about themselves, and he's a sportsman.  He'll start
+love-thirty with any one on the tennis court and beat 'em."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was on the way back from the covert that John had
+his first conversation with Steer.  The boy had fallen
+behind to tie up a shoe lace, and the poet was hacking away
+at a wand he had cut out of the thicket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What are you making, sir?" asked John, overtaking him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A whistle&mdash;can you make one?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;I'm not very handy with a pocket knife."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, there you are&mdash;that's a sycamore pipe which you
+can play&mdash;like the Idle Shepherd Boys," said Steer, giving
+the stick to John.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "<i>On pipes of sycamore they play<br>
+  The fragments of a Christmas hymn,&mdash;</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+I suppose you know that?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John confessed his ignorance, but he liked the sound
+of it and wanted to hear more.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"God bless me," said Steer, "you mean to say that you've
+not heard of Wordsworth?  I thought every boy out of a
+nursery had been brought up on 'We are Seven' and 'The
+Idle Shepherd Boys.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've never heard of Mr. Wordsworth," said John
+naïvely,&mdash;"do tell me about him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, he's quite dead now&mdash;he was what is called a Lake
+poet&mdash;he lived at the English Lakes, Grasmere and Rydal
+to be precise, where there was a group of these poets and
+essayists&mdash;Coleridge, Southey, De Quincey, Christopher
+North&mdash;names you've probably heard.  'The Idle Shepherd
+Boys' was a favourite poem when I was a lad.  I
+remember reciting it to my mother for a penny.  She used
+to give me a penny for every new poem I learned.  I
+remember how she laughed when I pronounced
+'vapours'&mdash;'vappers.'  The first stanza runs&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  <i>The valley rings with mirth and joy;<br>
+  Among the hills the echoes play<br>
+  A never, never ending song,<br>
+  To welcome in the May.<br>
+  The magpie chatters with delight;<br>
+  The mountain raven's youngling brood<br>
+  Have left the mother and the nest;<br>
+  And they go rambling east and west<br>
+  In search of their own food;<br>
+  Or through the glittering vapours dart<br>
+  In very wantonness of heart.</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, how jolly!  Do go on please!" shouted John
+eagerly, and his new friend recited the whole poem.  The
+joy on the boy's face greatly amused him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You've evidently got a taste for verse, John&mdash;but there's
+much better stuff than that.  Wordsworth was a philosopher,
+he wrote splendid things like&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  <i>Love had he known in huts where poor men lie;<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His daily teachers had been woods and rills,<br>
+  The silence that is in the starry sky,<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The sleep that is among the lonely hills.</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+These words fell upon John's ears as music.  It was a
+spell upon him, something that took him into a realm of
+wonderful sounds and visions.  On that walk home, he
+plied the poet with questions, and Keats, Shelley, Browning
+and Byron became more than mere names.  He learned
+how they had lived, of Byron's picturesque, turbulent
+career; of Shelley's passion for reform; of Keats' struggle
+against disease and the burning ardour for the glory that
+was Greece.  And then Steer told him of living men who
+were writing.  "But don't meet them if you can help," he
+advised.  "You should never meet authors of the books
+you admire&mdash;they have conserved their best moments in
+a few pages, and they cannot live up to your expectations&mdash;and
+authors, too, are not the pleasantest of mankind.
+There is sufficient egotism in a room full of them to lift
+St. Paul's to the top of Everest."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But you're a poet yourself, Mr. Steer&mdash;and you're not
+at all objectionable!" said John laughingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps that's why I'm such a bad one," answered
+Steer.  They had now overtaken the others and Vernley,
+looking round, noticed John's excited manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Whatever's stirred you up, Scissors?" he asked.  "You
+look as if you'd found a gold mine!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mr. Steer's been telling me about the poets.  Oh,
+Verney, I'd no idea they were such a ripping set.  Have
+you got a Wordsworth at home?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;but you haven't come here to read that stuff&mdash;you'll
+have to read it when you get at your 'remove'&mdash;a
+horrible old man, always grousing about some 'divine,
+far-off event'&mdash;no, that's Tennyson.  How does it run?  I've
+got it&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>a sense sublime<br>
+  Of something far more deeply interfused,<br>
+  Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns<br>
+  And the round ocean and the living air&mdash;</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"That's beautiful, it's&mdash;" exclaimed John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I call it utter tosh.  Parse and analyse.  Subject;
+there isn't one, predicate; find it if you can;
+object&mdash;Good Lord, why don't these fellows write sense?
+Whoever saw a round ocean?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But that isn't what he meant&mdash;you mustn't take it
+pictorially."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bravo, John, you've got the sense of it," interjected
+Steer.  "Bobbie's attempted to analyse it,&mdash;that's fatal."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley stared at John curiously for a moment, amazed
+at his friend's enthusiasm, then&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are a rum beggar, Scissors; I believe you'd like
+to write stuff like that yourself."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps he will&mdash;alas," sighed Steer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why do you say 'alas'?" asked John.  "You're not at
+all sad, you're quite jolly and&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You can play tennis, sir," added Vernley in a
+consolatory voice.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the remainder of the day, John's head was full of
+poetry.  He had found a copy of Wordsworth in the
+library, and after lunch, when every one disappeared for a
+nap, he stole up to his bedroom, successfully evading
+Vernley, who, he knew, would cover him with derision if
+detected.  Fortunately Vernley had gone across to the
+vicarage with a message, and he was detained there with
+lemonade and mince pies for a whole hour.  In that time
+John read through "The Idle Shepherd Boys" and "Lucy
+Gray."  He then attempted "The Excursion" and found it
+altogether too much for him, save one jolly bit&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "<i>He loved; from a swarm of rosy boys<br>
+  Singled me out, as he in sport would say,<br>
+  For my grave looks, too thoughtful for my years,</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+which ministered to his egotism, and helped him to build
+up visions of long walks with Mr. Steer, in which he saw
+down into the soul of a poet.  He had given up "The
+Excursion" in despair, but later, turning over the pages, he
+recognised the lines Vernley had quoted.  Like an old
+friend they seemed.  He had just finished the "Lines
+composed about Tintern Abbey," when Vernley, or Bobbie as
+the household called him, burst in, searching for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors, I've been all over the house&mdash;what are you
+doing?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Reading."  John closed the book and half hid it
+behind him, but Vernley was too sharp and made a grab.
+One look, and the secret was out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors!  I've a good mind to scrag you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If you can&mdash;but isn't it ripping&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  <i>Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,<br>
+  And the round ocean and the living air&mdash;</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+&mdash;it's like eating caramels."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If you say it again, I will scrag you!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Whose dwelling is the light&mdash;</i>" began John provocatively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley leapt upon him and they went down together,
+John underneath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Say it again, Scissors!" cried Vernley, holding John's
+head firmly to the floor.  John wriggled and tried to shift
+the hand over his mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Whose dwelling is the&mdash;" he managed to get out before
+he was choked.  There was a wild scrimmage which
+ended with a great crash.  They had cannoned into the
+washstand, and the jug and basin lay in a thousand
+fragments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Golly!&mdash;what a mess!" commented Vernley from where
+he lay, surveying the ruins.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Will your mater be angry?" asked John nervously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;she's used to having things smashed&mdash;it's a family
+failing.  I've made a mess of your collar, you'll have
+to put a clean one on.  Old Crimp's coming to tea, I've
+just been to the vicarage.  He's a dreadful old bore&mdash;but
+he's got a ripping kid.  I can't think how he did it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Did what?" asked John naïvely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley looked a him for a moment, and then went scarlet.
+"Scissors," he said, taking his arm, "you are a bit
+of an angel&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Whose dwelling&mdash;</i>" began John derisively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shut up!&mdash;do you want to smash the looking
+glass next?  Get your collar on&mdash;there's the gong for
+tea."
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+Those days at "The Croft" went all too swiftly, and the
+morning came when the two boys lifted their trunks into
+the car and were whirled down the drive to the station.
+John left feeling that the end of life had come.  He had
+been among friends and had felt almost as if he had been
+to his own home&mdash;the kind of home of which he had
+dreamed.  Mrs. Vernley had mothered him, and John's
+secret pleasure at being petted had been expressed in many
+little acts of devotion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a lovable boy he is!" she said to her husband as
+she watched the car recede down the drive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, and sharp too.  They may well call him
+'Scissors'&mdash;that boy will cut his way through," replied
+Mr. Vernley.  "Where's Muriel?  I thought she was going
+to the station with them?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Vernley looked intently at her husband, but his
+face told her nothing.  Ten minutes before she had
+hurried a sobbing Muriel off to her bedroom, where she was
+now going to lecture her on the absurdity of falling in
+love at sixteen, but as she secretly sympathised with her
+daughter she did not say anything to her husband.  Upstairs
+in the bedroom she found Muriel with watery eyes,
+standing by the window, and screwing up a miniature
+handkerchief.  Mrs. Vernley looked at her and decided
+that further words would bring a deluge.  So she talked
+about everything but the thing in both their minds, and
+the only allusion to John's departure was when she said,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now, Muriel, wash your face.  Miss Lane will be here
+for the music lesson in a few minutes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was then that Muriel found courage to make her
+confession.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I gave him a photograph, Mother&mdash;I hope you don't
+mind?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, it's a little immodest for you to be presenting your
+photograph so freely."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He asked me for it, Mother."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh,&mdash;but really, you children are very absurd!  I
+shall dread Bobbie bringing friends home with him if it
+means you are going to have red eyes every time.  But
+there&mdash;you'll get over it," she said kindly, as she stooped
+and kissed her.  "Now come along, dear, I'm afraid you
+haven't done much practising for Miss Lane."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The subject was never alluded to again, but Mr. Vernley
+the following morning almost provoked another flood
+of tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You'll miss John, Muriel," he said genially at
+breakfast.  "No more morning gallops together&mdash;you looked
+quite a loving pair on horseback."  There was silence,
+then looking from Muriel to her mother, a glance told him
+everything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, bless me!&mdash;you don't mean to tell me&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Muriel had dropped her eggspoon in a desperate search
+for a handkerchief.  "My dear child!" cried Mr. Vernley,
+pinching her ear, "I'd no idea young Master Scissors had
+made such a conquest.  The young beggar, I'll teach him
+to upset my daughter."  He laughed good-heartedly, saw
+Muriel force a smile through her tears, and then diplomatically
+prevented further observation by spreading out the
+<i>Times</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+III
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two boys in the train were very silent.  Vernley
+immersed in a copy of "The Hill."  John sat staring out
+of the window.  But it was not the swiftly passing fields
+that engaged his attention, for at that moment he was
+exercising what Mr. Steer, in the explanation of Wordsworth's
+poem, had called "the inward eye, which is the bliss
+of solitude."  John's thoughts were not at all blissful.
+He was feeling quite blue.  The end of a glorious holiday
+had come, and having what another poet had called "the
+passion of the past," he was reluctantly taking stock of his
+memories.  He had found delightful friends.  There were
+Mr. and Mrs. Vernley; he could never feel quite lonely in
+England now.  They represented home for John, being
+people who could understand and sympathise.  There was
+Mr. Chadburn who had talked to him quite seriously.
+John had found a great friend in Mr. Steer.  They had
+had wonderful walks together, when John had been taken
+into a new world that awaited his discovery.  Steer had
+invited him to call at his house when he was in London.
+He wondered whether Mrs. Steer would be just as delightful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then his thoughts turned to Muriel.  She would be
+having her music lesson from Miss Lane now.  He had
+made her tell him all she was going to do that day.  After
+the music lesson she was going to visit the stables.  He
+saw her walking round the wing of the house, he saw her
+small hand press the catch on the wicket gate, and her
+short graceful steps as she crossed the cobbled stable-yard
+to the corner where the horses were stabled.  He knew
+exactly how she would lift the iron bar out of its socket,
+swing back the half-door, call "Bess!" and then stroke
+the white patch running from between the eyes down to the
+nose.  He could even smell the stable, with that delightful
+manure and horsey aroma.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could see the deftness with which she slipped the
+bridle over Bess's head, and the firm way in which she led
+her out of the stable, for she insisted on attending to
+Bess herself, and with a sharp movement she would be
+in the saddle at his side, level with and laughing into his
+face, and their horses would walk clattering across the
+cobbles, before breaking into a canter in the lane.  He knew
+every inch of that lane, just where the horses would
+gallop, and where they would walk.  He remembered the crest
+of the hill, with its pattern below of fields and
+farmhouses and stacks; with the dim blue clumps of leafless
+trees, and the barren telegraph poles, carrying the singing
+wires across the valley towards the railway siding.  Half
+a mile over that crest was the copse where the robin sang
+as he kissed her that wonderful morning when they had
+ridden ahead of the others.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now he was being carried away from all that
+happiness!  He was going back to bare noisy rooms, to a crowd
+of boys and worried masters.  Would such times as he
+had had ever come again?  His hand at that moment rested
+on something hard in his pocket.  It was Muriel's photograph
+which she had given him before breakfast.  He had
+looked at it hurriedly then, in its tissue cover.  Now he
+wanted to take it out and feast his eyes upon it.  He
+looked up; Vernley was chewing butterscotch and still
+immersed in his book.  He did not want the old lady sitting
+near to see him gazing at the photograph, so he got up
+and went into the adjoining lavatory.  There he bolted the
+door and pulled out the precious packet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Slipping the photograph from its paper cover, he saw
+it was a small cabinet in sepia by Neame, New Bond
+Street, of Muriel in her riding coat and cap.  As he pulled
+it out something dropped to the floor.  It was a small piece
+of tissue paper.  He was disappointed, for he thought it
+was a note.  Then seeing its shape, he knew it contained
+something, which, after unwrapping, proved to be a strand
+of hair.  John immediately kissed it with all the sentiment
+of fifteen.  He was about to wrap it up again, when
+he had an inspiration.  It was another pledge of love and
+should be placed with Ali's gift.  John pulled out the
+chain with its moonstone pendant, which he faithfully
+wore, and tied the strand of hair around the link.  Then,
+putting the photograph back into his pocket, he returned
+to the carriage.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+The platform was crowded when they arrived at Sedley
+and there was a fierce fight for seats in the brake.  John
+found himself separated from Vernley, but half an hour
+later, as he was going towards Mrs. Fletcher's room, he
+was caught by the arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, Scissors, what do you think?" asked Vernley
+excitedly.  "We've got a new study!  Maitland told me, and
+I didn't believe him, but it's on the list.  There's another
+fellow in with us&mdash;what a nuisance!  I don't know who he
+is."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's his name?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Marsh&mdash;Maitland says he's a new kid, tons of money
+and a motor bike.  He was at Eton and has come here for
+some reason.  It looks queer&mdash;we don't want Eton's cast-offs."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I beg your pardon," said a quiet voice.  The boys
+turned to find themselves surveyed by a calm young
+gentleman.  He smiled at them in a superior way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My name is Marsh&mdash;of whom you speak.  If my presence
+is offensive to your secluded domain, I'll remove
+myself."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pompous ass," thought John.  Vernley stared at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, we are friends y' see," said Vernley at last.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So I perceive," murmured the tall youth, looking at
+Vernley, who had his arm in John's.  There might have
+been something offensive in the fact, and the stranger
+impressed this upon them.  Vernley drew his arm away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you always <i>perceive</i> things?" asked John sarcastically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"When they are worth it," retorted Marsh.  "When I've
+finished unpacking, I'll speak to you again.  So long," and
+he turned and walked down the corridor, with deliberate
+dignity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well I'm snubbed," said Vernley.  "Does Fletcher
+think we'll put up with that piece of skin and grief!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He'll speak to us again!&mdash;when he has finished
+unpacking!  Bobbie, we are dismissed!" cried John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their next encounter with Marsh was more genial.
+They found him sitting in the new study.  When John and
+Vernley opened the door they stood on the threshold and
+gasped.  It was an amazing spectacle they beheld.  Two
+lounge chairs covered with chintz were placed on each side
+of the fireplace.  A blue cloth covered the table on which
+lay a shallow black bowl.  In the bowl was water on
+which floated, in careless design, a dozen narcissi dropped
+in by the hand of Marsh.  The window was draped in
+chintz and in the far recess was a magnificent bookcase.
+It towered up to the ceiling and was crammed with sumptuous
+books in highly-coloured leather bindings.  There
+were four pictures on the walls, of a mysterious nature;
+those sallow-faced maidens and thin-legged youths in red
+hose, John learned later, were from the hand of Botticelli.
+A lady with a curious smirk occupied the place of honour
+over the fireplace.  When John asked Marsh if it was his
+mother, the boy exclaimed sadly, "Alas, no!" and going to
+the bookshelf read from a volume a long analysis of the
+lady's smile written by a person called Pater in prose
+which, to John, seemed a long time getting to the
+point.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After the reading was finished and Marsh had pronounced
+it to be "luscious," he invited them to sit down, which was
+singular, since it was their study,&mdash;but he was a person
+who evidently took command.  Appreciating comfort, and
+a little proud of the envy their study would arouse in
+others, they settled down amicably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the end of the month, they were inseparable.  The
+trio became famous.  Vernley was the athlete, Marsh the
+scholar, and John&mdash;that amazing discovery was made by
+John almost by accident.  It filled his dreams for a whole
+term.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was in the school debating society that John made his
+great discovery.  Mr. Fletcher was in the chair.  The
+meeting was in the lecture theatre with its tiers of seats
+climbing up to the back windows, in one of which John sat
+listening.  There was a mock government in office, trying
+to introduce a bill for compulsory military training.  The
+debate was opened by the captain of the Officers' Training
+Corps, a man John disliked intensely, mainly because he
+had prominent teeth that were not prolonged on parallel
+lines.  John had attended three meetings of the society,
+but had not spoken.  The small boys sat silent in the
+presence of the sixth form gods.  John would not have spoken
+on this occasion except for an accident.  He was sitting
+on the window seat, jammed in between two other boys,
+who, in the course of an attack upon each other's head,
+ejected John from his position.  He fell with an amazing
+noise on the hollow boarding, and the Speaker, looking up,
+caught John's eye.  The boy had no intention of speaking
+but Mr. Fletcher evidently misconstrued his action, and
+very kindly paused to give John his opportunity.  So there
+was nothing else for him to do but to open his mouth.  He
+stammered for half a minute, uttered a witticism and
+provoked a laugh, which encouraged him to proceed to a
+superb piece of youthful cynicism.  The house gasped, but
+liked the sensation; the leader of the debate sat amazed
+at the junior's audacity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But John had tasted blood.  He felt the flattery of the
+attention he was commanding.  He grew bolder.  A few
+of Marsh's grandiloquent phrases came into his head, odd
+readings from those leather-bound books pointed his
+arguments gracefully, his ear for a choice phrase kept his
+listeners intent.  At the end of ten minutes John sat down
+abruptly.  There was a great silence.  He had made a fool
+of himself, he thought, and was blushing with shame when
+the tide of applause caught him.  It seemed to rock the
+theatre.  He was being applauded, the whole theatre was
+applauding him!  He was no longer a nonentity, but
+somebody!  It dazed him a little.  For the next half hour he
+heard his name mentioned in the debate.  When they all
+trooped out of the theatre, he was smiled at, and patted on
+the back.  The crowning moment came when Mr. Fletcher
+looked at him closely through his spectacles and said&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I hardly like to approve of your audacity, Dean, but I
+am pleased that my house has such an eloquent representative.
+I'm afraid the bitterness of your spirit suggests
+a misspent youth and the convictions of a Labour
+leader."  And with a good-natured smile, in which John detected
+whole-hearted approval, Fletcher passed on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A fortnight later, John was the leader of the Opposition.
+It was an unheard-of thing for a junior boy to sit on the
+front bench, but John had broken all traditions.  He was
+aided by Marsh who loved to be diplomatic.  Marsh
+carried on an insidious campaign against all who opposed
+John's nomination.  He held tea-parties at which he
+collected his forces.  He despatched his lieutenants to the
+fields, the five courts, the common room, the quadrangles,
+the armoury and the tuck shop.  Vernley brought round
+the athletic vote&mdash;"the blockhead squirearchy," Marsh
+called it, and the fifth and sixth form 'bloods' were bribed
+by the thoughtful loan of French novels.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors," announced March on the momentous day of
+the election, "you should be eternally grateful to the
+French scribes.  Anatole France, Flaubert, Maupassant and
+Daudet&mdash;these have won the day.  Thanks to the
+lasciviousness of Madame Bovary and the voluptuousness of
+Sappho, the full-blooded gods of Upper School will nod in
+your favour.  I have seduced them with questionable
+literature.  I have undermined their morals and pandered to
+their secret viciousness.  In grateful recollection of the
+delicious nights I have given them, they are your henchmen
+to-day.  I have suffered in the cause.  This morning,
+the Censor, in the heavy shape of Fletcher, produced his
+warrant and searched my shelves.  His disgusting taste
+has been satiated.  Look&mdash;'A Rebours,' 'Thaïs' and
+'Sappho' have been abducted.  Those bleeding gaps are the
+memorials of my enthusiasm in the cause.  In your hours
+of triumph, O Scissors, forget not the hand that raised you
+to your dizzy eminence.  Let me whisper in your ear, and
+remind you, as the Cæsars of old, of the fickleness of Fate."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shut up, you ass," exclaimed Vernley.  "Scissors'll
+romp in.  I've exhausted the bank in buns and lemonade,
+and have given away enough cigarettes to smoke the enemy
+out."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We shall probably be unseated for corruption," said
+John.  "Your support, Marsh, is a questionable advantage."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's the kind of rotten remark one expects from a
+politician.  You've a great political career in front of you,
+Scissors&mdash;you have the necessary lack of gratitude and
+want of principle.  Et tu, Brute!  O shades of the
+departed!  Bovary, Thaïs and Sappho, behold the ingratitude
+of this friend who wades to glory over your dead bodies!
+Scissors, the first day you're in power you've got to abolish
+the censorship.  There shall be no peace in your Parliament
+until I can read Wilde and Baudelaire in bed,
+without interruption or confiscation."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+IV
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As anticipated, Scissors headed the poll, and henceforth
+he was leader of the Opposition.  The result was a high
+political fever.  Immediately after breakfast each
+morning, he rushed round to the library and read through the
+newspapers.  At first he modelled himself upon Winston
+Churchill, to whom he was supposed to have some facial
+likeness, but he found he had not the cool self-assumption
+of his prototype.  He found himself more akin to Lloyd
+George, that Welsh lawyer whose name was as blasphemy
+to some and holy song to others.  The role suited John.
+He was a born iconoclast.  He had the Welshman's gift of
+stinging epithet, and he surprised himself with the veneer
+of venom that added lustre to his sentences.  He learnt
+from his prototype the art of swift descent from Parnassus
+to Limehouse; he punctuated his periods with cheers
+provoked from the blubber-headed section of his audience; he
+knew the pathetic touch, the 'lump-in-the-throat' moment,
+as he called it, and he used them until his opponents were
+powerless to stem the avalanche of his invective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this alarmed Mr. Fletcher.  He saw his house
+becoming socialistic.  The authority of the prefects was
+becoming undermined, the junior boys no longer feared the
+Upper Remove.  They frankly stated their dislikes.  In
+one debate they declared their hatred of compulsory cricket
+with such vehemence that he had to move the closure,
+whereupon John attacked him as a champion of tyranny,
+the feeble upholder of bloated tradition.  This so alarmed
+Fletcher that he had a private interview with John, who
+suggested very skilfully that his overture was a form of
+corruption.  The fact was that John was getting a swollen
+head.  Marsh, whose hornet-like nature delighted in
+the stinging of authority, encouraged John in his most
+daring attacks.  Vernley, lost in admiration at John's
+brilliance, worshipped silently and approved without question.
+The other boys followed in John's path, hardly realising
+the power of his leadership.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The awakening came rapidly from an unseen quarter.
+It fell like a thundercloud over the sunshine of John's
+triumph, and he resented his defeat all the more because
+it was the hand of a friend who brought him low, and his
+fall had no dignity.  It was not intellectual.  He would
+have borne that.  It was physical, and he felt sick with
+shame.  Inwardly he was conscious that he had provoked
+disaster, and most of his anger fell upon himself for being
+such a fool and not realising the need of tact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It happened one Wednesday half, towards the end of
+term.  Lindon was the instrument of Fate.  John was
+fagging that day and had been told to lay tea at four in
+Lindon's study.  He had always been allowed great liberty
+by his fagmaster and he took his own time to perform his
+duties.  John did not worry, therefore, when four o'clock
+struck as he finished a game in the fives' courts.  He
+leisurely walked across to the bathroom, stripped and sat on
+the side of the bath, whistling while the water ran in.  As
+he waited for the bath to fill, Marsh appeared through the
+steam.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"London's been calling like blazes for you.  He said he
+told you to lay tea at four."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let him call," said John, turning on the cold tap and
+hiding himself in steam.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You'd better hurry up, Scissors&mdash;he's quite scrubby."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John merely yelled as he plunged his leg into the hot
+water.  He had just nicely soaped himself from head to
+foot, and was working up a white lather on his head, when
+he heard his name called, and looking up saw London.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I asked you for tea at four," he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John's face was covered with white soap, but he smiled
+sweetly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know, I'm coming when I've finished here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Indeed!&mdash;get out!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, Lindon, do be reasonable!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I have been&mdash;too much so.  Are you going to get out?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No!" answered John, sullenly, rubbing his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Very well!"  A moment later the door slammed.  John
+lay back in the bath.  He had won.  The warm water
+made him feel very comfortable.  He wondered if Lindon
+felt sick.  While he was contemplating, Lindon
+reappeared.  He had a switch in his hand.  The business
+took on a serious aspect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you coming out?" he asked severely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John pouted.  "No!" he said obstinately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lindon immediately pulled out the plug and turned on
+the cold water tap.  John sat still, getting colder every
+second.  Soon he was shivering.  At last he had to stand
+up, and the moment he did so, Lindon's switch whistled
+through the air and left a red weal across John's thigh.
+Involuntarily he yelled, then blazing with shame and anger,
+he picked up the wet sponge and flung it full in Lindon's
+face.  The squelch ruined the prefect's neat collar and tie,
+but Lindon only looked cooler, which frightened John.
+The next moment he was lifted bodily out of the bath,
+and before he recovered from his amazement at Lindon's
+strength, he was pinned head downwards over the drying
+rack and being thrashed like a puppy.  He screamed at
+the top of his voice, not in pain but in anger.  When he
+was released, he saw three boys waiting in the doorway with
+towels.  They had seen all, and overcome with wounded
+vanity and misery, John fell in a heap on the floor and
+cried.  He lay there, moaning, and Lindon as he watched
+him, relented.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors," he said kindly, bending down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John looked at the face, and hated its strength.  Madly,
+he struck Lindon full in the face with all his might.  The
+boys in the door stood breathless at this act, watching.  The
+elder boy was the most amazed of all.  For a moment he
+stared at John, with an angry red mark under his right
+eye.  Suddenly turning, he strode out of the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Utterly miserable and smarting, John dressed himself.
+He had acted like a little cad and Lindon would be quite
+just in refusing to accept his apology.  He was miserable,
+not because he feared the consequences of this act, serious as
+they were, but he had lowered himself in the eyes of one
+whom he admired.  Nothing could hurt him so much as
+that Lindon should hold him in contempt.  He hurried
+along to the study, tapped and entered.  Lindon sat in
+a wicker chair with his back to John, talking to three
+other fellows.  They had finished tea.  John hesitated,
+he had expected to find him alone, and his courage failed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I came to lay tea," he said feebly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We've had it," replied Lindon without turning his head.
+John paused awkwardly; there seemed no more to say
+so he went out of the room quietly.  All the evening he
+hung about miserably.  Marsh tried to cheer him up with
+witticisms about his being honoured with the disorder of
+the bath.  Vernley quite bluntly told him that he had acted
+like a cad, which John knew very well.  So he quarrelled
+with them both, and was glad when it was bed time.  But
+in bed he could not sleep.  He longed for the morning and
+the opportunity of apologising.  Finally he buried his
+head under the sheets, and in sheer wretchedness cried
+himself to sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning, immediately after prayers, he went
+round to Lindon's study.  There was no one there, so he
+sat down and waited.  After ten minutes, as the bell rang
+for morning school, Staveley looked in for a book he had
+lent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hullo!" he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you know where Lindon is?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;in the 'San.'  He won't be here again I expect
+this term.  He's suspect&mdash;chicken pox.  Seven of Field
+House are down.  You'd better cut, that's second bell."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the end of term came, a fortnight later, Lindon
+had not reappeared.  John went across to the Sanitorium
+and learned that he was convalescent, but could not be
+seen.  Yet he knew Staveley had visited him.  It was
+obvious he did not wish to see John.  So ended a wretched
+term.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0205"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER V
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+John had been invited to spend the first half of his
+Easter holidays at Marsh's.  The second half was
+to be taken with the Vernleys.  John wondered
+whether his acceptance of Marsh's invitation would hurt
+Vernley, but Marsh included Bobbie in the invitation.
+Vernley, however, was unable to accept; he was spending
+part of his time with an aunt in the north of Scotland.
+So they parted at Sedley Station, and two hours later
+John was being driven in from Loughboro towards Marsh's
+home.  The gardener with a trap had met the boys at
+the station and they had about an hour's drive before
+they turned off the main road which intersected the village
+of Renstone.  On the right was the Vicarage, standing
+back from the little street; on the left, across the road,
+stood the church, with its square tower, and near by, the
+Hall.  Marsh's father was the Vicar of Renstone and
+Marsh had been born in the Vicarage.  As the trap turned
+off the street, they entered through two wide gates
+which completely shut off the Vicarage from the village.
+Inside the gates there was a small courtyard, in the centre
+of which stood a great holly bush.  The yard was closed
+in by the back of the house and in the middle was the
+main entrance porch with a wing of the domestic building.
+When John entered the porch and the door opened, he
+gave a cry of delight.  He looked right through a small
+hall on the opposite side where wide low windows with
+small leaded panes overlooked two long lawns.  A gravel
+path led down the centre to a line of magnificent elms that
+bordered the far edge of the garden, and through the elms
+John caught a vista of the country with the white main
+road, along which they had come, stretching away to the
+horizon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John's admiration of the Vicarage was cut short by the
+entrance of a lady.  She wore a large straw hat, and a
+pair of washleather gloves.  In her hand was a basket full
+of clippings.  She placed the basket on the settee and
+coming forward kissed Marsh, then turning to the boy standing
+shyly in the shadow of the door, said,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This is John&mdash;of whom I have heard so much?  How
+d'you do?  We are so glad to see you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After his momentary shyness, John found himself looking
+into the face of a fair little woman with kind eyes.  She
+also examined John closely, noticed the shy flush on his
+face, the darkness of his eyes and the slim grace of his
+regular features and carriage.  They immediately liked one
+another.  John was at home again.  She was one of those
+women who are mothers to whatever humanity seeks their
+love.  So John looked long at her and knew that he had
+found a friend.  He contrasted her with Mrs. Vernley,
+whom he also liked.  But Mrs. Vernley was a woman of
+the world, determined, a lover of fashion.  Mrs. Marsh was
+quite of a different order.  John felt she was one who
+would understand sympathetically when others would
+judge harshly.  She was the kind of woman to whom he
+would rather come if he had a confession to make.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He noticed how very frail she was, almost like a saint
+who had fasted.  Her white hair, loosely fastened, seemed
+as a halo while she stood there in the dim hall with the
+sunlight behind rimming her head with light.  Her hand
+was so thin that John could feel all the bones in it and
+her flesh was almost transparent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile Marsh had superintended their boxes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come up to our room, Scissors!" he cried, and John
+followed him up an old oak staircase, along a narrow corridor
+that ran the whole length of the house, overlooking the
+courtyard on one side.  Their room was at the end, and
+the beauty of it made John's heart leap up.  It had two
+low casement windows, bordered with creeper drooping to
+the lawns below.  Their two beds faced the windows; the
+dressing table, mantelpiece and writing desk were
+decorated with fresh bunches of violets.  The perfume
+pervaded the room and mingled with the delightful smell of
+clean linen, which John had come to distinguish as a
+'country house smell.'
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a jolly room!" cried John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marsh seemed pleased at his approbation.  "Not a bit
+like a parson's hole, is it?" he commented.  "This room is
+modern&mdash;that's a copy of a Cezanne; that's a real Pizarro&mdash;you
+won't find on these walls any woolly legend 'God is
+Love,' or a dead aunt's knitting in five colours&mdash;'Blessed
+are the meek.'  I ejected all those long ago."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But what does your governor say?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nothing&mdash;he merely smiles.  I am the cuckoo's egg in
+the family nest."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John was a little shocked.  He felt uneasy when Marsh
+talked in this strain.  It was not that Marsh wanted to
+shock, but John was in an alien country, which his friend
+evidently knew well.  Every day John was discovering some
+thing new about himself until his mind was in a condition
+of fear.  Marsh was so splendidly cool about everything.
+When John asked him questions, he showed no surprise, or
+superiority, but explained and amplified from familiarity
+with his theme.  Marsh dismissed certain things as
+"rotten," others he characterised as "smuggy."  John always
+had a feeling that Marsh knew much more than he said.
+His knowledge of books, for instance, was extraordinary.
+John was discovering new books every day of his life,
+but he no sooner announced a fresh treasure than Marsh
+knew all about it, had read it long ago and could supplement
+the knowledge with personal information concerning
+the author and other books he had written.  He was at
+home in French literature or English, which John
+accounted for later when he found that Mrs. Marsh had
+spent her youth in a French convent school.  This discovery
+was made at tea-time in the study, a delightfully cosy
+room full of books and loose papers, and magazines, with
+big chairs in which you sank low and all the cushions
+gradually deflated as though the breath had been crushed
+out of them.  Marsh talked to his mother in French,
+greatly to John's admiration.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You mustn't mind Teddie talking French to me," said
+Mrs. Marsh, as she handed him a tea cup.  "He thinks it
+is such a treat for me, as indeed it is, and Teddie is greatly
+afraid that I might forget how to speak French."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wish I could follow it all, Mrs. Marsh&mdash;you speak
+French so frenchily," said John, munching toast.  He
+loved her already; there was something so comfortable
+about her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, you see I was sent to a French school when quite
+a little girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Jolly good thing for me, Mater, wasn't it?" cried
+Marsh, linking his arm through his mother's.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, dear?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"'Cause I shouldn't have been here if you hadn't fallen
+in love with a red-haired young curate on a walking tour
+through Provence!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Marsh laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You naughty boy&mdash;what would your father say if he
+knew you called him a red-haired curate&mdash;his hair was
+golden then."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's the usual story&mdash;if a man has red hair they say
+it's golden; if a girl, they call it auburn."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My mother had au-red hair," said John flushing.  Mrs. Marsh
+looked quickly at the boy at her side, mingling her
+love with admiration of his courage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sorry, Scissors&mdash;but it can't have been red, for you
+haven't a freckle.  He's jolly good-looking, isn't he,
+Mother?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John coloured; further confusion was checked by the
+abrupt opening of the door.  A clerical collar told him
+that it was Mr. Marsh.  After the formal introduction
+John was able to study the Reverend George Marsh while
+the latter questioned his son.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was a tall man of striking appearance.  His hair,
+although almost white, was thick, and a great wave of it
+lay over his brow.  He had a tanned healthy face and
+laughing eyes.  A smile was never long absent from his
+face, which was handsome in a broad-featured way.  John
+noticed how large and strong were his hands.  He had
+been a great cricketer in his day, and the athlete still
+lingered in his frame.  He would have been recognised
+as an English country gentleman in any community,
+and his geniality was blended with an exquisite courtesy.
+Of the parson there was not a trace, and when afterwards
+he appeared without a clerical collar, there was no
+indication whatever that he was anything but a
+full-blooded English gentleman fond of his horse and his
+pipe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was at least ten years older than his wife, whom he
+called the "Skipper," greatly surprising and afterwards
+amusing John.  He evidently troubled himself about nothing.
+If Marsh wanted anything, he was always told by
+the Vicar, "Ask the Skipper," or "Does the Skipper know?"  On
+Saturday afternoon there was what Marsh assured
+John was the weekly tragi-comedy.  He confessed he had
+not composed his sermon for the following day, and, like a
+penitent boy, was locked in his study with the threat that
+he should have no dinner until the sermon was completed.
+He must have been either a man of quick inspiration or
+short patience, for half an hour later as John walked by
+the study window he saw the vicar, pipe in mouth, stretched
+in his wicker chair, reading the <i>Nation</i> which he waved
+joyously at John as though to say, "See!  I defy the Skipper!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Later, John discovered that the Vicar was a rebel at
+heart.  He read the <i>Nation</i> religiously, and had an intense
+enthusiasm for the Chancellor of the Exchequer, who was
+saying rude things about persons who kept pheasants,
+greatly to the vicar's delight, who knew how angry it
+would make the new tenant of Renstone Hall, who
+stood for King, the Conservative party, a covert full
+of pheasants and a house full of servants.  Teddie, partly
+from perversity, and partly because he felt the lordship of
+youth, was a conservative, like his mother, and they had
+fierce arguments, in which the Vicar bravely kept his flag
+flying, despite assaults on either flank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John's sympathies were with the Vicar.  The Chancellor
+had the gift of phrase and epithet which he admired,
+and had also excelled in.  He supported him therefore
+because that politician's brilliance delighted him.  The
+Vicar was delighted.  He ragged Teddie unmercifully,
+and commented gaily on the pleasure he derived from
+seeing that the new race at Sedley was enlightened, a
+playful thrust at his son's assumption of seniority in his
+attitude towards John in political discussions.  John loved
+those tea-times when argument grew merry.  It was all so
+good-humoured, the Vicar bantering his son and wife with
+great joy, they in their turn exposing his "democracy" by
+stories of a "brother" of the soil who had imposed upon
+him again and again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John loved these debates.  He felt he was one of the
+family, and after the bleakness of schooldays this comfort
+and intimacy were something to be treasured.  His
+admiration of Mrs. Marsh grew daily.  She was so clever that
+John no longer wondered at Teddie's amazing ability in
+all things.  She could paint well, and had read deeply
+and widely; was an authority on Bartolozzi engravings
+and made beautiful jewellery as a hobby.  In the evenings
+after dinner, they always had an hour's music in the
+drawing-room&mdash;an unique apartment decorated in black and
+white, with silver fittings and massive candelabra, holding
+twenty candles&mdash;"with enough dripping to make saute
+potatoes," commented Teddie.  The corner of the drawing
+room was filled by a superbly-toned Beckstein grand, which
+Mrs. Marsh played with consummate skill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had studied at Vienna under Leschetiscky and her
+interpretation of Liszt and Brahms held John spellbound.
+Her rendering was quite unlike Lindon's.  He played <i>con
+fuoco</i>.  She caressed the piano so that it sang as though
+its heart was filled with grief.  When she played Debussy
+and Ravel, it was as though the wind were making the
+aspens shake and glimmer in the sunlight.  There was a
+series of delicate currents of sound which followed one
+another like the reflections of rippling water on the sides
+of a boat, and one floated down the stream with all the
+senses quiescent yet acute.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the music ended and it was time for bed, for they
+retired early, there was the ceremony of blowing out the
+candles.  Mrs. Marsh, Teddie and John joined hands round
+the candelabra and a fierce competition ensued.  In the
+small hall they parted.  The Vicar went off to his study,
+where he sat reading until one or two in the morning.  His
+lamp threw a long strip of light across the lawn long after
+the boys had fallen asleep.  On the first night,
+after Mrs. Marsh had kissed her son on the brow and said
+"Good night," she turned and half held out her hand to
+John, then with one of those sudden impulses, which
+endeared her to him, she asked,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wonder if my new boy is too big?" and smiling, she
+pressed John's head towards her and kissed him on the
+brow, then turned and went upstairs.  John stood still for
+half a minute.  He hoped the light was too dim for his
+friend to see, for his eyes were blurred.  It was silly
+to be so frightfully sensitive, but kindness like this
+always upset him.  It increased his sense of loneliness and
+loss and yet it made him happier.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Upstairs in their bedroom, John threw open a window
+and leaned out into the night.  The air was warm,
+and a full moon hung low over the elm trees at the
+bottom of the garden, throwing their long shadows across the
+lawns.  The distant woods, black and distinct, were
+silhouetted on the hills; there was a great silence over
+everything.  The moon would look just like that peering over
+the gorge at Amasia.  He wondered what his father was
+doing at that moment, and whether he knew how happy
+he was.  Probably he was smoking his last cigarette on
+the verandah, watching the stream as it ran and flashed
+along its stony bed; perhaps the night was not silent like
+this, but full of the droning of the <i>saz</i>.  And Ali?&mdash;he
+would be fast asleep, tired after a long day in the sun.
+Dear old Ali, how he longed to have him with him, to show
+him this wonderful English house, and have him hear
+Teddie talk&mdash;how he would stare at Teddie!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, Scissors, how long are you going to hang out of
+that window?"  It was Marsh, tooth-brush in hand,
+already in his pyjamas.  "I'll bet I know your thoughts."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You don't."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I do&mdash;you're thinking about another place the moon
+hangs over and what everybody's doing there."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How did you know?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marsh laughed delightedly at the confirmation of his
+guess.  "Easy&mdash;when you turned just now you'd got the
+East in your eyes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The East&mdash;what do you mean?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, you look a bit Eastern at times.  I thought so the
+first time I saw you, but you looked very much so just
+now, just as I imagine Lindon saw you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Lindon&mdash;" John gulped at the name&mdash;"saw me?
+What did he tell you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, he was telling us one day how you fainted when
+he played the <i>Drum Polonaise</i>&mdash;and how queer you looked
+at him just before you went.  By the way, I don't think
+I ever told you Lindon lives near here."
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+The days slipped by at the Vicarage.  Indeed, there was
+so little to do and yet they were so industriously idle that
+the day was over before all that was planned had been
+accomplished.  John had been at the Vicarage just a week,
+when, one sunshiny Saturday morning, the trap came
+round to the door, with its well-groomed pony and shining
+harness, at which Marsh had laboured for an hour the
+previous evening with a bottle of polish&mdash;and the promise of
+half a crown.  Mrs. Marsh and John and Teddie got in,
+the latter taking the reins, and they clattered merrily out
+of the courtyard, down the village street, where the little
+boys gaped, and the women in the doors curtseyed, out
+on to the highway stretching away beneath an avenue of
+over-reaching elms.  They were bound for the market
+town of Loughboro, on a shopping expedition.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's nothing worth buying there," said Marsh,
+"which is the reason for the Mater's regular visit.  She
+drags me round in the trap while she looks in every
+window.  There's nothing to see and less to do."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's the Theatre, dear."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a show!  'East Lynne' by the celebrated London
+company or 'The Girl at the Cross Roads' preceded by the
+one act comedy, 'Sarah in the Soup.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You should not run the place down&mdash;you will spoil
+John's anticipations."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They passed a couple of ragged men, bronzed and
+unshaven, who stood still while the trap passed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's the ideal life," exclaimed Marsh, flicking the
+pony.  "Nothing to do and no desire to do it.  They
+remind me of Davies' lines&mdash;he was a tramp too&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  <i>What is this life if full of care<br>
+  We have no time to stand and stare?</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+This road's punctuated with these leisured gentlemen&mdash;that's
+another attraction of Loughboro&mdash;there's a fine
+workhouse.  The Governor goes to preach there once a
+month, and always comes away regretting he's not an
+inmate&mdash;it fits in with his idea of the democratic communal
+life.  But he always drinks sherry when he gets home&mdash;to
+kill the taste I suppose."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were now signs of the approaching town.  Cottages
+became more frequent, and then villas, pathetically
+attempting to keep on good relations with the country by
+burdening their windows with flower boxes and their
+square little front gardens with shrubs.  Two gasometers
+loomed up in the distance, long monotonous buildings with
+tall chimneys suggesting some kind of industry.  Then
+with a turn, they were trotting down the streets of the town
+itself.  They pulled up under the Town Hall clock which
+projected itself over a market place greatly animated with
+booths and wandering groups of buyers, gossipers and
+gapers.  Mrs. Marsh disappeared in a chemist's shop,
+where she exchanged her library books, and presently she
+emerged laden with three novels, the <i>English Review</i>, the
+<i>Nineteenth Century</i> and <i>The Tatler</i>.  These were deposited
+in the trap, whereupon she walked on again and disappeared
+in a dairy shop.  Marsh flicked the pony and the
+trap jogged on, halting again outside the shop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This is how we progress on a shopping expedition.  I
+follow the mater all round the market place while everybody
+comes to the shop doors, stares at me, asks, 'Do you
+know who that is?' until a wiseacre says, 'That's the
+parson's son&mdash;him what preaches at the workhouse.'  Last
+summer I came down here in shorts and socks and the
+sight paralysed the market place; they had never seen so
+much male leg before.  I shall bring my 'topper' home
+next term.  It'll have a raging success."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For three quarters of an hour they slowly worked round
+the sides of the market place, while the trap got fuller
+and fuller and Mrs. Marsh redder and redder.  John was
+busy carrying parcels from the shop to the trap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank heaven a market square has only four sides!"
+cried Marsh, as John deposited a two gallon jar of cider
+in the well of the trap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's more to follow!" cried Scissors, darting back
+to the shop.  He emerged a few minutes later, his arms
+full of small parcels with Mrs. Marsh following behind.
+He was so intent upon balancing his precariously held
+pile that he did not notice a youth and a girl who stood
+aside to let them pass, but as he turned to hand the things
+to Marsh he caught a glimpse and his heart gave a great
+thump as he coloured in confusion.  Marsh noticed
+John's sudden uneasiness and turned in his seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Lindon!" he cried.  "What luck&mdash;how are you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Lindon&mdash;cool, immaculate.  He raised his
+to Mrs. Marsh, with the alert manner that distinguished
+him.  The girl at his side was obviously his sister.  She
+had the same straight nose and keen eyes.  Her fresh
+beauty made John stare at her.  All that fascinated
+him in Lindon was there with the added grace of girlhood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good morning, Mr. Lindon&mdash;good morning, Miss Lindon.
+You are shopping too, I suppose," said Mrs. Marsh
+genially; then noticing John nervously drawing
+back&mdash;"You know John, I think?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Rather," interrupted Marsh.  "John's his fag."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lindon laughed.  "I'm afraid he knows me only too
+well."  He turned to his sister.  "This is Scissors&mdash;John
+Dean, Mabel."  John raised his cap and took the
+proffered hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How d'you do," she asked, "I've heard so much of you
+from Henry."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Lindon had spoken of him!&mdash;he had called him
+Scissors!  A hundred thoughts raced through John's head.
+Had he forgiven&mdash;or was this mere politeness?  He had
+talked about him to his sister, but perhaps that was before
+this miserable affair happened.  He must speak to Lindon
+somehow before they parted, and say how sorry he was.
+The eye, he was relieved to see, showed no signs of his
+attack.  In his imagination he had come to think of it as
+quite closed up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mabel Lindon looked at the boy who stood so silent
+before her.  Possibly he was tongued-tied, certainly he was
+flushed, or was it his colour?  He was very attractive,
+she thought, and his embarrassment flattered her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Will you not come over to see us?" she asked him.
+John was in a dilemma.  Lindon was busily talking to
+Marsh and his mother, he had not heard the invitation.
+John waited, hoping he would hear and re-inforce it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm leaving here on Tuesday&mdash;so I'm sorry I shall be
+unable, thank you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, that is a pity, for we are leaving next month, we
+are going to live in Worcestershire, and it is a shame, for
+we have such a wonderful garden and pond&mdash;you would
+love it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sure I should."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were saying good-bye now.  He shook hands with
+Miss Lindon.  Mrs. Marsh had got into the trap.  John
+was about to follow, when Lindon spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Having a good time, Scissors?" he asked, in a friendly
+voice.  John stammered with joy and relief.  It was <i>Pax</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Awfully, thanks Lindon," he muttered.  The reins had
+been jerked, the trap began to move.  Miss Lindon walked
+on.  Lindon raised his cap.  "Good-bye!" he called to
+them.  It was now or never.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Please Lindon&mdash;I&mdash;I'm awfully sorry I was such a cad
+to you&mdash;and will you forgive me?  I&mdash;I&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's all right, Scissors," said Lindon, shaking John's
+hand.  "I like fire in a kid.  Are you coming over to see
+us?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sorry I can't&mdash;-I go on Tuesday&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;you must come to stay next hols.  Good-bye!"
+and with a smile he was gone.  All John's hero worship
+swelled up within him.  How splendidly Lindon had
+dismissed the beastly affair!  John hurried after the trap
+and clambered in.  Marsh smiled at him with perfect
+understanding, and John felt how good was life.  All the
+way back to the Vicarage his heart was singing within
+him.  At the Vicarage door, as he carried in the parcels,
+he could not help whistling.  Marsh took his arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That storm over?" he asked, sympathetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John could not answer, but he nodded.  They walked
+into the house.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0206"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER VI
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The following Tuesday John said good-bye to the
+Marshs and left for "The Croft" to spend the
+remainder of his Easter holidays with the Vernleys.
+Mrs. Marsh and Teddie drove him to the station, and, as
+the train left and he leaned out of the window to wave
+farewell, he knew that once more he had found true friends
+and a house where his return would be welcome.  At dusk
+he had arrived in the village station nearest to "The
+Croft," where he found Bobbie and his brother Tod
+waiting for him on the platform.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hello, Scissors!" shouted Tod, as the train drew in,
+"We've a surprise for you.  Where's the luggage&mdash;give me
+that, I'll carry it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How's the great Marsh?" asked Vernley.  "As
+supercilious as ever?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;in great form, he sends his love and recommends
+Mother Wingate's syrup for fatuous persons," answered
+John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Cheek!" retorted Vernley, "and by Jove&mdash;don't you
+think I'm getting thin&mdash;Tod's had me out on the under
+track every morning at six.  I'm going to pull off the
+'half' and mile race next term."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John looked at him critically, and although Vernley
+was as delightfully substantial as ever, he had not the heart
+to disappoint him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He's wasting away like our Narcissus," said Tod,
+banging his way through the narrow booking hall.  "Look, my
+son, isn't she a beauty!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pointed to a racing car drawn up outside the station.
+John noticed its long rectangular bonnet, the beautiful
+gleam and hidden strength of the thing, admiration
+showing in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's mine!&mdash;the Governor's twenty-first birthday
+present!  She was first in the trials at Brooklands last
+week," said Tod, dropping the bag in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We're going on a tour next hols&mdash;all round this giddy
+old island," cried Vernley.  "There'll be a fringe of dead
+dogs and defunct old ladies around these shores, that never
+did and never will stand under the foot of the&mdash;how's the
+thing go?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"&mdash;proud conqueror," added John.  "She is a lovely
+thing&mdash;what's her name?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Haven't decided yet.  I've voted for the 'Silver
+Slayer.'  Tod suggests 'The Gleam.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Governor says '[OE]dipus Rex' would be more
+appropriate," added Tod, his brown hands on the steering
+wheel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Because of the murders at the cross roads that'll be
+committed.  Ready?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a preparatory purr of the engine, then a
+delightful roaring hum, and they glided forwards,
+imperceptibly gathering speed.  The chill wind whipped John's
+face.  He looked joyously at Vernley seated beside him
+and noted the disdainful pose of lordship.  Vernley's
+utter contempt for a display of feeling always amused John.
+The villages tore by, fowls screeched, and flew with
+fluttered feathers into the hedge bottoms; they roared up the
+hills and ran silently down into the valleys.  Half an
+hour later they had turned in at the familiar drive and,
+pulled up at the stone porch.  Inside the hall Mrs. Vernley
+came to meet John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Here you are at last&mdash;we are so glad to see you, John."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you&mdash;it's good to be here, Mrs. Vernley."  The
+dogs, as if welcoming an old friend, bounded forwards.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Down, Tiger&mdash;down, Ruff&mdash;down, sir!" yelled Vernley,
+and they cowered and wagged their tails, beating a tattoo
+on the parquet floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the library, gleaming with a rosy fire, its light shining
+on the silver tea service, John found Mr. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hullo, my boy! well, how are you?  I hear we've found
+a great orator at last!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John smiled, then halted as he saw some one standing at
+Mr. Vernley's side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ribble," said Vernley turning to him, "this is our
+rising hope."  Then to John, "This is Mr. Ribble&mdash;you'll be
+great friends I'm sure, though I don't know which side of
+him you'll like the better.  Mr. Ribble has written some
+very clever books, and he's in the Cabinet, so that
+politicians say he's a good author and a bad politician, and
+authors say he's a good politician and a bad author."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And my wife says I should have been a nonconformist
+divine.  How d'you do, John; we must hear some
+of these famous flights of oratory."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He's the real stuff, sir," said Vernley
+enthusiastically.&mdash;"Doesn't half work 'em, makes
+the 'gods' boil over!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This empire, this realm upon which the sun has never
+looked&mdash;no, that's not it, sir&mdash;I'm no orator," said Tod.
+"Let's have tea, Mother.  By Jove, Governor, you should
+have heard her sing up Carshott Hill&mdash;did it on top, lots
+in hand.  When she's tuned up she'll take a houseside."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Lord!  You've done nothing but tune up since you
+had her," cried Bobbie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now boys, sit down, tea's ready," said Mrs. Vernley,
+pouring out.  John hoped every moment that Muriel
+would come in.  He was disappointed when she was not
+in the hall to meet him, and his heart sank when he did
+not find her in the library.  Perhaps she had gone out for
+a walk.  He did not want to ask, for Vernley might think
+he had come simply to see her.  It was not so, of course.
+He was glad to be with Vernley again, but he could not
+help looking forward to seeing Muriel, of whom he had
+been thinking through all those weeks at school.  The talk
+at the tea-table was chiefly political.  Mr. Vernley was
+discussing a coming election with Ribble, whom John
+thought was the most picturesque old man he had ever
+seen.  He had long curly white hair, his eyes were
+surrounded by good-humoured wrinkles, and he beamed
+through his spectacles.  The mouth was thin and
+compressed and had a ghost of a smile always hovering about
+it John wondered where he had seen such a face before,
+and then suddenly remembered a portrait of Thackeray
+in Mr. Fletcher's study.  There was a slight
+resemblance, and Mr. Ribble's character seemed to John to
+be somewhat Thackerayish, for John was now half through
+"The Newcomes," after a delighted discovery of
+"Pendennis" and "Henry Esmond."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Steer has just published a fine book," Mr. Ribble was
+saying.  "I think that little poem on Muriel is masterly."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John was alert immediately, and Vernley, eating cake
+and drinking tea at the same moment, contrary to all laws,
+noticed John's interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"When's Muriel coming home, Mother?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I read you her letter this morning&mdash;to-morrow.  You'll
+have to drive the trap to the station to meet her in the
+afternoon."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why can't we motor?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm going to Brooklands in the morning," said Tod,
+"and I'm taking Brown&mdash;so you'll have to drive the
+buggy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, bother&mdash;I hate the old thing!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But John would have ridden to Paradise in it if such
+a passenger as Muriel had awaited him.  To-morrow!  He
+looked at Vernley, and it occurred to him that his question
+had been what Mr. Fletcher, in debates, had called a
+leading one.  Vernley had never shown much interest in
+John's affair, but he was not so unobservant as the latter
+thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the boys were changing for dinner that evening,
+and while John was struggling with a bow, his glance
+fell upon a silver frame standing on the dressing table.
+It contained a beautiful portrait of Muriel who laughed
+at him out of the frame.  John looked long at it, and
+finally he realised that the photograph had been placed
+there for his delight.  It was on his dressing table and
+not on Vernley's.  Only one person could have placed it
+there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, Bobbie," said John, through the open door
+leading to his friend's room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What?" asked Vernley, standing with one leg in his
+black trousers, the other kicking its way through.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're a jolly decent sort&mdash;being here, you know&mdash;and
+in this room again&mdash;and the&mdash;photograph&mdash;thanks
+awfully, old man."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thought you were a bit keen, you know&mdash;she's not at
+all bad for a sister, is she?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Rather not!" said John ecstatically, giving his bow a
+confirmatory pull.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+That evening John knew Mr. Ribble much more intimately,
+for while one of Vernley's sisters was accompanying
+the aspiring prima donna, John was led off by the
+politician into the conservatory.  The boy began asking
+questions about the House of Commons and Mr. Ribble had a
+great fund of stories.  John learned of Mr. Balfour's
+aloof manner, Mr. Churchill's imperturbable genius,
+Mr. Lloyd George's subtlety, Mr. Asquith's classic weight and
+Sir Henry Campbell Bannerman's personal charm; then he
+wished to know all about Mr. Austen Chamberlain and the
+hereditary monocle, whether Mr. John Burn's mother
+really had been a washerwoman, and what tactics were
+legitimate in catching the Speaker's eye.  Leaving these
+personalities, the conversation changed to political
+economy and John found himself on new ground and in a
+world of unknown names.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John felt flattered by the fact that Mr. Ribble took it
+for granted that he knew these persons and subjects, but
+the politician was deliberately whetting the boy's appetite
+and trying to lead him into a channel of serious study.
+John Stuart Mill, Walter Bagehot, Edmund Burke, Karl
+Marx, together with such queer names as Spinoza, Kant,
+Schlegel, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, all rolled off
+Mr. Ribble's tongue.  He was now in the realm of Philosophy,
+and John, for the first time in his life, heard of Comte
+and Positivism, of Darwin and the Origin of Species, of
+Huxley and Russell Wallace.  Mr. Ribble talked and John
+listened, experiencing the wonderful thrill as when
+Mr. Steer had shown him the world of poetry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think you had better start with Ruskin's 'Unto This
+Last,'" said Mr. Ribble when John asked where he should
+begin.  "He's easy to read and somewhat superficial.
+You'll find that philosophy and political economy are
+closely related&mdash;half brothers in fact, and Ruskin believes
+their parents were Social Morality and Private Duty."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before going to bed that night, John had found a copy
+of "Unto This Last" which he took up to bed.  The two
+boys often read before going to sleep, and Vernley was
+engrossed in "Kim" so that he did not see what absorbed
+John, until growing sleepy, he closed his book and came
+into John's room with its light still burning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What are you reading?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ruskin," replied John, deep in the book.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Golly&mdash;what on earth are you reading that piffle
+for&mdash;what's the book?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Unto This Last."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Holy Moses&mdash;you're the queerest mixture I've ever
+known.  Last hols it was "Whose dwelling is&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  &mdash;"<i>The light of setting suns</i>"&mdash;began John&mdash;<br>
+  "<i>And the round ocean and the living air,<br>
+  And the blue sky and in the mind of man:<br>
+  A motion and a spirit, that impels<br>
+  All thinking things, all objects of all thought,<br>
+  And rolls through all things.  Therefore am I still<br>
+  A lover of the meadows and the woods,<br>
+  And mountains; and of all that&mdash;</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+A pillow landed on John's head.  It was returned with
+redoubled energy.  Vernley made a grand attack, John
+defending with a bolster.  There was a frantic scuffle, the
+bed groaned, the electric light swung furiously, Vernley's
+pyjama coat was torn down the back and John was
+soon without a blanket or a sheet on his bed.  Suddenly
+they were buried in a snowstorm of feathers that
+floated all over the room; the pillow case had split; it
+called for an armistice.  John and Vernley subsided
+on the bed, silently watching the feather-laden
+atmosphere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Lord! what a mess!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We always seem to be smashing something in this
+room," said John ruefully&mdash;"last time it was the wash
+basin."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's that infernal Wordsworth&mdash;there'll be nothing left
+now Ruskin's on the scene too."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;you shouldn't interrupt."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you think I'm going to lie still while you pour out
+that bosh?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It isn't bosh&mdash;Mr. Ribble says&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ribble's an old fool&mdash;'a nonconformist crank swaddled
+in the longclothes of infantile ignorance'&mdash;that's what
+the Governor's opponent called him last election."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The feathers had now settled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a mess!" said Vernley surveying the room.
+"I've got an idea!  Open the door, Scissors!"  Vernley
+threw open the two big windows and the draught thus
+created swept the feathers out on to the landing.  The two
+boys followed and peered over the banisters as the white
+cloud slowly settled down into the hall below.  At that
+moment the drawing-room door opened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Father!&mdash;Just look at this&mdash;wherever&mdash;" came
+Mrs. Vernley's voice in amazement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shut the door, Scissors!"  They rushed into the room,
+switched off the light and waited breathlessly.  All was
+quiet again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If you go on reading every author you're told about,
+there'll be nothing left in this house," said Vernley, "and
+I don't agree, of course, about that libel on old Ribble&mdash;he's
+a decent old boy.  Good night, Scissors."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next afternoon Vernley and John harnessed the
+pony and were on their way to the station to meet Muriel.
+Spring was in the air.  The hedgerows were beginning to
+burst into leaf, and the birds singing in the lanes filled
+the country-side with hope.  John's heart too was singing.
+It was so good to be driving through the sunlit lanes with
+a crisp air blowing in their faces, the friendly jog-trot of
+the pony beating upon their ears.  He looked at Vernley,
+the imperturbable Vernley, who was flicking the pony's
+haunches with his whip.  There was something comfortably
+solid about him.  He represented tradition and the
+continuance of a settled conception of life.  John had no
+difficulty in planning Vernley's future; unlike his own,
+it depended upon no caprice of Fate.  He would go up to
+Oxford, travel, and then settle down to the life of a country
+gentleman.  He would grow stout and red-cheeked, marry
+a healthy, unimaginative wife and be the father of a
+crowd of noisy, well-developed children.  The hunt, a seat
+on the bench, June in London and August on the moors&mdash;that
+would be Vernley's life.  And he would not bother
+his head about political or religious faiths.  He would
+probably be a Conservative, despite his father, who was a
+family renegade, and a Churchman.  Conservative,
+because caution and security were better than haste and
+revolution, and the world on the whole was a jolly old place
+despite Socialists and other disgruntled reformers.  A
+Churchman, because he knew so little about religion, and
+a respectable ready-made creed, tried and found suitable
+as an accommodating policy of living was the safest and
+easiest to adopt.  Had he been born in Constantinople he
+would have been a Mohammedan, in Bombay a Buddhist,
+in Hongkong a Confucian, and in Paris a Catholic.  And
+whichever creed environment had caused him to accept,
+he would have been a credit to it, faithfully observing its
+tenets, a respectable, unthinking, clean-living fellow.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley looked at John as the station came into sight;
+the far-away expression was in his face, a curious
+detachment that often puzzled Vernley.  Sometimes John seemed
+to have left his body in another world.  It was uncanny
+and he remembered that Marsh, referring to this habit,
+had called it "the Eastern touch," though what that quite
+meant Vernley did not know.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The train's signalled," said Vernley.  "We shall just
+get there in time.  I wonder whether Muriel is bringing
+her friend back, she said she might&mdash;a topping girl."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I hope not&mdash;I don't want any one monopolising
+Muriel," said John boldly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's all right&mdash;I shall look after her friend&mdash;so don't
+you worry."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They pulled up just as the train ran into the station.
+Vernley sat still in the trap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I must mind the pony,&mdash;you go in, Scissors!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dear old Vernley, thought John, what a tactician he
+was!  So leaping out, he went on to the platform just as
+Muriel descended from the carriage.  There was one glad
+look of recognition and then a momentary shyness fell
+over them.  Muriel had brought her friend whom she
+introduced with embarrassment.  John, scarlet in the face,
+pretended to be frantically busy with the luggage, which
+filled the trap.  Homewards turned, the pony trotted
+smartly.  John sat opposite Muriel and kept looking at
+her furtively.  She was beautiful.  He wanted to touch
+her soft flesh, and press back the little strand of hair that
+fluttered over her ear and across the cheek.  He noticed
+the full redness of her lips, and the wonderful beauty of
+her long eyelashes.  The sight of her filled John with a
+kind of ecstasy bordering on intoxication.  He was
+infinitely more in love with her than on the previous
+occasion.  The absence of three months had glorified her in
+his imagination, but now he saw that reality transcended
+his most extravagant dreams of her physical perfection.
+He was fifteen and this first flush of love left him
+breathless with wonder.  He did not want to talk; it was enough
+to sit near her, to hear her voice, to watch the elfin grace of
+her movements, to see her eyes shine, and the whiteness
+of her small teeth when she laughed.  Had some one told
+him he was in love, he would have denied it.  He was more
+a worshipper than a lover.  This revelation of the woman,
+as he saw it in Muriel, was like sunrise on a new world;
+he was so lost in wonder that familiarity became
+impossible.  He was filled with awe, in which ran fear, the fear
+that she could not always be there, that one morning he
+would get up and find her changed, an ordinary being,
+moving on the old earth as he had always known it.  But
+this afternoon was his time of ecstasy&mdash;the friendly trotting
+of the pony, Bobbie talking away to Polly, and himself
+sitting there with Muriel near him while the birds sang
+in the hedgerows, and the sunset clouds in the west
+reddened behind a black fringe of trees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Polly," said Vernley, "you may think so, but my friend
+is not really dumb&mdash;in fact John is a fearful talker at
+times."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He laughed at John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You've got the field, so I've retired," retorted John.
+"And I'm waiting for Muriel to tell me what she's been
+doing all the holidays."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Muriel responded to this invitation, and, the ice broken,
+they were soon engrossed in each other.  At the top of
+Carshott Hill, Vernley pulled up.  He was enjoying himself
+with Polly, who was sensible, and to his great relief
+didn't giggle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, Scissors, shall we go round by Carshott?  It is
+two miles out of the way, but we shall be in time for dinner."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh yes," cried Muriel.  "It's such a glorious afternoon."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm not a bit hungry," said John tactfully; any excuse
+for the prolongation of the drive.  So they turned
+off to Carshott.  It was dark when they arrived
+at "The Croft" gates and turned up the drive, so dark
+that John had been able to hold Muriel's hand in his and
+interlace his strong fingers with her slender ones, and he
+was so overjoyed that he failed to notice that Vernley had
+done similarly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Greetings over in the hall, they hurried off to dress for
+dinner.  The boys had a hot bath, and John sat on
+the side while Vernley lathered himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Polly's a very pretty girl," said John, rubbing hard
+with the towel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of course!" cried Vernley, banging the sponge on his
+head, then spluttering, "and Muriel?&mdash;-well I suppose
+you've hardly noticed her yet," he added satirically&mdash;"it
+was so jolly dark&mdash;but I know she has soft hands."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John coloured, rubbing his head so that Vernley should
+not see.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, Scissors!  I'll bet you I know what Muriel's
+going to wear to-night."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That white dress with the blue insertion."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John remembered it.  It was all fluffy, and she looked
+like a fairy in a cloud.  He had admired her in it and
+told her so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How do you know?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, in honour of the occasion, of course.  I called it
+the froth and frolic dress, but probably Muriel calls it
+mode-a-la-Scissors."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are an ass!" said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I am your friend," retorted Vernley.  "By their
+companions ye shall know them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you coming out of that bath&mdash;the dressing bell
+went half an hour ago!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm getting boiled all over&mdash;I want to look my freshest
+to-night.  You are not the only knight on the war-path;
+and I've got a deadly rival."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who's that?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tod," said Vernley.  "Personally I fear nothing from
+him&mdash;he's harmless, but he's got a car, and that is usually
+a winner."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are a cynic," said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've had experience&mdash;I've been thrown over for a
+tennis racquet.  You don't know women, my boy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Being elderly, I suppose you know all about them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Almost, but there's one thing always puzzles me, Scissors,
+I always wonder how much these girls confide in one
+another and giggle at us for being such asses."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't think Muriel would," said John seriously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Angel!" murmured Vernley, kissing the sponge ecstatically.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+III
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Ribble did not come down to breakfast the next
+morning.  He was reviewing a book for the <i>Nation</i> and
+kept in his room.  John saw breakfast go in to him and
+wondered if ever the day would come that he would be so
+important as to have breakfast sent up to his room.  He
+went to the window and sat there for a time enjoying the
+early morning scene, the light on the distant hills, the
+sharp sound of a passing cart down in the lane, and stray
+noises from the stable yard.  Then he watched the country
+postman cycle up the drive, his fresh healthy face
+perspiring, a heavy mailbag on his shoulders.  John got up and
+went out into the hall and received the letters, which he
+spread out on the table in neat order.  There were fifteen
+for Mr. Vernley, six for Mr. Ribble&mdash;John paused lovingly
+over these.  How splendid they looked!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+  "The Rt. Hon. Ellerton Ribble, M.P."<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+and as he looked the magic letters changed into&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+  "The Rt. Hon. John N. Dean, M.P."<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Day-dreaming he did not see that Mrs. Vernley had
+entered the hall and was looking at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Disappointed, John?" she asked.  "I am always
+disappointed when I get no letters.  I like receiving them,
+but detest answering them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good morning, Mrs. Vernley!  No&mdash;I was just thinking
+how splendid Mr. Ribble's address looks."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wondering when your own will be like it?" asked
+Mrs. Vernley, placing her hand on the boy's shoulder.  She
+detected the pleasure her little guess gave him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, if Muriel has anything to do with it," she
+added, "you'll be the youngest Cabinet minister in
+history."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Muriel?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, last night she gave Mr. Ribble the worst
+cross-questioning he has had for many a long hour.  I believe
+she has planned your whole career, but I hope, John," said
+Mrs. Vernley, opening her letters, "that you are not going
+to waste yourself in politics.  It is the most futile life
+a man can lead.  I never knew a member of Parliament
+who wasn't a harassed mass of vanity.  Their lives are
+made wretched by pulling wires for a thousand societies
+that threaten to extract a dozen votes at their next election.
+They are the prey of the parsons, charity organisations
+and vested interests&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But surely Mr. Vernley&mdash;" began John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"One's husband is always excepted from general
+criticism, John.  My husband is such a bad member of
+Parliament because he is such a good husband."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The world has to be ruled, Mrs. Vernley."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I do not deny it, but why presume that Parliament
+rules Britain?  I'm quite sure it doesn't, any more than
+Congress rules the United States or the Chamber rules
+France.  There's the gong.  I wonder how many of us
+will appear at breakfast!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the breakfast room they found Tod and Muriel, and
+a minute later Vernley came in and took his seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's see&mdash;this morning?  Ah! it's plaice and
+sausage," he cried.  "Lift the covers, Mother."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sausage and plaice duly appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We have a Scotch cook with the mind of a mathematician,"
+said Tod.  "Wednesday, bacon and eggs."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Friday&mdash;kedgeree!" added Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Saturday&mdash;grilled ham!" supplemented Muriel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sunday&mdash;two eggs," contributed Alice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Monday&mdash;" began Tod.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I suppose you children are reciting the food calendar
+as usual?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Dad,&mdash;it's your turn," cried Vernley.  "Monday&mdash;?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Monday&mdash;liver and bacon!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Really," commented Mrs. Vernley, "if cook heard the
+way you make fun of her infinite variety&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She might give us sausage twice a week which would
+please me!" said Tod.  "By the way, Mother, is
+Mrs. Graham coming to-day?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, I want you to meet the 11.15, she will arrive by
+that."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's all go!" cried Vernley.  "Jove, she's a stunner,
+Scissors!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bobbie dear!" remonstrated Mrs. Vernley, "you
+mustn't talk of Mrs. Graham like that!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why not, Mother?  I told her she was a stunner once
+and she pinked with delight."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know where you boys pick up all your slang,"
+said Mr. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We get so many M.P.s in the house, pater," suggested
+Tod.  "Will you play me a round of golf?  I did four and
+seven in bogie yesterday."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"When?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This afternoon&mdash;three o'clock," said Tod.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Remember, dear, we have Mr. Crimp coming to tea,"
+urged Mrs. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then I'll play you, Tod," Mr. Vernley said decisively.
+"My dear, why do you ask that man?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Because, being a tactful wife, I know he is worth two
+hundred votes to you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He turns my tea sour," complained Tod.  "The pater
+and I will stay out to tea."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's not fair," cried Muriel.  "It means I shall have
+to talk to Mr. Crimp."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"On foreign stamps," murmured Bobbie.  "He'll love
+Scissors&mdash;don't look so glum, Scissors&mdash;you look quite
+crimpled up!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tod's aim was unerring; the tea cosy ruffled Vernley's
+well-plastered hair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Stop!  I won't have my breakfast service smashed!"
+cried Mrs. Vernley in alarm, but protest was useless.  The
+cosy flew back with redoubled vigour.  Its flight was
+unimpeded by its destined objective, for Tod ducked.  It went
+over his head.  Polly who had sat very quiet all through
+breakfast, received it on her empty plate where it ousted
+an egg cup with a clatter, and the familiar sound of a
+crash followed as it broke into a dozen pieces.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You awful children!" cried Mrs. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Never mind, Mum," said Tod, bending and kissing her.
+"You know you're proud of your bouncing offspring."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+IV
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was no exaggeration to say that the arrival of
+Mrs. Graham was an event in John's life.  Ever afterwards he
+could recall vividly the first sharp impression of that bright
+Easter morning when he stood on the country station
+platform.  His impression was always clear, even in its detail.
+Recalling her advent and attempting analysis, he was never
+sure whether his first surprise was caused by beauty, by
+dress or by aroma.  There was something distinctive in
+the perfume Mrs. Graham used.  Only once afterwards did
+he encounter it, in the foyer of a Paris theatre, when it
+brought back in swift vision the English Easter morning,
+and the graceful lady extending her hand to him as he
+stood, cap in hand, admiring every line of her figure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+True, on the way to the station, above the purr of the
+car, he had heard the ecstatic praise of Tod, and the no
+less fervent admiration of Bobbie.  But their tribute,
+faithful and generous, omitted the something that caught
+John in the mesh.  Was it her voice, so rich with its
+quality, a speaking voice that gave such distinction to all
+she said, that made a trivial comment noteworthy?  Was
+it her beauty?&mdash;that Romney-like picture of colour and
+contour, the shapely nose, the lovely arched lips, the
+delicate rose-bloom of her cheeks and the dark, quick vivacity
+of her eyes?  Or was it her ornaments, the grace and style
+of their choice and use?  No earrings ever hung like hers;
+they seemed to gather beauty from the lobes they
+decorated.  The string of pearls that nestled about her throat,
+shapely as a swan's neck, in its sheen seemed to derive
+lustre from the sweetness of her flesh.  Was it those
+all-expressive hands, that tapered so fascinatingly with nails
+that exhibited the charm of nature and art?  Something
+perhaps of all these, yet something which, without all
+these, would make her a woman of memorable beauty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her dress was elegant, noteworthy, but women had
+dressed so a hundred times and achieved nothing distinctive.
+John had seen features as perfect, hands as lovely&mdash;but
+here was something not wholly extraneous.  He knew
+now why she was always called, "the beautiful Mrs. Graham";
+why, to this woman of thirty-five, clung the air of a
+tragedy queen; why, since that dread period of newspaper
+notoriety, she had never been allowed to relapse into
+obscurity, but was photographed and paragraphed.  Would
+her sin ever find full expiation?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sin!  How absurd that word seemed.  Was there such
+a thing in the presence of such perfection?  John gazed
+at her as she sat at his side in the car, talking to Bobbie,
+while Tod drove.  She was alluded to as a "notorious"
+woman, and as John thought of it, he almost laughed
+aloud; what chance had all the dull, dingy, respectable
+women at the side of this empress of life?  John, of
+course, did not know the details of the divorce case which
+had made her, for six weeks, the most discussed woman in
+the world.  The young peer who had ruined his life and
+hers, and who, strangely enough, had found all the
+sympathy while she took all the blame, who had declared
+himself powerless in her presence.  Perhaps so, but if so, why
+so contemptible in that power, why the ready surrender of
+her character, the confession of impotence?  She was
+unfaithful, a married experienced woman of thirty-five, and
+he a young boy of twenty-one.  But whose was the sacrifice?
+She should have known better, said the world, she
+corrupted a boy.  But if his was the ardour, if the passion
+of first love and the lyrical song of youth were laid at her
+feet, how could she resist, she a grown woman, who saw
+youth lapsing like a spent wave on the shore of Life, one
+whose elderly husband could not guess the tumult of nature
+beating at the doors of her heart, about to close on summer
+for ever?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Seven hundred years ago, such love was romance;
+not even the dagger of Giovanni had been needed to
+draw, with its blood, the tears and sympathy of lovers of
+all ages for Paolo and Francesca.  But Francesca in the
+twentieth century must stand in the witness box for legal
+luminaries to torture, must hear every nameless act given
+the label of lust, and finally, hear Paolo fling the
+insult of age and cunning into her face, and plead the
+ignorance of youth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, when the whole dreadful nightmare was over,
+another reappearance in a hopeless battle for her child;
+then peace again, while the world whispers of the
+disappearance from society of the beautiful Mrs. Graham.  But
+Life would not leave her alone; five years might have
+brought some healing to a heart that asked forgetfulness.
+The suicide of the young Earl, with a last love declaration,
+set the world by the ears again.  So he loved her to the
+last!  She laughed almost.  He had died for his love of
+her, said the world.  Women envied her the compliment
+of his suicide.  He might have loved her sufficiently to
+live, she reflected, and once more passed through a
+nightmare of picture papers; herself as a bride, bathing at
+Ostend; herself in the box; extracts from the trial; her tears
+in the last scene, then&mdash;God in heaven!&mdash;her boy at school,
+not in the first school he had had to leave, but another,
+which he would now have to leave.  And through it all,
+as if to excite envy and scandal by obstinacy, her beauty
+grew, and she remained "the beautiful Mrs. Graham."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it was not an aura of tragedy that fascinated John.
+He had not exchanged a dozen words when he recognised
+what he had heard, with mirth, the school porter call
+"quality."  In the first place her voice&mdash;that was a
+revelation.  What a wonderful instrument the human voice was!
+When she spoke her words were invested with alluring
+music; then also there was a hint of&mdash;no, not
+worldliness&mdash;of&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bond Street, Rumpelmeyer's&mdash;cum Papier Poudre,"
+supplied Tod a few days later, alluding to the same hint.
+She was one of those women of whom one asked inwardly&mdash;was
+that rouge, was that carmine, did she pencil? and
+you were never sure.  If so, it was wonderfully done and
+fascinating.  If not, she was amazingly perfect and
+unbelievable.  But you never knew for sure.  Of her powder,
+she made no secret.  No beautiful woman ever does, for
+it is an embroidery which beauty only can justify.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And as John sat there he experienced a cheap sensation.
+That it was cheap he knew, and despised himself for it.
+She was a divorced woman&mdash;notorious even.  Were not the
+Vernleys bold?  Then a hot flush of shame leapt to his
+face at the meanness of the thought&mdash;he was like the rest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His sudden colouring was noticed by Mrs. Graham, who,
+unaware of its cause, thought the handsome lad at her side
+was shy.  She began to talk to him and by the time they
+reached "The Croft," she had made a fervent disciple.  At
+lunch he sat between her and Muriel, and felt an
+uncomfortable twinge of his conscience.  Had Muriel felt
+neglected?  But she would understand how fascinating it was
+to talk to Mrs. Graham, or rather, to hear her talk, for she
+seemed to have been everywhere.  Big-game shooting in
+Africa, the wonder of Lake Louise, the views from Mons
+Pilatus, the charm of Copenhagen and other diversions of
+the Tivoli; the house-fringed shores of the Little Belt, the
+crowded Hohestrasse of a Sunday evening in Cologne, the
+colour and <i>gelati</i> of the Piazza San Marco, the brightness
+of Unter den Linden on a June morning, the approach
+to the Brandenburg Gate, Le Touquet and its golf, the
+winter sports at Murren&mdash;the little glimpses of all these
+lighted her conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had dined at most of the Embassies in Europe;
+delightful little anecdotes, pointed with the witty
+brevity of a French phrase, scintillated in her talk.  Yes,
+she had met "Anatole France," and told a story of his
+courtly grumpiness; she had crossed the Atlantic with
+Paderewski, who had played for her his "Romance,"
+on the evening of its composition, played it in the
+lonely drawing-room while passengers were at dinner, with
+such elegance, delicacy of touch and strength of tone.
+Had she read "Mr. Polly?" asked John.  That reminded
+her immediately; they saw Mr. Wells in a Kent house writing
+all the morning, playing hockey all the afternoon, and
+always the busy little man in a blue serge suit, pouring out
+a medley of history, theology, romance and hard-headed
+business talk.  There was a flashlight of Rodin in his
+palatial studio.  "Madame has beautiful hands&mdash;they must be
+immortalised," and one saw the robust personality of
+Roosevelt at a small dinner party at the Plaza, New York,
+with a later snapshot of him speechmaking from the
+platform of a Pullman at a wayside station in Indiana.  "A
+lovable man&mdash;he made that speech just to enable fifty
+country school children to say in after life that they had
+heard the President."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a luncheon hour, with Tod cross-questioning,
+Muriel laughing, Vernley dumb, Mr. Vernley corroborating
+and Mrs. Vernley beseeching her guest to get something to
+eat; and whenever a break in the conversation came,
+Mr. Ribble restarted the flow of anecdote with a query or a
+scholarly footnote.  John would have wished that luncheon
+hour to last for ever, but before they had risen from the
+table Tod had slipped away and a few minutes later the
+car was purring in the drive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come along, sir," he called as they rose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not yet, not yet, Tod," protested Mr. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, now&mdash;if you go upstairs for a nap, there'll be no
+golf this afternoon.  Mrs. Graham is coming too."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But Tod, I have no clubs," protested Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I have&mdash;the car's waiting now.  Are you coming, Mr. Ribble?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No thank you, my boy&mdash;I am still ink-bound.  Muriel
+has promised me a nice cup of tea in the study at four
+o'clock, and we have Mr. Crimp coming, I believe."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's why we're going."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tod, dear!" protested his mother.  "How rude you are!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I loathe the fellow!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And you have no reason, dear."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Loathing," said Mrs. Graham, "is perhaps the safest
+of all feelings, it relies more on instinct than intellect."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And what are you children going to do?" asked Mr. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Children, pater!" protested Bobbie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We are having a double on the lawn.  Thomson says
+it will be quite good playing to-day.  He cut it this
+morning," said Muriel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, when we return, if you've any steam left in you,
+Mrs. Graham and I will take on the winners."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good!" cried Bobbie.  "Come on, Scissors, let's
+change."  In his room, Vernley found John a pair of
+flannel trousers.  There was nine inches to spare round the
+waist, and a serious gap above the ankles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If I had known I was going to look ridiculous," said
+John "I shouldn't have played&mdash;" He pulled out the top
+of the trousers.  "'The expanse of spirit in a waist of
+shame,' that's what I look like."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't be rude, Scissors&mdash;you know my figure fills you
+with envy.  Jove, I do hate playing this game with women.
+Those kids have no idea how to use a racquet.  They'll
+just stand and squeak every time they miss a ball by a
+yard, and you're expected to say 'Hard luck.'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Can Mrs. Graham play?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, she can make Tod work.  If Alice and Kitty were
+at home we'd get a good set.  I say, Scissors, do you mind
+playing with Polly?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;but why?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Because if I play with her and lose, as I shall, she'll
+be quite huffy, whereas if she plays against me and wins,
+she'll be quite nice to me," explained Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But what about Muriel?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;that doesn't matter.  Nothing will dim you in
+Muriel's eyes."  John bent over and tied his shoes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How do you mean?" he asked without looking up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, you're on a pedestal that six-love can't damage.
+You know you did talk brilliantly at lunch.  I don't know
+how you do it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But I was listening to Mrs. Graham."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And she to you&mdash;why, together you held the table, and
+old Ribble kept persuading you both to go on."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I hope I didn't talk too&mdash;" began John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You old fraud, you were both soaring and you knew it.
+You like it, Scissors.  I've seen you take the platform
+before."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Rot!" commented John, a little angry at being discovered.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+V
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the tea bell rang, four red-faced youngsters
+trooped in to find the Reverend Crimp mid-way in a
+monologue on the woes of the Dodenesian Islanders.  On the
+appearance of the tennis party, he put down his cup very
+deliberately, rose from the comfortable depths of the divan,
+folded his puffy hands and beamed upon the young people.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think you know John," said Mrs. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah, yes," began Mr. Crimp in a minor key.  "Of course
+I know John.  I have a delightful memory of our last
+meeting.  How d'ye do?  I perceive you have grown.
+Fresh air, eh, and good food, I am sure.  It is a true
+maxim, early to bed, early to rise&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not much good food at Sedley, Mr. Crimp," said
+Bobbie.  "We always go to bed hungry."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sure," commented Mr. Ribble from a corner seat,
+"your remarks are libellous; they are certainly belied by
+your figure."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's what I tell Bobbie," cried Muriel, "but he says
+the cause of stoutness is atmospheric, not gastronomic."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A few minutes later the drawing room door abruptly
+opened and Tod entered, followed by Mrs. Graham and
+Mr. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Any tea left, Mother?" he cried.  "Mrs. Graham has
+led us all the way.  Jove, she took the last hole in
+four!"  Then, seeing the clergyman, "Good afternoon,
+Mr. Crimp."  Mr. Vernley crossed the room and shook hands with him,
+while Tod was just about to draw up a chair for Mrs. Graham
+when Mr. Vernley said, "I do not think you have
+met Mrs. Graham, Mr. Crimp?"&mdash;and turning&mdash;"this
+is Mr. Crimp, our clergyman, Mrs. Graham."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tod, still grasping the proffered chair, saw her hold out
+her hand to the clergyman, who moved his in
+response and then suddenly faltered, paused, and withdrew
+his hand.  Mrs. Vernley, teapot in action, held it
+suspended.  Mr. Ribble seemed intent on selecting a cake.
+John, Bobbie, Tod and Mr. Vernley were transfixed,
+waiting the blow.  Surely the fellow would not be so insane,
+so incredibly rude, thought Mrs. Vernley.  He would not
+dare!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Crimp was speaking in a hollow, affected voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The lady's face is familiar to me&mdash;in circumstances I
+do not care to recall," he said stiffly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The blow had fallen.  It was followed with a painful
+silence.  How would she take it?  With suspended breath,
+John, his heart aching, watched her.  Yes, she was superb,
+and dignity did not desert her.  Her face was calm; there
+was no sign of surprise, not even embarrassment&mdash;perhaps
+this scene was not new to her.  She looked at Mr. Crimp,
+the ugly little man puffed out in his asserted dignity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sorry," she said, "to awaken your unpleasant
+memories.  I will retire."  She turned to go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Julie, dear," cried Mrs. Vernley, putting down the teapot
+and rising suddenly to intercept her, "you mustn't
+listen to&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You cad!" blazed Tod, turning on the clergyman, who
+had gone pale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Really, sir, after insulting my guest I must ask you to
+retire."  Mr. Vernley's voice hardly restrained its anger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If there is any insult, it is I who have suffered," replied
+Mr. Crimp.  "The dignity of my calling&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Damn your calling!" cried Tod.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sir!" flared Mr. Crimp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tod, be quiet," pleaded Mrs. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham had now reached the door, Mrs. Vernley
+following, but John was there first and opened it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Leave me dear, please," said Mrs. Graham, turning,
+and the other woman saw how it was with her and stopped.
+Mrs. Graham passed out; John following, closed the door.
+He had not meant to follow her but in his confusion he
+had closed the door and shut himself out with her.
+Mrs. Graham looked at him half blindly, he thought.  He
+dropped his hand from the handle, and followed her into
+the hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mrs. Graham," he called, "I&mdash;I'm&mdash;" but his lip
+trembled and the words choked him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She paused at the foot of the stairs, then impulsively
+caught his outstretched hand, and pressed it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You dear boy&mdash;I know, I know!" she cried, holding
+his hand for a moment, and then swiftly she mounted the
+stairs.  John watched her go, the blood singing in his
+ears.  He heard her bedroom door close, and then silence.
+He turned and looked at the drawing-room door.  What
+was happening in there?  As if in answer, it opened and
+the Rev. Crimp emerged, alone, closing it after him with
+a bang.  For a moment he paused in the hall, flushed,
+uncertain which way to turn, then, seizing his hat from the
+hall stand, he hurried out.  When the door banged and he
+was gone, John started.  His brow was damp with
+perspiration and he was trembling.  Tod came out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come in, Scissors, and finish your tea."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;no, thanks Tod, I don't want any."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"None of us do&mdash;the swine!" said Tod fiercely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John followed him into the drawing-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Has Mrs. Graham gone to her room, John?" asked
+Mrs. Vernley.  He nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I must go up to her&mdash;poor thing," she said.  Muriel,
+in distraction, had lifted the piano lid and struck a
+chord.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"For God's sake!  Don't play that now!  Oh hell!"
+cried Tod.  Then seeing the reproach in his mother's eyes,
+"I beg your pardon, Mother&mdash;but I could murder some
+one!  Come on, boys&mdash;I'm going to the garage."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bobbie and John followed with alacrity.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham did not appear at dinner.  She kept to her
+room, and there was a cloud over the party throughout the
+evening, despite Mr. Ribble's delicious sallies of humour,
+and a fascinating discussion in the library afterwards
+between him and Mr. Vernley on Proportional Representation,
+a discussion very tedious to Tod and Bobbie, who
+slipped away into the billiard room after vehement signals
+to John to follow, which he ignored.  He absorbed every
+detail, eager for a political education, and very
+occasionally he ventured to ask a question, which Mr. Ribble
+answered fully and seriously as though John had been a
+grown-up person.  Here was a new theme for the debating
+society!  So he sat, listening until the clock struck
+eleven, and Mr. Vernley and Mr. Ribble lapsed into a
+silence filled with tobacco smoke, whereon John rose and
+said good night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found Bobbie perched on the edge of his bed, pulling
+off a sock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good Lord!" was the greeting.  "Have you been in
+the library all the time?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;isn't Mr. Ribble a wonderful man?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They say so," assented Vernley, "but I always want to
+yawn when he and the pater get going.  It is an awful
+business having to live in a house where M.P.s are always
+about.  They talk for ever about things nobody would
+give a brass button for."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But surely the method of government&mdash;" began John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My dear old Scissors&mdash;what does it matter how we
+are governed so long as we are left alone?  Judging from
+those fellows who come down here, you'd think the universe
+would cease to revolve if they went out of office, and when
+they do go nobody would know, if it weren't for their own
+newspapers which lament so over 'em.  And it's all a
+game.  I've heard these fellows abuse one another, and
+use the vilest terms, and, Lord bless us, they're playing
+bridge or golf together the next day."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But that reveals our sporting instinct."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's not yours, Scissors.  It's the pater's, I recognise
+it&mdash;he always quotes that when he throws over what he
+said the night before about a man."  Then ploughing his
+hands through his thick ruffled hair, "Lord, what a mess!"
+he exclaimed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What, politics?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;that filthy Crimp and Mrs. Graham."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John started; in his selfish interest he had forgotten the
+incident.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's one blessing," said Vernley, slowly squeezing
+out some tooth-paste onto his brush, "we shan't be worried
+by that swine here any more.  He always made me sick.
+I wish I could generate a good hate like Tod's."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tod always did dislike him, didn't he?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes.  Good night, Scissors."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good night."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John did not sleep for a long time.  He lived over that
+dreadful episode in the drawing-room.  Was Mrs. Graham
+sleeping now?  Perhaps she was crying, and women hated
+crying, for it made their eyes red, and betrayed them in
+the morning.  It would be awkward at breakfast to meet
+her as though nothing had happened.  Still he looked forward
+to doing so.  They were friends, she trusted him&mdash;that
+pressure on his hand told him so.  Then he wondered
+if Crimp was asleep down at the Vicarage.  Probably the
+beast was snoring now&mdash;he looked like a man who could
+snore, with those horrible protruding teeth.  Then he fell
+asleep, and when he woke again Vernley was sitting on his
+chest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You've been snoring," said Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I haven't," denied John indignantly.  "I couldn't, I
+don't know how to."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But I've heard you in my room&mdash;you woke me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That proves I haven't, I should have woked myself
+first," said John with a fine disregard of grammar.  "I'm
+a lighter sleeper than you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You've been dreaming, I'm sure."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, I have&mdash;of old Crimp," confessed John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That accounts for the snoring.  Hurry up, the first
+gong's gone."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Downstairs, Muriel was the first to meet John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mrs. Graham's going," she told him.  "Isn't it a
+shame?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Going?&mdash;what, now?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, soon after breakfast.  She told Mother she couldn't
+stay.  Of course she knows we're all sympathetic and all
+that, but she says she finds sympathy as hard to endure as
+the other things.  There are always scenes like this wherever
+she goes, and she doesn't intend ever going out again.
+I'm dreadfully sorry for her."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So am I, but Muriel, we mustn't show it; we must pretend
+nothing's happened.  Let's joke with her at breakfast."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They went in together.  Mrs. Graham was there, and
+she was not red-eyed.  Indeed, to John, she seemed more
+beautiful than ever.  She talked wittily to them all, and
+Muriel and John found their desperate resolution quite
+unnecessary.  After breakfast they all walked round the
+grounds.  Mrs. Graham was leaving in half an hour.  To
+his delight John found himself walking with her down
+the rhododendron drive.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm so sorry you're going, Mrs. Graham," he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's kind of you, Scissors&mdash;may I call you Scissors?"
+she asked, smiling at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, please!" he answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And I hope," she added, "this will not be our last
+meeting.  If ever you come up to town, and would care,
+you must call at my little flat.  I will give you my
+address."  She opened her chatelaine and extracted a card.
+John took it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I should love to, Mrs. Graham&mdash;when the next holidays
+come&mdash;will you be in town then?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," and he noticed she hesitated before adding
+quickly, "but you must ask your guardian first."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John's heart stopped.  The cruelty of it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall do nothing of the kind," he said hotly.  "I&mdash;I
+think you're wonderful, Mrs. Graham," he added in
+boyish admiration, and he noticed she turned her head
+away.  A moment later they had come out of the drive
+and joined the others.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0301"></a></p>
+
+<h2>
+BOOK III
+<br><br>
+GROWTH
+</h2>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER I
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chronicles of youth, filled with trivial incidents,
+but acute at the moment of experience, swiftly
+pass.  John found himself, on his seventeenth
+birthday, hardly aware that he was leaving boyhood
+behind him.  He was very different from the shy sensitive
+youngster who on that momentous day of his arrival at
+Sedley had stood miserably on the platform watching with
+an aching heart the receding train.  He had altered,
+almost incredibly, and yet he had not altered.  In the
+handsome, self-possessed lad, a leader of his house, something
+of a god to the younger boys, with already a distinguished
+'career' behind him, as athlete and scholar, a President of
+the Literary Society, a leading light in debate, the Editor
+of the school magazine, Sedley indeed had a creditable
+specimen of its training.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had Mr. Fletcher, who had watched over him with a
+father's care, been asked for his most reliable boy, it would
+have been John that he named, or for his most promising,
+again, John, despite the dazzling brilliance of the fitful
+Marsh; and yet Mr. Fletcher knew his weaknesses&mdash;the
+tendency to dream, the sudden sensitiveness that made
+John seem afraid of life, and occasionally, but rarely now,
+that strange oriental preoccupation, that came over him,
+and shut him out from his fellows.  There was always
+something a little mysterious, thought Mr. Fletcher.  He
+loved and knew well all his boys.  Even Marsh's fanciful
+versatility held no secrets from him.  But he never quite
+plumbed the bottom of John's nature.  Affectionate, deeply
+so, revealed in a hundred small acts of tribute,
+Mrs. Fletcher had drawn out the fires of devotion in the boy's
+heart, even sometimes, to little whimsical confessions that
+she knew were signs of his absolute trust.  He had talked
+of his mother often.  It was in Mrs. Fletcher's drawing-room,
+where she had first seen father and son together, that
+they talked of the reunion, after a parting of three years'
+duration.  She laughed away all John's fears of that
+meeting, soothed his feverish anticipation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, will father think I've grown?" he
+would ask.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why of course,&mdash;you're almost a man now."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But do you think I have grown as he would wish?"&mdash;half
+fearfully this, at which Mrs. Fletcher would laugh,
+"Why you silly boy, are you afraid your father won't
+be glad to see you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh,&mdash;it's not that&mdash;only you know Mrs. Fletcher&mdash;he
+thought so much of me when I was a kid&mdash;I'm almost
+afraid he might be disappointed."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Fathers and mothers never change, John, it's the
+children who do that," she answered him.  "And look at all
+you've done and&mdash;" she was going to add, what a handsome
+fellow you've grown into, but she checked herself.
+She didn't believe in turning a boy's head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So the momentous day came.  John, up very early, very
+scrupulously dressed, excited by a confirmatory telegram,
+was filled with anxiety as to whether the taxicab would be
+in time to meet the train.  He slacked shamelessly in form
+that morning, but the master was indulgent.  Something
+of his anxiety and excitement permeated his friends.
+Even Vernley became aware of the meaning of nerves,
+good old Vernley, fatter and more faithful than ever,
+sharer of all joys, woes, triumphs, disasters, and food.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the great moment came; the train drew up, the
+doors flew open, a sudden flooding of the platform, a boy's
+flushed face under a straw hat, an eager survey, with heart
+tremendously thumping, and a strong resolution not to
+ran or cry, a terrible fear that he had not come after all,
+and then&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There!  His father!  He had not changed!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dad!" he shouted rapturously, waving a hand.  The
+father stared a while.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John, my boy&mdash;what a great lad you are!"  There
+was a swift, astonished survey.  This tall, clean-limbed,
+laughing boy his son!  This lad, with the glimmering grace
+of an athlete, the boy he had nursed at Amasia?  His
+eyes lingered on every feature, noted the broadening shoulders,
+the straightness of his carriage, the direct level glance
+of the eyes.  Presently they were seated side by side in the
+taxi, and then, absurdly enough, John found he had
+nothing to say, not one of those thousand premeditated
+questions to ask.  The father, too, felt restrained, and
+waited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ali sends his love," he said, at last.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dear old Ali!  How is he, Dad?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Grown, but not like you, and quite a grave married man
+now."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Married!  What a joke&mdash;Ali married!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He does not think it a joke, he is very serious about it.
+He was married the week before I left.  I met his father
+in Constantinople.  Ali seemed a little sad because you
+did not write oftener.  I showed him your last photograph.
+He looked at it for a long time and then said you
+were a great lord.  I told him you were more probably a
+great anxiety."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then followed lunch at Mr. Fletcher's&mdash;just his father
+and Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, and, by the way of a great
+favour to John in celebration of the event&mdash;Vernley and
+Marsh as special guests.  John was frightfully anxious
+about his friends.  He wanted them to admire his father
+as he did, and in turn he hoped desperately that his
+father would take to Vernley and Marsh.  He was not
+long in doubt, for the elderly man had soon won his way
+into the boys' hearts, and had broken down their stiff
+reserve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Isn't he ripping, Scissors!" whispered Vernley, during
+the second course, "and you're alike as two peas."  Under
+encouragement, Marsh was radiant.  John felt his
+father was such a success that he would ask Lindon to the
+great tea in his study.  A little in awe of the hypercritical
+god, he had held Lindon in reserve, but Marsh had been
+conquered and that young gentleman was critical and
+seldom approved of parents.  "An outworn institution," he
+always declared as he observed them on Prize Day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marsh, however, rose to great heights of enthusiasm
+and made the tea party an unqualified success.  It was
+true there were not enough buns, owing to the repetition of
+some guests before the plate reached others, and the kettle
+fell off the fire and soaked the muffins.  These were
+incidents.  The great event was Mr. Dean's stories of Asia
+Minor.  And it was Marsh who kept him going, Marsh
+with an incredible knowledge of strange Eastern ways,
+and an insight and intelligent curiosity that amazed
+John's father.  When the bell went and they all trooped
+away, John knew it had been a triumphant day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Dean left the next morning.  He had business to
+attend to before his holidays, but he crowned his success
+with his last act.  He asked Vernley, Marsh and Lindon
+to join him and John for the first fortnight of the summer
+holidays.  He had taken a house at Grasmere for a month,
+after which he and John were making visits to his friends.
+With this promise of a happy reunion, Mr. Dean left
+them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That holiday became a great memory to John.  They
+had a small house that nestled on the side of Fairfield,
+with wonderful views from all its windows of Grasmere
+and the lovely little lake, the road to sylvan Rydal, the fern
+covered side of Red Bank.  These were days when they all
+set out, knapsack on backs, with stout boots, shorts and
+sweaters, to climb the mountains.  And what talk was
+theirs!  There was Marsh with his inimitable irony;
+where did he gather all that he knew?  Mr. Dean said
+that he must be a reincarnation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, please!" retorted Marsh.  "Have you noticed how
+all the cranks who profess to be reincarnations always
+claim something regal or aristocratic or famous, for their
+previous existence?  Mr. Smith will tell you he was Marc
+Antony, while little Miss Titmouse, who lives on nuts
+and uncooked food, and believes bad thoughts make bad
+weather, will assure you she was mother to Marcus
+Aurelius, which in some way explains that fellow's incessant
+moralising.  Now if I have to be a reincarnation, let me
+be original.  I don't want to be an echo of Demosthenes,
+or a second edition of Hannibal, or Henry the Eighth&mdash;I'm
+much more likely to have been dustman to Ptolemy the
+First, providing there were dustmen in that era."
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+In the evening, after dinner, when tired in every limb
+with a long jaunt across the mountains, with that pleasant
+ache that follows exercise, they would sit in the
+lamp-light listening to a reading from the poets; or a
+passage descriptive of the ground they would explore on
+the morrow.  Perhaps, after many requests, Lindon would
+sit at the piano and play a ballade or a sonata, while
+they looked out across the gathering gloom at a solitary
+light on the opposite side of the valley; and they would
+notice how bright and lonely were the stars hanging over
+the mountain heights.  As John sat there in the dimly lit
+room with his friends and his father, listening intently, a
+deep melancholy stole into his heart.  This might never
+happen again, this strange jolly time, and there was his
+future in the world and all life so strange before him.
+But the sadness of these reflections brought him a glow
+of pleasure.  He felt so acutely conscious of everything,
+he seemed so capable in this fresh experience of Life to
+accomplish anything he wanted.  So he let himself dream
+pleasantly, which Vernley would notice and suddenly
+exclaim, "Scissors has gone East again!" for it was that
+old far-away expression which had so often come into
+John's face, but was rarer now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So with crowded hours the end of the holiday came.
+Invitations to spend a week at Vernley's and at Marsh's
+were accepted, the rest of the holiday was to be spent by
+John and his father together.  They travelled down with
+Vernley from Windermere to his home, and here Mr. Dean
+once more entered that large world of men and affairs
+with which he had lost touch.  His holiday in England
+was not unconnected with a proposal that might result
+in his permanent return a few years hence, for which he
+was striving.  It was essential that John should be kept
+in England and have a large field of opportunity at his
+disposal.  He had made arrangements with Mr. Fletcher
+for John to enter at King's College when his time ended
+at Sedley, as it would, next year.  It would be time
+enough then to decide upon John's career, if the boy had
+not revealed any preference.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He liked the Vernleys and was glad to find John had
+chosen his friends so well.  He had hoped to take his
+son on a visit to some of his own friends, but it was
+obvious that John had chosen his friends with a regard for
+their quality of character.  There was something very open
+and faithful about young Vernley and this was reflected
+by the whole household.  However much Mr. Vernley
+might try to deceive himself, and believe and attempt to
+impress the belief that he was a man of affairs, Dean
+soon detected that he was naturally lazy and extremely
+good-hearted, with a passion for horses, a glass of port
+after dinner and a good cigar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for Muriel, that little fairy danced her way into
+the father's heart as she had into the son's.  John had
+been very guarded in his remarks about Muriel, so guarded,
+that his father guessed all immediately.  Muriel herself
+soon decided that Mr. Dean should have been Mr. Ribble's
+brother.  There was the same genial, somewhat "curly-crinkly"
+appearance, as she called it, and as she confessed
+to him one evening when he had begged a kiss in return
+for a box of chocolates, she was glad he was not as serious
+as John, "who looks at me like a collie dog and wags his
+tail when I smile."  Mr. Dean laughed heartily at this,
+it was so truly descriptive of John, who followed her in
+silence and devotion.  When Mr. Dean left, he took Muriel
+on one side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wonder if I can ask you a favour?&mdash;it's for John's
+sake," he added, as she looked up at him.  "You see he
+has no brothers, and no sisters, which is even more
+important for a boy, and living somewhat lonely, I'm afraid
+he may become self-centred, which means being selfish, so
+I want you to be his official sister.  He'll talk to you.  I
+think he'll even tell you his dreams and ambitions, things
+he would never tell to other boys because he feels he is
+just a little different from them.  I think he is, for
+instance, too highly sensitive.  I want him to grow out
+of that; and only sharing confidences will help him.  So
+I'm asking you, Muriel, to make a brother of him, if you
+will?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Muriel had never quite looked at it in this light; then
+she had a swift intuition that Mr. Dean was not in the
+dark.  A sister&mdash;that meant service in return.  It meant
+something more than having John as a courtier&mdash;it meant,
+yes, running after him a little bit if necessary, and&mdash;oh
+clever Mr. Dean!&mdash;sharing him with other friends.  She
+promised readily.  She was going to be a sister to John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another week and they had left the Vernleys and were
+at the Marsh's.  John's father had been doubtful regarding
+young Marsh for a day or two.  There was no question
+of the boy's brilliance, but he distrusted precocious
+persons, and Marsh's omniscient cynicism was not healthy
+in a boy of seventeen.  He attached too much importance
+to the smartness of a thing.  All his opinions were original
+and brilliant, but they were dominated by those ends
+rather than by a love of truth.  It was not good that John
+should see the ridiculous, bizarre or cynical aspect of life
+before he had tasted its wholesomeness; and there was that
+in Marsh's character, so restless, so desirous of things
+because they were new rather than good or genuine, which
+made his judgments unbalanced for all their refreshing
+enthusiasm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But fuller knowledge of the boy modified these reservations.
+His was a razor-edge intellect, and highly combative.
+John, inclined to be sensitive, introspective, was
+shaken up and drawn out of himself by Marsh, who
+challenged all his ideas and made him defend them with
+passion.  Moreover, Marsh had, for a mere youth, an amazing
+range, not of experience, but of thought.  The literature
+of Greece, Rome, Germany, France and England were
+not strange to him.  He read rapidly and talked volubly;
+true, his ideas were ill-digested, but he had ideas, and
+they flowed in his conversation.  His curiosity was
+tireless as his enthusiasm.  On their Lakeland holiday
+Mr. Dean had been amazed by his turbulent spirits, his
+readiness to rhapsodise, argue, and run, swim, box, climb, read
+and eat at any time of the day and night.  He had no
+temper in the meaning of the word.  His equanimity
+was never shaken.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You know, sir," he said one day, "old Scissors thinks
+I'm the Voltaire of the party, but when he likes to wake
+up he can make us all take a back seat.  Sometimes his
+quiet efficiency annoys me.  He is always so infernally
+correct.  Something-like always does for me, whether it's a
+quotation or a figure, but Scissors always has the exact
+thing and knocks you down with it, and the queer thing
+is, that he's got imagination&mdash;and they don't often go
+together; you don't get the Scottish lawyer working with
+the Welsh preacher."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Dean was amazed at this bit of schoolboy psychology,
+but it raised Marsh in his estimation, and from that time
+he saw there was something more than scintillating wit
+in Marsh's observation.  With this view of the boy, all
+his preconceptions of his parents were shattered on
+meeting them.  How came this bird of such bright plumage
+in so sombre a nest?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Teddy Marsh met them at Loughboro Station, in exuberant
+spirits as usual.  "Good morning, sir," he cried,
+waving his straw hat as soon as he sighted the guests on
+the platform.  "Hello, Scissors, you rusty old blade!
+Come along, sir, our wigwam on wheels awaits you.  The
+pony's in a vile temper this morning, and will probably
+insist on going in the opposite direction.  Yes, they're all
+well, thanks.  Mother's got a new creed&mdash;let's see, what
+was it when you were here last, Scissors, a Nutfooder or a
+Christadelphian, or was it Rawsonism?&mdash;well now she's a
+Sunrayer.  You'll hear all about it; they're a sect she's
+linked up with in middle America; they lie in the sunshine
+all day, think violet thoughts, and achieve salvation by
+sunburn.  The governor's horrified and threatens
+excommunication.  All aboard?&mdash;won't that bag topple over?
+Hold on, I'm going to tickle Flossie's flanks."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He whirled the whip and with a running fire of questions,
+answers and comments, they rolled along the leafy
+lanes towards the vicarage.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As before, that visit was composed of long sunny days
+in the garden, endless tennis sets, or cricket parties at the
+Hall, and always in the evening, after dinner, there was
+Mrs. Marsh's wonderful playing in the drawing-room.
+Tea-time was the favourite hour with John.  He always
+felt glad when he saw the maid, changed from her pink
+and white dress for the morning into official black and
+white, with lace cap, bearing the folding table which she
+set under the walnut tree.  Then hammock chairs
+appeared; after that a white tea cloth, and the rattle of
+china and the glint of the silver sugar basin&mdash;how he
+knew the design!&mdash;two folding lids, with soft white sugar
+like flour inside&mdash;jampot and teaspoons and cake knives.
+Then&mdash;after what seemed a long time&mdash;the glad tinkle of
+the tea-bell, with Mrs. Marsh crossing to the table, her first
+appearance for the afternoon.  Mr. Marsh would follow
+a few minutes late, and sometimes Teddie would rouse
+him in the study, where he dozed after lunch when
+the weather was hot.  Generally there were a couple of
+guests to make a tennis four, either the solicitor's daughter,
+or the governess from the Hall, who played the best tennis
+of any lady in the county and was always in danger of
+losing her situation because visitors at the Hall would
+always mistake her for the mistress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a merry tea-time.  Mr. Marsh was not always
+quite awake, and he had, at this function, quite a gift
+for Spoonerisms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pass me the plake, kease," he would say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Certainly, sad," would respond Teddie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After tea, John's father and Mr. Marsh usually disappeared.
+On two occasions they were challenged to a tennis
+double and to the amazement of exuberant youth,
+won.  But generally they disappeared at the end of the
+garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They've gone to talk roses again," commented Mrs. Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The governor's mouth's watering with the names Mr. Dean's
+given him&mdash;he'll go about talking Turkish to the
+gardener for the next two months," said Teddie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dressing for dinner, too, was like a prelude to the delight
+of the meal and the music to follow.  John's dress shirt
+and jacket and trousers lay neatly spread out on the bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was, at six-thirty prompt, the copper jug, filled
+with hot water, with its initialled felt cover; and the
+country bathroom!  John always wanted to sing in his.
+There was the low music of the running water, the lucid
+green shimmer, reflected on the porcelain sides, sending
+waves of rippling light over the ceiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, with gleaming shirt front and glossy hair, an
+immaculate boy would descend to the drawing room and
+wait with the others for the dinner gong.  John soon
+grew to love those country sounds just before dinner;
+through the windows glowed long stretches of wooded
+country; often a thrush marked even song, and there was
+the retiring twitter of the birds.  A cow driven byre-wards
+lowed in the valley, and the cawing of rooks in the
+Hall drive came on eddyings of the evening breeze.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At lamplight in the drawing-room, after coffee, Teddie
+would raise the dark reflective lid of the grand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now, Mother, come and break the Beckstein," he said;
+almost a formula, that sentence, to John.  And Mrs. Marsh
+would rise and seat herself at the keyboard, carefully
+adjusting the height of the seat, moving back the
+music-rack slide, playing a preparatory major scale, that
+descended in the minor, before proceeding to the real business.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, a momentary silence, the death of talk, and the
+first notes trembling into harmony.  Never would John
+forget that first night on which, squatting on the floor at
+his father's feet, he heard Mrs. Marsh play Schumann's
+<i>Papillons</i>, It opened a new world to him; he seemed to
+be looking down a long grove of trees into a glade filled
+with moonlight, where an intruding wind, lost and
+hesitating, ran from bough to bough awakening whispers.  That
+hesitating prelude, the slow, then quickening announcement
+of the theme, and the glad, butterfly-flutter of the
+melody, dying away again into melancholy and silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somehow, as John sat there, with his father so near, it
+brought back other nights, nights on that verandah
+overlooking the silver Yeshil Irmak, as it flowed singing along
+the dark gorge, with the high moon peering over the cliffs
+of Amasia; and a great longing filled him to be back there
+again just once, to sit in that hot, spiced dusk, to hear the
+tinkle of the camel bells from the highway, and perhaps
+the soft voice of Ali, dear old Ali, dignified and melancholy,
+sitting cross-legged, and reading every mysterious
+sound of that Eastern night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There, that's enough for me," cried Mrs. Marsh,
+breaking across John's reverie.  "Come along, John, you've got
+to sing."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John, sing?" cried Mr. Dean.  "I never knew he could
+sing."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I can't, Dad, it's Mrs. Marsh's idea!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But he can!  Come along, John," and she struck the
+opening chords of "Drink to me only."  "Why, Mr. Dean,
+your lazy son used to sit here, watching me work night
+after night, and it was only by accident I found he had
+a voice&mdash;I heard him singing in the bathroom one morning."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mother's heard me in the bathroom," said Teddie, "but
+that's why she doesn't ask me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No shirking, John," called Mrs. Marsh, replaying the
+opening bars, and obediently John stood up and sang in a
+light baritone voice.  When he had finished there was
+applause.  There was feeling in John's voice; the spirit
+breaking through the flesh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You should hear him sing, 'Who is Sylvia?'  Mr. Fletcher
+makes him sing it," said Teddie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But Mrs. Marsh has no music," answered John finding
+a loophole for escape.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You fraud&mdash;you know you can play it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Marsh jumped up.  "I believe he can do lots of
+things&mdash;and he sits selfishly here listening to us all
+blundering."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John sat down, placed his hands on the keyboard, and
+began softly, being very nervous, chiefly because his father
+was listening.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "<i>Who is Sylvia, what is she?<br>
+  That all her swains commend her.<br>
+  Holy, fair and wise is she;<br>
+  The heavens grace did lend her,<br>
+  That adored she might be.</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"And now that's finished," said Teddie, "let's have
+Sedley Field Song."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You asked me to sing 'Who is Sylvia,'" retorted John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know, but ours is better."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"All right then, here you are,"&mdash;and once more John's
+hands pressed down the black and white keys while his
+voice went soaring into "Field Song."
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "<i>Summer days, winter days, when a fellow's young<br>
+  And friends are many and pains are few,<br>
+  When the ball going over filled every fellow's lung<br>
+  With cheers for&mdash;</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, those were beautiful nights in the lamp-lit vicarage
+drawing-room.  Their memories sank deep into the heart
+of a happy impressionable boy.  But one more impression.
+Enter, on Thursday night, two days before the termination
+of their visit, Veronica, aged seventeen and all the
+Spring sweetness thereof.  It was thoughtful of Mrs. Marsh
+to ask a lonely girl from a neighbouring manor
+house, but she could not have seen the effect on John.
+He first saw her in the hall.  He had just come down
+the stairs, immaculate and well-groomed, with shining hair
+and the rose-red of health in his face.  He heard a
+mingling of voices&mdash;Mrs. Marsh's and another&mdash;that other!
+His heart stopped.  It was like the trill of a bird.  Then
+he saw a flimsy cloak fall away, revealing a thin, elfin
+girl, with gleaming shoulders and a dress swan-like in the
+dim hall light.  She turned and he could see her face&mdash;an
+oval, petite face with a little whimsical mouth which
+might be just going to laugh or cry, and the small head
+tumbling with curls, short and bobbed, and shaking as
+she turned.  It was a vision and the youth on the stairs
+paused&mdash;would she vanish into the darkness of the
+doorway again, or&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Here's John," said Mrs. Marsh coming forward.  "Veronica,
+this is John Dean, Teddie's friend."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How d' you do," she said to John, and half held out her
+hand, but John, embarrassed, withheld his, and then
+bowed stiffly.  Mrs. Marsh noticed his gaucherie, and
+guessed the cause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're to take Veronica into dinner," she said,
+leading the way to the drawing-room.  He should have said
+something polite in response, but he walked like a stick
+at the side of the girl, tongue-tied, and furious at his
+own stupidity.  He had never known his self-possession
+to desert him in this manner.  Even Muriel had not left
+him speechless.  Here, he began a comparison with Muriel,
+and felt a twinge of disloyalty.  Of course he was not
+disloyal&mdash;-and disloyal to what?  But the thought
+perturbed, with the result that Miss Veronica Chase, used to
+adoration, found the good-looking youth at her side very
+dull, despite his romantic appearance.  The entrance of
+Teddie with "Hello, Veronica old thing!" relieved the
+tension, and by the time they were seated at dinner,
+John had found his tongue.  He had asked her if she
+lived thereabouts, when followed a minute description of
+their old manor house, with one of the thousands of beds
+which that poor restless queen, Elizabeth, was reported to
+have slept on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why don't you and Teddie came over to-morrow for
+tea?  It's only two miles from here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I should like to very much," said John.  What an
+enchanting little hand she had; he watched the thin fingers
+as they played with a fork.  When she turned to speak to
+Teddie, he took the opportunity to study her profile,
+fascinated by the beautiful curve of her neck, the little pink
+ear, half clouded in a curl, the mouth&mdash;with its pensive
+corners.  This is perfection, thought John.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "<i>Ah, Boy, it is a dream for life too high,<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It is a bird that hath no feet for earth:<br>
+  Strange wings, strange eyes, go seek another sky,<br>
+  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And find thy fellows of an equal birth.</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+&mdash;He recalled Richard le Gallienne's lines.  And the real
+John disappeared that night&mdash;he was a creature of
+mono-syllables, and Marsh had no flint on which to strike the
+sparks of his wit.  He realised that John had been swamped
+in the flood of Beauty, and gallantly came to the rescue.
+True, John emerged somewhat in the drawing-room, and
+to-night, he sang readily and well, his effort being
+repaid by Veronica's "you sing beautifully&mdash;I could listen
+all night," although she jarred somewhat slightly by
+adding, "Do you know any comic songs?"  Though he
+abhorred them, John would gayly have responded, and
+made a note to add a comic song to his repertoire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The end of the evening came all too soon; the car waited
+outside to bear her away.  The two boys lingered round
+it while the chauffeur tucked the rugs about his young
+mistress.  Then she went with a farewell wave of the hand
+and a musical "Good night," which John, standing there
+in the porch, heard drift up to the star-light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you going to stand there forever, O stricken heart?"
+asked Marsh.  "I want to fasten this door&mdash;and bar Love
+out."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John went in.  Upstairs, in their room, he was silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors, you poor impressionable young calf, I hope
+you're not going to pine away in the night."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh shut up!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That is not a gift of mine, as you know.  Scissors, old
+thing, you're racing your phagocytes, as Metchnikoff would
+say, since all love is stimulation.  She isn't worth it.  I
+know old Veronica.  She's a heart-cracker.  She counts
+her conquests by the hundred."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't think it's very decent of you to&mdash;" began John,
+a little peevish.  Marsh's flippancy irritated him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"To abuse our guest?  No, it's not, Scissors, but I don't
+want to see you going about with sticking plaster on your
+heart.  Old Veronica and I understand each other
+perfectly.  She cracked me once, and then laughed.  That
+kid hasn't the brains of a beetle; she's merely an agitator
+of pink youth.  Flirt with her, yes, and she'll give you a
+good time, for she's got a sporting instinct&mdash;but don't take
+her seriously&mdash;she doesn't know what it means.  Did you
+hear her ask you for a comic song?&mdash;and you did sing
+well to-night, Scissors&mdash;the nightingale to his mate."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marsh touched the tender spot.  That comic song
+request rankled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You didn't talk much with her?" asked Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;do so to-morrow.  Ask her what she reads, what
+she likes, the pictures she prefers.  She's got a mind like
+an illustrated Sunday paper&mdash;you've had the comic
+supplement to-night."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John groaned.  Marsh's arrows always hit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think you're beastly about her," he said desperately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, I'm not.  Veronica and I are great pals, but she
+doesn't come deer-stalking on this estate.  You're a sweet
+kid, Scissors, and I'm not going to let you cry yourself to
+sleep for a butterfly with the brains of a bat!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh rot&mdash;you do rag, Teddie."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, well, dear infant, just investigate to-morrow."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why did Marsh delight in pricking balloons?  He
+was right: horribly right, thought John, as they drove
+away from the manor house next evening.  That afternoon
+had been one long disillusionment.  She was just
+as beautiful, just as attractive, and John feasted his eyes
+and heart on her.  But she made a mistake when she took
+him down to pick gooseberries, in the far end of the
+garden, away from the others.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Give me your hand," she cried, and he helped her up
+the bank.  He tried to master an impulse to squeeze it,
+and just failing, was going to, when she anticipated him.
+That sent the first cool little wind around his heart.  She
+laughed frankly into his eyes.  She was irresistibly
+beautiful, "and she knows it," thought John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shut your eyes, Scissors, and open your mouth."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He obeyed.  A cool thin hand held his chin, the fingers
+of another pushed a berry in his mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Swallow!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He swallowed obediently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Open!" she commanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He opened his eyes, her face was very near to his, her
+bewitching red mouth smiled at him, and he saw two little
+devils of mischief dancing in blue eyes that looked
+straight into his.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John looked back into them.  There was a pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're shy," she said reproachfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know," he answered.  Her hand slid off his shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wonder who's winning the game," she said, moving
+towards a bush.  "Perhaps we ought to go back."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But I want to talk to you," said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you?&mdash;you are a strange boy," Veronica said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm not a boy&mdash;at least, no more than you are a girl,"
+he retorted somewhat resentfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another silence.  They came to a summer house with
+a table in it, on which a book was turned down.  John
+picked it up.  It was by a popular woman novelist whose
+sex sentimentality swamped the bookstalls.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you read Amelia Serkle?" she asked.  "I love them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;-I've never read her books&mdash;are you fond of reading?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Awfully."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What do you like?  Have you read Conrad?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wells&mdash;or Bennett?" he added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;one of Bennett's&mdash;I didn't like it.  I like Amelia
+Serkle and Helena Thinne best."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh," said John.  She was fast losing marks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And poetry, I adore poetry!" she said ecstatically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So do I," said John, warming.  "Isn't Masefield
+splendid, and Thompson and Swinburne&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I haven't read any of those, I think.  I like Laurence
+Hope, and oh, I love Ella Wheeler Wilcox!  Do you know
+her 'Poems of Passion?'"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I looked at them&mdash;once," said John.  There was no
+hope left in his voice.  He did not disguise the fact very
+successfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We'd better go back," she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They joined the others, who had finished their set.  It
+was late and Marsh suggested going.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye," he said, at the end of the drive, down which
+Veronica accompanied them.  Even then John marvelled
+at her beauty, enhanced by the setting of those elms and
+the old manor house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye," she said, offering John her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye," he responded.  And as he said the word
+it was obvious that they had lost all interest in each other.
+It really was "Good-bye," and neither minded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Half a mile from the house, walked in comparative
+silence, Marsh burst into laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's the joke?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I can't help laughing at that poor kid&mdash;she's so crude."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who&mdash;Veronica&mdash;why?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm wondering how many romances she's killed in the
+gooseberry bushes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John glanced angrily at Marsh, and then the humour
+of it caught him and he laughed also.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How did you guess?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Because I've shut my eyes and opened my mouth,"
+said Marsh.  "Poor old Veronica.  She is a flirt!  If
+only she had brains&mdash;just a few.  And there are a lot
+like her.  Now, I'll tell you of a girl that's my type, jolly
+sensible too.  I want to see more of her next Prize Day."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who?" asked John interested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Vernley's sister," replied Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;yes," said John, knocking down a nettle with a
+swish of his tennis racquet.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+Then came the end.  The train drew away from Loughboro
+Station.  John's father leaned back in his seat while
+John hung out of the window, waving to Teddie and
+Mr. and Mrs. Marsh on the platform, until the arch of the
+bridge shut them from sight.  John sank back into his
+seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Aren't they jolly, Dad!" he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Splendid, old son,&mdash;you make good friends."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+III
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was one unsuccessful event in their holidays,
+that was the visit to John's uncle.  Mr. Dean went,
+John thought, from a spirit of duty rather than
+pleasure.  John had only seen his uncle once, when he had
+come to the school on Prize Day and had treated John as
+a child of five and adopted an air of patronage towards his
+father, which the boy deeply resented.  They had not
+responded to each other in a single detail.  "Just like his
+father," said Sir Henry to his wife, the next day, "as
+impractical as Charles and as wayward.  The boy wants
+strong handling.  I told his house-master so."  He had
+departed without asking John home for the holidays, greatly
+to John's relief, for he would have gone in a spirit of
+martyrdom.  John felt he was resented because he was his
+father's son.  It must be galling to the uncle with no sons
+and two daughters, to know, unless he was more fortunate,
+that his nephew would inherit the title.  It was the one
+unsuccessful fact in Sir Henry's life.  He could and did
+ignore his brother, but hang it, he could not ignore his
+brother's son.  He never read without anger in the
+Baronetage, "Heir-presumptive, Charles Dean q.v."  and
+q.v. led him to John Narcissus Dean.  Narcissus!  What a
+preposterous name to give a boy&mdash;to an heir!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their visit did not improve the mutual opinion.
+Charles Dean resented his brother's air of patronage, his
+smug self-satisfaction, his ill-disguised vanity over his
+estates which somehow he seemed to attribute to his own
+ability.  Four tedious days, in which every minute held the
+possibility of friction, brought the visit to an end.  John's
+father did not say much afterwards, but John realised all
+he thought.  Once only did he reveal in words what John
+surmised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I hope you will never have cause to ask help from any
+relations&mdash;stand on your own feet, John," he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John accompanied his father down to Southampton.  It
+seemed almost impossible that this was the end, that he
+would not see him again for two years.  How far away
+was Amasia&mdash;and now that they were together, so closely
+together, it seemed as if they had never been apart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Two more years, John&mdash;and I shall have a directorship
+here&mdash;it won't be long, old son&mdash;you're seventeen and time
+flies at that age."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They stood at the top of the gangway.  A gong was
+sounding, and an officer came down the deck.  "Visitors
+ashore, please!" he shouted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Father and son grasped hands.  It was a long tight
+grip, with John trying to look squarely into his father's
+eyes, summoning a stiff lip to his aid, the father simply
+saying,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye, dear lad."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye, Father."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A loosening of the grip, a turn, and his feet were
+blundering down the steep, trellised gangway.  He halted
+on the quay, while the ship was being warped out.  They
+were too far apart for words, his father high up above him,
+leaning over the deck rail.  Now the boat was away, the
+last rope drawn aboard; the stern propellers thrashed the
+waters into a white foam, the gulls cried, wheeled and
+followed.  John pulled out his handkerchief and waved it,
+though he felt soon he might have to put it to another
+use.  There was a responding flutter, and then distance
+grew between them, distance across which John's heart
+was stretching until it well nigh broke; a grey spot on
+the horizon, and it was all over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked along the quay, the rain began to drizzle
+down.  It turned cold and he shivered as he walked back
+to the station.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+England seemed a lonely place to live in.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0302"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER II
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A busy year, a year filled with little successes, trials
+and triumphs, and John, taller and a little quieter,
+perhaps too quiet for a healthy lad of eighteen.
+He had achieved his object by winning the Mansell
+Exhibition, not of great value, it was true, but £50 would
+help and the real value of success lay in the fact that his
+father would know he had worked since they had parted.
+In June, Vernley and he had gone to Cambridge for the
+King's College entrance examination.  It had not troubled
+either of them greatly, although Vernley, with an
+unshaken belief in his own stupidity, swore he had been
+ploughed.  Their glimpse of Cambridge filled them with
+dreams of a golden age.  They stayed on for a couple of
+days after the examination and made visits and excursions.
+Vernley's cousin was at Trinity and had a large
+bare room, reached by a winding staircase that looked
+on to the Backs, with a vista of bridges and elm-tree
+walks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The day after their return to Sedley, Mr. Fletcher sent
+for John.  It was late in the evening when young Jones
+came to his study with the summons, and John was just
+finishing a game of chess with Marsh.  Vernley sat in the
+window trying to read "Henry Esmond" in the sunset light.
+The Triumvirate, as they were called, had recently moved
+into this large room in the corner of the quadrangle.  It
+was regarded as the lap of luxury by the small boys who saw
+with envious eyes its easy chairs, the cretonne curtains
+and the piano which Marsh had imported.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shan't be long," said John going out.  What could
+Fletcher want him for?  Perhaps a house matter&mdash;he was
+a prefect now.  He tapped at the green baize door, pushed
+it open, then crossed the small hall of the Fletcher
+household, and knocked again at the study door.  Mr. Fletcher
+bade him enter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;Dean, I want to see you&mdash;come in&mdash;sit down.
+It's about a matter&mdash;a&mdash;" he hesitated.  Why did the man
+fumble so, and fidget with the blotter on his desk?  The
+room was almost dark, he could hardly see the master's
+face.  Suddenly Mr. Fletcher got up and walked across
+the room to the fireplace where he stood for a moment
+with his back to John.  Then abruptly he turned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dean&mdash;I hardly know what to say&mdash;how to tell
+you&mdash;I'm&mdash;I'm&mdash;you must be brave, my dear lad, but I know
+you will be&mdash;you will be," he repeated.  John just stared
+at him.  What had happened&mdash;and was he to blame in any
+way?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's the matter, sir?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fletcher drew near and put his hand on John's shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I have sad news, John.  Your father&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John started to his feet; why had Mr. Fletcher's hand
+trembled so?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's nothing wrong, sir?" he asked, his heart
+sinking within him, for he knew now something was wrong.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, not wrong, Dean&mdash;but everything that could be
+brave, and like him.  My poor boy, your father is
+dead&mdash;there&mdash;there, it is terrible for you, I
+know."  Mr. Fletcher
+pressed him down on to his seat again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dead!" said John,&mdash;"not&mdash;not dead, sir?" he pleaded,
+raising his hand as if to ward off a blow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This letter has just come, Dean, by express post."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John took it, and the master crossed the room to the
+electric switch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'd rather it was dark, sir,&mdash;I think I can see it," said
+John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Certainly," replied Mr. Fletcher, and with an aching
+heart he watched the boy go to the window and peer over
+the letter.  It seemed an eternity before John turned and
+spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There&mdash;there seems no hope, sir&mdash;the company has
+none," he said in an expressionless voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, Dean, I fear not&mdash;it is terrible."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," echoed John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why did the boy stand there so silent, so emotionless,
+with the letter in his hand?  Anything was better than
+this unnatural calm.  Did he realise yet?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dad&mdash;died fighting," said John, jerkily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;to the last, they say.  He defended them
+magnificently&mdash;you have that to remember.  These massacres
+are terrible, terrible&mdash;I&mdash;" he paused.  Still John stood
+there.  Mr. Fletcher had expected an outburst, had
+prepared himself for it; and here they stood in the dark
+facing each other, silent; nothing but the ticking of the
+clock sounding in the abyss of these tense moments.  The
+entrance of Mrs. Fletcher was welcome.  She moved to
+John's side, saying nothing, but he felt her sympathy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, folding up the letter, "Thank you, sir.  I will go
+now," he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Dean&mdash;if you would like to stay here&mdash;we can&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you, sir, but I'll go&mdash;I'm&mdash;I'm all right, sir,"
+he replied, moving towards the door.  Mrs. Fletcher, saw
+his drawn face.  He was so pitifully brave.  He had
+reached the door now, was turning the handle.  He hesitated
+a moment, they saw him pause and turn, then swiftly
+he moved towards them, flung himself face down on the
+couch, buried his face in the cushions, and sobbed like a
+child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fletcher sat down beside him, and motioned to her
+husband to go.  He went out silently, leaving them in the
+dark room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, Mrs. Fletcher&mdash;my dear Dad!  My dear Dad!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fletcher put her hand on the bowed head and
+stroked his hair.  There was nothing to say; she sat there,
+simply, her sympathy tending him, until the storm passed.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John never forgot the details of those three days that
+followed.  First there was the anxiety of his father's fate.
+That he was dead he knew beyond hope, but there was a lack
+of details, of the manner and the circumstances.  The
+letter from Messrs. Agnew &amp; Cust merely quoted the cable
+they had received stating the death of his father at Amasia
+defending some Armenians who had taken refuge in his
+house during a massacre.  That was all, and three days
+elapsed before they wrote again, enclosing another cable
+which said that his father had been shot through the head,
+had died instantaneously, while fighting his way out, with
+his servants, to effect a juncture with a relief detachment
+from the American hospital at Marsovan, where his body
+had been conveyed and buried.  John wondered whether
+his father lay in that cemetery where, on a memorable day
+he had seen him crying over the grave of his mother.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During those days of waiting, John realised, more deeply
+then before, the meaning of friendship.  Vernley and
+Marsh were always with him.  They said little, for what
+could they say?  They knew that John had rather they
+did not touch upon the knowledge so heavy on their hearts,
+and sometimes their watchfulness, their eagerness to serve
+him brought him to a point of open breakdown.  For his
+own sake John went on with his form work.  It was a
+slight distraction from the anxiety of the days that must
+pass before a letter could come from Asia Minor.  One
+night, about a week after the receipt of the news, Vernley
+and Marsh sat in their study doing their preparation.
+John had been sent for by Mr. Fletcher, and had been
+absent some time.  Vernley looked at his watch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shall I get supper?" he asked&mdash;"Are you finishing?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," replied Marsh, closing his Euripides.  "I say,
+what a miserable devil old Euripides was; he's always
+talking about death.  A good job some of his plays were
+burnt at Alexandria&mdash;-there were ninety of 'em.  I hate
+thinking about death."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And just now&mdash;with poor old Scissors," added Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"By the way, Bobbie," said Marsh, flinging one leg over
+the arm of his chair, "what's Scissors going to do?  I
+don't like asking him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do&mdash;how do you mean?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"His future&mdash;you see there's the money question.  I
+don't know much about his affairs&mdash;but Cambridge means
+money&mdash;and I don't know whether his governor had
+any&mdash;he seemed too jolly for money-making."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, he'll have left some&mdash;and there's the Exhibition,"
+said Vernley.  Money matters were always easily
+dismissed in his presence.  "He'll be all right, I expect."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;we've got to see."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But it's no business of ours."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is," retorted Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is?" asked Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;supposing there is no money?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley had never supposed such a thing.  He was
+silent a moment, thinking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You mean&mdash;he must go to Cambridge with us?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of course&mdash;and that's three hundred a year."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Three hundred?" said Vernley.  He had never realised
+that so much was being spent on him.  Then quietly,
+"Well&mdash;if old Scissors is stuck, we'll find it somehow."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's what I'm driving at.  Three years at three
+hundred a year is nine hundred pounds&mdash;and that's
+college expenses only.  It'll mean a thousand all told."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's nothing&mdash;my guvnor'll never miss it.  He'd do
+anything for Scissors," said Vernley, cutting the cheese.
+"He'd adopt him and depose me to-morrow."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And there's my governor&mdash;he'd want to come in," said
+Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, there you are, that's settled!"  Vernley took a
+large slice of cucumber.  He disposed of money problems
+just as easily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But it's not settled, my child.  You've forgotten the
+chief person in the settlement&mdash;there's Scissors."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You can take a mule to the water, but you can't make
+him drink&mdash;suppose he wouldn't be helped?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;he would!&mdash;he'd be quite decent about it&mdash;he'd
+know it would please us.  But I don't think we need worry.
+He's sure to have some money and there's his relations."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"From all I've heard of his relations&mdash;we've a better
+chance," commented Marsh.  "I suppose you guessed why
+Scissors refused the captaincy of the beagles last winter?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He wanted to work for his Exhibition."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It wasn't that&mdash;really&mdash;he couldn't afford it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How do you know?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I heard him making discreet enquiries as to how much
+it would cost&mdash;and old Scissors wanted it awfully."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I never knew that&mdash;I wouldn't have been captain had
+I known."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's why I didn't tell you," Marsh explained, "but
+it shows you that Scissors gets pressed.  If he only&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ssh," whispered Vernley as the door handle rattled.
+John entered.  He looked worried and carried a letter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"News?" asked Marsh eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;only a letter from the firm&mdash;about a job," said
+John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A job?" queried Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;they've offered me a junior clerkship at £80 a
+year in case I need it."  He did not add that the wording
+had cut him to the quick with its "in excess of the
+customary figure at which our junior clerks begin, but in
+view of probable necessitous circumstances," etc.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But you're going up to Cambridge with us!" cried
+Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of course, or we don't go," added Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know," said John, sitting down wearily.  "It
+depends,&mdash;I may not be able.  I don't know yet how I'm&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If it's a matter of&mdash;" began Marsh, when a warning
+look from Vernley cut him short.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're sure to hear soon, Scissors&mdash;I shouldn't worry
+yet," said Vernley.  "We're all going up together, we've
+always said so.  You know if you only think hard enough
+it always is so."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sounds like the mater and the Higher Thought
+circle," commented Marsh, wondering what plan Vernley
+had suddenly conceived when he sent that warning signal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;anyhow, I could eat something," said John,
+putting the letter in his pocket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Righto!&mdash;draw up!" said Vernley, passing the bread
+and cheese.  "Oh&mdash;I've written home to say that you'll
+spend the holidays with us."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He won't&mdash;at least he'll spend part with me,"
+corrected Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thanks&mdash;but I can't make any plans, you see I
+don't know what's going to happen yet."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But you must go somewhere, Scissors," cried Vernley
+lightly.  The moment he had said it, and saw the dumb
+pain in John's eyes he would have torn his tongue out to
+retrieve the careless remark.  "Scissors, I don't mean it
+that way&mdash;you know I don't!" he added desperately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, I know you don't," agreed John, swallowing hard,
+and trying to look steadily back.  They ate their supper
+in silence.  Even Marsh's forced gaiety failed.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+The weeks leading to the end of the term went swiftly.
+Bit by bit the news dribbled through, news of how his
+father had been killed&mdash;this in a letter from the doctor
+at the American Mission.  His father had been buried
+next to his mother at Marsovan, under the same almond
+tree whose blossom John could still picture in his mind,
+so deeply was the first impression etched.  Then later
+came Mr. Glass from his father's company, somewhat
+surprised and hurt at John's refusal of the clerkship.  His
+father had been insured for £500.  There was that, and
+a small balance at the bank, not more than £600 in all.
+Was he wise in refusing the opening, which would lead,
+in years to come, to a very good position?  John looked
+at Mr. Glass, with his bald head, large stomach and
+expressionless face, and the result of success did not appeal
+to him.  Mr. Glass prepared to depart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, you may think better of it, my boy.  Your father
+would have wished it, I know.  I don't see what more
+we can do for you&mdash;but there, if you do change your
+mind and need us, we are there, remember."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Clumsily done, but well meant, and John realising
+this, thanked him and shook the hand extended towards
+him.  After Mr. Glass had gone Fletcher looked at John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I suppose you intend going up to King's?" he said.
+"I think you will pull through all right with care."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, sir, I feel I ought to begin doing what must be
+done&mdash;earn my living.  Six hundred pounds is not much, and
+I shouldn't feel happy knowing that I was using it up."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But Cambridge may lead to opportunities&mdash;a Fellowship&mdash;at
+least a degree, which is useful.  At the worst
+you can become a&mdash;a schoolmaster."  He smiled
+apologetically for the joke against himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And meanwhile, sir, make expensive friends and
+acquire expensive tastes?  Why shouldn't I do the last
+thing first, and learn whether I have the inclination."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The last?" queried Mr. Fletcher.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, sir, I thought of getting a junior mastership&mdash;if
+I could.  A year would not matter greatly.  If I failed
+at that&mdash;then I would go up to Cambridge&mdash;it would not
+be too late."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, but you are wasting a year."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, sir, but I want&mdash;oh, I feel I must work it all
+out.  I'm afraid you don't understand, sir," added John
+lamely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think I do&mdash;this has altered your whole life, or at
+least you feel so&mdash;nothing really does affect our lives to
+anything like the extent we imagine it does.  Experience
+proves that we are always ourselves.  As for a
+mastership&mdash;it is not easy without a degree.  I have a friend
+at a scholastic agency.  If you wish I will write to
+him&mdash;that is, if you want to take this step.  Personally,
+I advise you to&mdash;no, I won't advise you, John&mdash;you must
+decide for yourself."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two weeks after that conversation, John was glad of
+the step he had taken.  The insurance company had refused
+to pay the claim; the policy did not provide for the
+contingency in which Mr. Dean lost his life.  John's capital
+now was £132.  Mr. Fletcher's friend had obtained for
+him a junior mastership at a preparatory school in Hampshire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sixty pounds a year, Dean, not much, but still you're
+a beginner&mdash;it will give you time to think," said
+Mr. Fletcher, handing him the letter.  John wrote accepting
+the offer.  There were vigorous protests from Vernley
+and Marsh.  At the end of the term, after a terrible
+wrenching from the school, his friends, the Fletchers, and
+all the beloved corners and places and daily events of
+four happy years, he went down with Vernley to his home.
+The latter still believed that John would accompany him
+to King's.  Marsh had gone home with the same belief.
+Vernley's faith was based on the ability of his father to
+bring John round to common sense.  There was a talk
+one afternoon in the library that brought a lump into
+John's throat, and a mist into his eyes, as he listened to
+the self-effacing generosity and kindly plans of the big,
+bluff man sitting in front of him.  But he remained true
+to his decision.  Mr. Vernley mopped his brow, hot with
+the attempt to suggest, as delicately as possible, a way out,
+and afraid all the time of hurting the boy's feelings.
+John thanked him in a voice that trembled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, well, John, you're an obstinate boy, but I won't
+worry you.  You can do me a great favour by keeping an
+eye on Bobbie, and you won't&mdash;and I'll owe you a grudge
+all my life.  But if you do want to give me real
+pleasure&mdash;then come to me whenever you will&mdash;I won't say more
+than that.  You understand, my boy, don't you?" and
+with that he placed a kindly hand on the lad's shoulder.
+"And&mdash;'pon my word, I admire your grit&mdash;you're the
+right stuff!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dismay, blank dismay, was written on Vernley's face
+when he heard of the result.  It was no use appealing to
+John&mdash;the latter had heard him to the limit of his
+patience.  Vernley went to Muriel.  She could act when
+others failed.  To his amazement she did not agree.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors is quite right.  You can say what you like,
+or put it how you like, but it's charity, and John would
+know it, and you would know&mdash;and it might make a
+difference.  I think you're blind."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But why?" cried Vernley, plaintively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John refuses to be helped simply because he thinks so
+much of us&mdash;he's not going to jeopardise his friendship
+by indebtedness or reasonable gratitude.  But you men
+never can see these things.  Only a woman understands."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Rot!" said Vernley, but he began to understand.
+That night he wrote to Marsh.  "I shouldn't mention it any
+more, Scissors can't be shaken&mdash;the Governor's failed, and
+if your Governor tried he might suspect a plot and throw
+us all over.  Perhaps we'll have a chance later.  School
+teaching's a hell of a life."  True to his advice, Marsh
+dropped his own scheme, in which his father had concurred.
+When John arrived to spend September at the Vicarage
+the choice John had made was not opposed.  They had a
+jolly holiday, jolly in so far as John, with the momentous
+events of the last two months in his mind, could be
+light-hearted.  Often he looked into the future and sometimes
+was seized by despair at its hopelessness.  It was not the
+task confronting him.  Earning a living was the common
+lot of men, and the one in which they found most happiness.
+It was his loneliness, the apparent futility of his
+life.  He was alone.  That was the awful thought.  This
+great, passionate world, and of all its millions, not one
+inseparably bound to him, to rise or fall with his success or
+failure!  Ungenerous, perhaps, this thought.  He had
+friends, such friends too!  But the possession of friendship
+meant independence; he was not going to be behind
+and be pulled along in the race of life.  They should have
+no cause to be sorry for him; rather would he have them
+eager to know him, to cherish his friendship the more for
+the success that he brought with it.  He was of a class that
+found it easier to do a favour than receive one.  He spent
+his life seeking, not a way out, but a way through.  He was
+now braced for the contest, and the sternness of it
+exhilarated him with the freshness of a morning sea.  He was
+diving from a great height of sunlit friendship into the cold
+sea of life.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0303"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER III
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the art prospectus, printed on a glazed paper with
+many choice illustrations, Chawley School was a
+perfect place.  The school, once a manor, celebrated
+for its architectural beauty, was situated in a magnificent
+park of five acres, with an ornamental lake and a drive one
+mile long.  The gardens in front of the house were
+extensive and well kept.  One of the illustrations showed
+fifty small boys, all dressed alike, in grey shorts and blue
+flannel jackets, with grey socks with red tops, and straw
+hats with red bands, squatted on the splendid lawn, all
+showing bended bare knees and round happy faces.  In
+their midst were three masters, one middle-aged and two
+quite young, and a lady.  The letterpress under this
+charming picture of sunlit foliage and smiling humanity,
+said "Afternoon Tea."  The prospectus also mentioned the
+covered swimming pool in the grounds, the boys' own
+garden, the large airy dormitories and class rooms.  It
+then drew rapturous attention to the staff.  The school
+was run by the Rev. Shayle Tobin, M.A., Scholar of
+Balliol College, Oxford, with a double first, a blue for
+cricket, and for some years famous as a half-back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One Sunday morning, six head boys, conscious of leadership
+and the great world of a public school approaching,
+shuffled their feet in the Manor pew in the village church.
+Behind them in other pews sat other little boys, more
+angelic in appearance and devilish in action.  They were all
+dressed alike, in black Eton jackets, white collars, grey
+trousers and shoes.  Even at the tender age of ten to
+thirteen their faces gave promise or otherwise.  The new young
+assistant master who sat guarding them in the third pew
+found himself studying, during the dreary sermon, the
+shapes of the heads ranged in front of him like turnips on
+a table.  There were long heads, round heads, oval, pointed,
+blunt, flat and dinted.  Handsome, well-made, ugly,
+emaciated, intelligent, stupid, good-natured, deceitful,
+mischievous and lovable.  John Dean ranged up and down the
+row.  This was his first Sunday morning in church.  It
+was his Sunday on duty; the other assistant master had
+gone into Southampton.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young assistant master was not the only critical
+person letting his thoughts wander from the Harvest Festival
+Sermon.  John gazed abstractedly at the figure of the
+Rev. Samuel Piggin, ringed round with bunches of carrots, a
+few grapes and six tomatoes balanced on the top of a sheaf
+of wheat, which demonstrated God's bounty, despite a
+ruinously wet summer and a harvest, half of which lay rotting
+in the fields.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Piggin, twenty-nine years of age, with spectacles,
+and ardent in romance, was quite thrilled by the first
+glimpse, as she turned to the East in the recital of the
+Creed, of the handsome young master.  His profile would
+have enhanced the wrapper of those shilling reprints to
+which, for want of romance, she was addicted.  Nor was
+she alone in her sudden interest.  Several young ladies
+sitting behind John found great fascination in the clean
+curve from the nape of the neck up to the wavy brown
+head.  Other younger ladies, favourably placed in the side
+pews, could not have been more fascinated had Apollo
+himself renounced his pagan origin and come to church.  The
+proud mouth, the dark eyes, the fine brow surmounted by
+a wavy mass of chestnut hair, the whole poised on an
+athlete's shoulders, were attractions against which the sermon
+competed in vain.  The doctor's daughter, for three years
+determined to be a missionary's wife, found her gaze
+wandering from the altar to the school pew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One little boy with a freckled face and a genius for
+mischief, ceased making chewed pellets from a hymn sheet
+when he noticed the rapt attention directed towards the
+pew in which he sat.  He nudged the boy at his side, and
+both, suddenly conscious of the suppressed excitement that
+flowed over them, sniggered and brought a reproof from
+their new master.  Something in the freckled boy's mute
+mirth as he looked at him, caused John to turn round,
+when he met the troubled gaze of a dozen pairs of amorous
+eyes.  He quickly turned again and felt the blood mounting
+to his neck and face.  The little boys sniggered again.
+John made a mental note not to the little boys' advantage.
+Miss Piggin also made one&mdash;to call when her father paid
+his formal visit; and not to be outwitted, the doctor's
+daughter decided she would motor in with her father on
+Monday morning, when he paid his usual visit to examine
+all the boys at the beginning of term.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hitherto missionaries had absorbed her hero-worship,
+but then, assistant masters, as a class, had not seemed
+attractive.  The former master drank, to the scandal of the
+village, which met him in the bar of the "Red Cow" where
+he grossly libelled all those, and their wives, who kept
+preparatory schools.  His predecessor had a squint, the one
+before was lame, and the one before him was an old man
+of sixty, who had suddenly and most inconveniently died
+of bronchitis in term time.  Sixty pounds a year and free
+board somewhat limited the available supply of assistant
+masters.  Messrs. Sloggart and Slingsby, the scholastic
+agents, had told the Rev. Mr. Tobin that they were afraid
+he would have to add another ten pounds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John liked Mr. Tobin on first contact.  He was a man
+of about fifty years of age, with, a tanned face and kindly
+blue eyes.  The famous athlete was fast disappearing in a
+bulky schoolmaster, who added weight each term with
+considerable anxiety, coupled with a feeling that his appearance
+at least was a good advertisement of the school.  He had
+a genuine love of boys and worked hard with them, being
+strict and kind, with a determination to do his best for
+them!  The boys, in fact, were watched day and night;
+convicts would not have had closer attention, and the same
+supervision extended to the two assistant masters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Tobin had little imagination, and the whole of it had
+been expended in the prospectus.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The grounds of Chawley School were certainly extensive.
+The former tenant, like the present, had found them
+too much so, and let them go wild.  The lawns on the front
+part of the house were kept tidy; elsewhere the walks were
+weed-grown.  The ornamental lake stank, and might have
+been the death place of Shelley's "Sensitive Plant."  The
+prospectus mentioned boating on the lake as one of the
+diversions of the fortunate boys.  The only boat was an old
+punt, one end of which had been long submerged among
+the water lilies.  It was the floating end that appeared in
+the prospectus photograph.  Afternoon tea on the lawn was
+also slightly different from the photograph.  Three
+quarters of the boys had never been on the lawn.  Every
+Sunday, as a reward, six top form boys, with the assistant
+master, were invited to tea with Mrs. Tobin on the lawn.  A
+fear of her presence was mingled with the love of her cake,
+and had the boys had a free will in the matter they had
+rather not have been rewarded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Tobin was a tall woman of about forty-eight years.
+She was cold and looked at people with eagle eyes.  Her
+voice was deep, her features gaunt, framed in straight brown
+hair brushed severely back.  She had the full equipment
+of a bishopric's conventions and never forgot her very
+reverend origin.  She was the business woman, and constantly
+reminded her husband of the fact.  She knew that to make
+a school pay, it required at least fifty boys.  All over that
+number represented profit.  Chawley School had forty-nine
+boys.  She lived her days as though on the edge
+of a precipice.  Mr. Tobin, as became a sportsman,
+delighted in feeding his boys, and invited them to a second
+helping of favourite puddings.  Fortunate youngsters who
+sat at his end of the table!  At Mrs. Tobin's end a second
+request did not bring a refusal, but, "Are you sure you have
+not had sufficient?"  John, who struggled desperately with
+his pies, found a problem in the differential calculus
+easier than the elementary mathematics required for cutting
+a pie into fourteen portions to the satisfaction of twelve
+hungry boys.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Often, when his fourteenth turn came he received a small
+piece of pie crust as his share.  Sawley, a sharp little
+fellow who sat at John's right, soon noticed this and
+generously offered his share.  "We get more than usual now,
+sir," he explained.  "Why don't you serve yourself first?
+The other masters always did."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Masters?" queried John.  "Why how many masters
+have you had?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy smiled, then looked cautiously round to Mrs.
+Tobin's table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Six, sir," he whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And how long have you been here?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Six terms, sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John's heart sank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't expect you'll stay&mdash;will you, sir?" asked the
+boy in a burst of confidence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John snubbed him, in duty bound.  So he was one of a
+procession!  He began to understand the bubbling
+curiosity which his arrival had aroused.  His arrival!  That
+had marked the end of a long mood of despondency which
+began as soon as he had left the cheerful faces of the
+Marshs.  The misery he had endured in the three-mile ride
+from the station to the school!  Peering out of the window
+he watched the long road with its straggling cottages,
+brown and gold in their autumnal creepers.  Then the
+village stores with a fat man looking curiously at the school
+cab, next a rise and on the other side a glimpse, through
+the trees, of Chawley School, fronted by a broad stream
+and bordered by rook-haunted elm trees.  As the cab drew
+up at the main door, the Rev. Shayle Tobin came to greet
+him.  His box was taken up and he followed the head
+master into the wide hall.  There was no furniture in it
+except a round mahogany table with an electro plate card
+tray, and a hat stand.  The head-master's living apartments
+opened off on the right, and a wide corridor traversed
+the whole length of the building.  John was led to
+the left, which contained the class rooms.  If anything
+more had been needed to depress him the room, somewhat
+grandly called the Masters' Common Room, would
+have done it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We have not had time to get straight yet.  The Matron
+will make this more comfortable soon," Tobin said.  There
+was certainly room for improvement.  A worn carpet covered
+the floor.  On the left side stood a small table covered
+with a crimson cloth stained with ink.  The wall paper was
+a faded, patternless drab colour.  There were two chairs,
+one a basket chair with a short leg, the other a stiff
+Sheraton.  There were no pictures on the walls, the fire
+grate had two broken bars and no fender.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The head-master next led the way to John's bedroom.
+This appeared to be a great improvement.  The size of
+the room, in contrast to the Common Room, made John
+feel more lonely than ever, and he shuddered when he
+thought of winter mornings.  But it was well furnished
+in a heavy mid-Victorian manner.  There was a white,
+marble-topped wash stand with a red-flowered jug and
+basin, a large swinging mirror and wardrobe.  The carpet
+was faded but good.  This at least was an endurable room
+and he could live in it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was shortly before tea on the first day of term that
+John met his colleague.  Gerald Woodman, a scholar of
+St. John's College, Oxford, was tall and heavily built for
+his twenty-five years.  He appeared much older because of
+his great reserve and a perpetual melancholy.  He had dark
+hair and dark eyes, an enormous appetite and no sentiment.
+In his short life he had arrived at a creed of
+absolute cynicism.  He talked with reluctance, but John
+found later that at heart he was a good fellow whose foibles
+were the inheritance of a period of religious mania.  He
+was now a robust atheist.  The Church no longer seemed a
+desirable refuge; he had become a schoolmaster.  Although
+fourteen stone in weight, he was possessed by a fear of
+starvation and deplored his thinness; when in cricket flannels,
+his thighs wobbled so much that all the boys grinned, but
+even this did not reassure him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John had recently passed through the brief pimply period
+inseparable from youth, and in desperation one day
+bought a bottle containing five hundred blood pills.  As if
+alarmed at the prospect, the pimples immediately
+disappeared.  Mr. Woodman saw the pills on John's dressing
+table and asked if he might have a few to set his blood in
+order.  John gave him them.  Those pills probably saved
+the first assistant master from a second nervous breakdown.
+He swallowed five after each meal and declared with deep
+satisfaction that he was putting on weight; he was
+optimistic until the bottle was finished, when his habitual
+melancholy returned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their first evening at Chawley School was spent in
+a conference with the Head-master who drew up the
+curriculum.  The hours were arranged between them.  John
+received one afternoon per week off duty and the alternate
+Sundays.  The class hours were 8:30 a.m. to 11, a break
+of half an hour during which they supervised games, then
+11:30 to 1 p.m.  An hour for lunch, then work until 3
+p.m.  Games followed until five, a period during which
+John changed into football shorts and raced about the field
+in a scrimmage of shouting boys.  He enjoyed this and
+quite forgot all his woes.  Tea was at five, a blessed
+interval of one hour's peace, then school again until 7:30, when
+the boys went up to bed.  Dinner, in the household apartments,
+with Mrs. Tobin in an evening gown and facetiously
+cheerful, was at eight.  After dinner the two masters left
+the rosy warmth of the dining room for their own bare
+quarters, where the interval between dinner and bedtime
+was spent in the correction of the day's exercise books; a
+monotonous routine, dulling the senses, and demoralizing
+human beings with its hopelessness.  There was no sense
+of advancement.  The end of the term came slowly, then
+the holidays, then term again, with the same subjects to
+drill into the same reluctant little boys.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Woodman, in a voice of deepest melancholy, foretold
+all this on the first night.  When he learned that John
+was new to his profession he smiled at him like a butcher
+on a good sheep delivered for slaughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Whatever made you do it?" he asked.  "Do anything,
+be a scavenger, a policeman&mdash;you will at least retain your
+self respect.  You will not have to endure the chilliness of
+schoolmasters' wives, the scorn of parents, the buffoonery
+of boys.  We are fools out of motley, something masquerading
+as gentlemen on the stipend of stevedores.  My God,
+Dean, pack your trunk and flee to-night.  This is the end
+of all things.  Have you dreams, ambitions, hope, courage,
+youth?  Abandon all who enter this profession!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John remonstrated.  There was the great opportunity of
+forming character, surely it was a noble thing to teach the
+young, to gain the confidence, if not the affection of boys,
+to watch them grow in intelligence, to trace the operations
+of their fresh minds slowly opening on a wonderful world?
+Mr. Woodman listened patiently to John's panegyric, and
+peered at him over the top of the gold-rimmed spectacles
+he wore when correcting exercise books in the jumping
+incandescent light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dear me!  This is almost pathetic!  Your innocence
+moves me.  I hope you will pardon my saying you must be
+very young.  Eighteen?  Ah! that is a blessed age, but
+you have yet to learn what boys are.  Let me warn you
+and save you much pain.  They are devils incarnate.  And
+don't cherish any illusion about being a schoolmaster.  We
+are a race of pariahs.  At forty we have no feelings left;
+we are desiccated text books.  At fifty we are old fools
+haunting the doorsteps of the scholastic agents or
+short-sightedly sitting on the prepared pins of our loving pupils.
+Don't think you will receive any gratitude for your labour;
+you won't.  Your cheque at the end of term wipes out all
+obligations.  After three years' close attention, they are not
+even your boys.  They pass on to a public school and
+repudiate you.  Boys are sent to preparatory schools by lazy
+parents who wish to get rid of the responsibility of their
+offspring, or by upstarts who want to start the new
+generation in the grooves of social respectability.  They will hold
+you in utter contempt because you cannot do anything
+better than bring up their children for them.  Epictetus was
+a prince in comparison with the modern schoolmaster!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Woodman's theory, nevertheless, was not strictly applied.
+He was firm with his boys, made them work hard and was
+a martinet in detail, but he was a sportsman and the boys
+responded to his sense of fair play.  As for John, by the
+third day of term, he was devoted to them, although hating
+more and more the dreary routine of his life.  It was
+fascinating to study this dozen or so of young lives given into
+his keeping, to note the amazing divergence of character
+which manifested itself so early.  John found himself
+looking through them to the parents beyond.  He had a
+perfect index to the home life and the characters that had
+influenced them.  The generous boy and the greedy, the frank
+and the secretive, the imaginative and the stolid, the sharp
+and the dull, the graceful, the strong, the quick, the ugly,
+the slow, the boy of bright honour, and the boy with a
+tendency to deceit, the potential coward or hero&mdash;they were all
+here in embryo.  Education after all was only a wind that
+could bend the branches, it could not change the nature
+of the plant.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the end of the first week, John was in a highly
+nervous condition.  The monotony of the work, the
+regularity of the hours, the seclusion in a small world, the
+absence of all friends and his isolation miles away from
+all who knew him and with whom he could talk intimately,
+preyed upon his mind until one evening he reached
+a point of frenzy.  He banged down a pile of exercise
+books, kicked a cushion vigorously, and then swore at
+the wall, from the other side of which came sounds of a
+small boy practising Czerny's One Hundred and One Exercises
+for the pianoforte.  Woodman watched this outburst
+of wild rage with amusement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Beat your wings, my poor little moth!  You will soon
+tire and subside&mdash;we have all passed along that <i>via
+dolorosa</i>," he commented.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is unendurable!" cried John, flinging himself in a
+chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The capacity of man to suffer the slings and arrows of
+outrageous fortu&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, shut up!" snapped John.  Woodman regarded him
+sympathetically.  He had grown to like this bright lad, so
+freshly enthusiastic, and bit by bit he had learned his story.
+In exchange he had shown John some of the poetry which
+he wrote secretly.  Strangely enough it was highly
+sentimental, the safety valve of suppressed romanticism.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come on to the lake," he urged.  John followed.  It
+was their favourite pastime.  They had resurrected the
+old punt, and in danger of a wetting, they often pushed it
+along through the thick water lilies that bent under its
+prow, and slowly closed again on the track they made.
+Meanwhile, the rooks, watching them from the elms above,
+cawed loudly, and the water hens showed alarm.  The two
+masters became incredibly young once they were in the
+punt.  They rocked it to see how near shipwreck they
+could go; they sang in a loud voice all the absurd ditties
+they could remember.  Had their young charges seen and
+heard them, it would have been an amazing revelation of
+the humanity of masters out of school.  As it was,
+Mr. Tobin complained that some of their noise had carried
+across the lawns to the open dormitory windows.  But
+they simply had to sing; it was their one outlet of pent up
+youth within them.  They would punt about until the dusk
+had given place to darkness, when the elms seemed
+gigantic and a rising moon peered in between the branches and
+watched the rippling reflection of her light.  Around them
+all was quiet save for the weird squeal of a weasel in the
+woodland or the melancholy hoot of an owl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One evening John was more noisy than ever, and Woodman
+threatened to capsize him, but there was good reason
+for this exhilaration.  The mail had brought an acceptance
+of a long poem from the Editor of the <i>British Review</i>.
+He had written in competition with Woodman, who urged
+him to send it to an editor.  With no faith, but some hope,
+John obeyed.  His surprise, when the acceptance came,
+was unbounded.  It was a long satirical story in the
+manner of Masefield.  John had feared it was too long, for it
+took twenty pages, and here were the proof sheets and the
+offer of three guineas for his work!  Those proof sheets
+kept him in a state of elation for several days.  He had
+never seen himself in print except in the school magazine,
+and here was a great review printing his work!  John
+cashed the cheque and ordered one pound's worth of copies
+of the review when it came out, which he distributed among
+his friends at some cost.  Then he must see the reviewers'
+comments, and another guinea went to a press-cutting
+agency, which sent all the advertisements containing his
+name, and one criticism, if the slightly disparaging
+dismissal could be termed a criticism&mdash;"Mr. John Dean
+contributes some verses of a satirical nature."  The net profit
+on the transaction was five shillings and sixpence which
+John invested in paper and envelopes.  He had tasted
+printers' ink.  John had seen a way out.  He subscribed
+to the <i>Bookman</i>, devoured the <i>Times Literary Supplement</i>,
+and enquired the cost of joining the Society of Authors.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+By the middle of November, with its dark winter nights
+when the wind howled among the chimneys, swayed the
+leafless branches, scurried along the cold flags of the
+corridors and rattled the shutters of the school-room windows,
+John had reached a point of nervous desperation.  One
+night he beat his hands on the walls of his room in mere
+foolish impotence of rage.  Even the placid Woodman,
+swallowing blood pills and putting on weight, became
+alarmed.  There was an intensity in John's despair that
+made him apprehensive.  It was in vain that he encouraged
+his literary work and discussed the novel which John
+had begun as a distraction, but had now discarded.  He
+dragged him out for long walks down the bleak country
+lanes, but could not get him to talk.  He was thin, with
+rings under his eyes, and the rose-red of healthy youth
+in his cheeks had given place to a hectic flush.  He had
+moments of hilarious mirth, as alarming and as unnatural
+as his despair, and one night he had aroused Woodman in
+his bedroom, declaring he could not sleep alone in his
+room any longer and begged to be allowed to sleep on the
+couch.  Woodman assented gladly but he was awakened
+later by a sound of sobbing in the darkness.  He lit a
+candle and leaned up on his elbow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dean&mdash;my dear fellow&mdash;you must not go on like
+this&mdash;you'll make yourself ill."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He heard John clear his voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know&mdash;I'm a fool&mdash;I'm horribly ashamed of
+myself&mdash;but&mdash;but, oh, my God, I am wretched."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, you silly old thing, this morning you were
+making your boys yell with laughter."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And got snubbed by Tobin for it," retorted John.
+"Put out the light, Woodman&mdash;I'll behave&mdash;and thanks
+awfully."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Woodman doused the candle with the matchbox.  In the
+morning John was normal again.  Neither made any
+allusion to the scene in the night.  It was a bad dream.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0304"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER IV
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+There were now rapid phases to John's character.
+He was beginning to apprehend all the wonderful
+interests of the world, interests from which he
+was being boxed up.  He longed for the sound of a
+woman's voice and a glimpse of beauty; a violent nostalgia
+seized him.  The mention of Asia Minor in the geography
+lesson&mdash;and he was leagues away swinging his bare legs on
+a verandah shaded with almond blossom, hearing the
+singing of the stream down the gorge at Amasia, watching the
+light silver, the waterfall as the moon came over the
+mountain cliff and flooded the valley.  He recalled his father
+reading to him; he could hear the clatter of his pony's
+hoofs in the courtyard, hear Ali calling him out to play,
+Ali his bosom friend, whose last gift now lay on his chest,
+whence he had never removed it.  Or he would be suddenly
+transported to Sedley by the sight of a familiar dictionary,
+and again sit working and chattering with Vernley and
+Marsh in their study.  His longing for his friends
+increased with the passing days.  Vernley wrote faithfully,
+chronicling doings at Cambridge, sometimes unconsciously
+causing pain by the enthusiastic mention of a new name,
+which John felt was taking the place of his own.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As anticipated, Marsh was a great success.  In the freer
+atmosphere of the university he had blossomed into a
+man of power and influence.  He had already made a
+brilliant debut at the Union, and prophets talked of him
+as a future President&mdash;"Marsh says the office would be
+yours for the asking, there is no one here who could stand
+up with you&mdash;and I agree; why on earth don't you come,
+you dear old obstinate Scissors!"  John was almost
+persuaded, but pride held him back.  He must work out his
+own salvation&mdash;a memory of Browning helped him:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "<i>But after they will know me.  If I stoop<br>
+  Into a dark tremendous sea of doubt,<br>
+  It is but for a time; I press God's lamp<br>
+  Close to my heart; its splendour, soon or late,<br>
+  Will pierce the gloom; I shall emerge one day.</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+Was he a coward?  He had a fear of poverty, and an
+almost desperate fear of the future at times.  He was
+immersed in the poetry of Shelley and Keats, and soon was
+longing ardently to die of consumption in Italy, long
+before he would be twenty-six.  In another mood his
+ambition carried him to dizzy heights.  Recollections of
+talks with Mr. Ribble came back.  Downing Street was not
+such an impossibility after all.  He could speak.  What
+had Vernley said in his last letter?  And Mr. Steer had
+written to him about his article on "The Rise of Naturalism
+in English Poetry" which had appeared in the <i>Blue
+Review</i>, and asked him to be sure to call when next in
+London, in order that he might meet "some of your
+contemporaries"!  From that day on London began to call
+him.  That was the battlefield.  Woodman agreed.
+"This is a dead end," he said, "but useful for the future."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Useful, how?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're getting material to write about.  Think what
+a story's here for you one day, when you look back.
+You'll smile then."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gradually John's mood of desperation passed.  The
+problems of life was yet to be solved or attempted, but he
+was young.  He had intense ambition, good health,
+friends, and certain qualities which secured him notice.
+He became aware that he possessed what men call a
+personality; there was something that made persons ready to
+do him a service, and this asset was the latest of his
+discoveries.  At the Vicarage, Miss Piggin had proved her
+friendship.  She left him books; she knew something
+about art, having spent two terms at Newlyn; at least she
+knew the various schools of art, the names of the galleries
+in London, and the queer methods employed for achieving
+success.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the first time he heard of the Vorticiste and
+the mad young men of the Backyard Gallery, which
+specialised in chimneyscapes and exalted the hideous.  She
+told him of energetic young James Squilson, one part
+artist, and two parts publicist, the one part being good,
+the others impudent.  The good was at present carefully
+hidden, while his monstrosities had created sufficient of an
+outcry to make those beardless Jews, Messrs. Riverton,
+give him a one-man show at the Trafford Galleries.  This
+exhibition, Miss Piggin said, was a great success.  Society
+flocked to it and declared it unique.  It bought enigmatical
+canvases at fifty guineas each, which were cheap,
+considering they were fashionable and provocative of
+discussions at dinner parties.  Major Slade, a charming
+man, who liked having artists to dinner, bought several
+and felt like a connoisseur for six months, which was as
+long as he liked any sensation.  Squilson's third exhibition
+cooled Slade's waning enthusiasm.  The perverse fellow
+had become an artist.  His paintings might have been
+accepted by the Royal Academy.  When Squilson
+declared, to the horror of society, that he would not object to
+being accepted, Slade dropped him and gave away his
+works as wedding presents.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Piggin was musical also; she played Bach and
+cultivated an enthusiasm for Scriabine.  John found that his
+musical intelligence ceased after Debussy&mdash;Ravel was his
+breaking point, although Stravinsky's <i>L'oiseau de Feu</i>
+seemed to give him a prospect of a new land where the
+animals were articulate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John became rather a frequent visitor to the Vicarage.
+Mr. Woodman was asked to dinner also, but he was asked
+as a companion, and was useful in occupying Piggin's
+attention.  Miss Piggin, accustomed to the role of hostess
+since her mother's death, devoted her attention to John.
+Formerly on festive occasions she had asked her friend, the
+the doctor's daughter, to assist her.  She decided that she
+could manage well enough with such obliging young men.
+Miss Piggin also found a new incentive to dress rather
+better than usual.  The sleepy life of a country Vicarage
+had caused her to become somewhat lax in the past; it was
+no use being a fashion plate when there was no one to
+notice.  Now, however, she made a surprising resurrection;
+even the village publican commented on it, as also
+poor little Miss Timis, called in to do the sewing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Although Miss Piggin was well aware that nature had
+not been lavish at her birth, she knew that fashion has
+given woman a good frame for an indifferent picture.
+Short sighted, out of doors she wore spectacles, but these
+were discarded in the evening.  She was troubled with
+chilblains on her hands, it is true, but she had a
+wonderfully fresh complexion for a young woman of nearly
+thirty.  John in fact thought she was about twenty-three,
+though she seemed to have seen a lot in her short life.
+But she could talk and had an eager interest in literature,
+of which she was no mean critic.  As an artist she was
+sufficiently good to merit her asking John to sit to her,
+which he did, getting an ache in the neck, while she made
+a very idealised drawing of him.  It was a little trying,
+for the sitting which he had been told would require a
+few hours, ran into weeks.  Miss Piggin seemed
+everlastingly taking out the next day what she had achieved
+with such elation the previous day.  The eyes and the
+mouth caused the most trouble.  These required several
+visits from the easel for close study.  His hair was
+comparatively easy, for she could arrange it to fall as it suited
+her.  She told John he had sensitive nostrils and a
+perfect, but sensuous mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not sensual?" he said laughing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It might become that&mdash;yet," she replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was good fun and he liked the little teas they made
+in the studio, with the aid of a gas ring.  Afterwards he
+insisted on washing up while she dried the tea things.
+It was a domestic moment and it gave Miss Piggin a
+thrill; he looked so fascinating with his sleeves rolled up
+above the elbows.  Once, when he dozed while sitting,
+she had hoped that he would fall fast asleep.  She would
+just kiss his head as it lay, with its tumbled hair, on the
+side of the chair.  But he aroused himself, and Miss Piggin
+was grateful that she was saved from being so foolish.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She held John from a nervous breakdown.  She took
+him for lone walks and encouraged him to talk.  He found
+his idea of going to London to write, eagerly supported.
+What to write he hardly knew.  Miss Piggin suggested
+journalism.  She had met quite a lot of journalists near
+her rooms at Hampstead.  They seemed very jolly and not
+hard-worked.  It was true they had small private incomes
+or self-sacrificing parents.  She gave John the address
+of a boarding house in Pimlico.  If he went to London,
+he would find it cheap but not nasty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was on one of these walks one day an incident
+occurred that thrilled her with a revelation of the male in
+action.  They were on a narrow and muddy road when a
+cart came into view, with a red-faced youth lolling on the
+top of a load.  Although there was no space for the two
+walkers to stand in, he drove his cart forward, jamming
+them up against the wall and spattering them with mud.
+Miss Piggin gave a cry of despair at the sight of her
+muddy skirt.  With a quick movement John ran to the
+horse's head, seized the rein and pulled up the cart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why don't you look where you are going?" he shouted
+angrily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lout blinked at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shut yer &mdash;&mdash; mouth."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John flushed and tightened his grip.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You'll get down and apologise to the lady," he said
+firmly.  Another flow of indecent language.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let go that &mdash;&mdash; rein!" finished the carter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall not.  Come down!" retorted John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The carter raised his whip and brought the lash down
+across John's shoulders and neck.  The horse reared,
+John started forward, seized the dangling leg of his
+aggressor, and brought him sprawling down into the muddy
+road.  He was up in a minute bellowing obscenely with
+rage.  John dodged the blow directed at his mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'll fight yer!  I'll fight yer, yer&mdash;" yelled the carter
+stamping around.  John slipped off his coat and
+waistcoat; the carter followed suit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, Mr. Dean, please, please!" implored Miss Piggin
+from the mound on which she had taken refuge.
+John's answer was to fling his discarded clothes into her
+arms.  She looked around, meaning to shriek, but as no
+one was in sight it seemed useless.  Meanwhile the battle
+had begun.  The antagonists were as different in appearance
+as they were in method.  The carter was a heavily
+built youth of about twenty.  He was sandy-haired with
+a tanned face and neck.  His arms were muscular, and the
+gaping shirt revealed a hairy chest.  He was a fellow not
+likely to be knocked out, especially by the lightly built,
+slim youth, who looked almost delicate in contrast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Could this determined, lithe fighter make any impression
+on an opponent so firmly built and muscular?  Miss
+Piggin thought not, and began to think of intervention
+with her umbrella; but she might poke the wrong person.
+She was cheered to notice how quick her champion was.
+It was a contest between speed with intelligence and
+strength with obstinacy.  Mr. Dean might set the pace,
+but would he wear down this bulwark of seasoned flesh?
+They had both received blows, and the nose of the slim
+youth was bleeding.  The other, however, was also bleeding
+at the mouth.  Miss Piggin felt faint and yet thrilled
+at the sight of these flushed youths, their hair falling
+into their eyes, one breathing hard, and the other looking
+implacably fierce.  It reminded her of a fight she had
+witnessed between two stags on Exmoor.  There was
+something exhilarating in the spectacle, though horrible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Considerable in-fighting followed which evidently
+distressed the carter.  Although Miss Piggin could not
+determine who was getting the blows&mdash;they were bent down
+together&mdash;the carter was letting forth "oughs" and "ahs"
+either as expressions of satisfaction or of receipt.  The
+carter had opened with a wild but weighty swinging of the
+arms, which the other cautiously avoided.  One blow from
+those sculpturesque forearms would have rendered him
+hors-de-combat.  He waited his opportunity, backing
+slowly until he secured a favourable opening.  One fist
+landed over the carter's eye.  He grunted but his progress
+was not impeded.  The next moment they had clinched,
+for which Miss Piggin felt grateful.  She would have
+left them in this harmless position, if she could, until she
+had returned with the village constable.  She now stood
+with bated breath, for when they broke away some one
+would receive a blow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here John's small supply of ringcraft, gathered in
+Sedley gymnasium, came into play.  He used the clinch to
+rest himself upon the bulk of the carter, who pushed him
+around, tiring himself.  Then seizing a propitious
+moment, he threw off his assailant's arms, feinted to the left
+cheek, and swung in with a sharp upper cut with the
+right.  It caught the carter neatly under the chin, lifted
+him and sent his head back.  He went down heavily with
+a lost balance.  John walked round till his opponent was
+ready to rise.  His blood was up, there was a grim expression
+on his face, and Miss Piggin, catching a glimpse of
+his steely eyes, cold and fierce under the mop of disordered
+hair, changed in her alarm.  She feared now for the life
+of the carter, raised up on his elbow and contemplating
+things.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, Mr. Dean!" she whimpered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He continued to walk round as though he had not
+heard.  The carter painfully rose to his feet, and then
+with a torrent of abuse, rushed in mad fury at the waiting
+foe.  A right from the shoulder caught John on the
+chest, breaking his guard, and sent him down to his knees
+with its sheer strength.  The carter had no code to obey
+and was ready to follow up his advantage, but in this he
+was unwary.  John waited until he stood over him, and
+with a crouching spring came up under the raw fellow's
+guard, reaching his chin again with some force.  Shaken
+and somewhat dismayed with this surprising return of an
+apparently beaten adversary, he began to retreat, and
+John, still full of battle, saw his chance.  There was some
+swift in-fighting which Miss Piggin could not follow,
+because now the amount of blood visible on both
+antagonists made her feel ill.  She turned her head away.
+When she looked again, it was all over, John stood
+surveying the huddled up form of the beaten youth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Can you get up?" he asked coolly.  The voice was almost
+cruel in its tone, thought Miss Piggin.  Then John
+stooped and pulled the sullen fellow to his feet.  They
+stood facing one another for a long interval.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Will you shake hands?" said John, extending his.
+There was no response for a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yer...." snarled the carter, his eyes still full of
+battle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sorry then," said John unrolling his sleeves.
+There must have been something crossing the slow brain
+of the carter.  His eyes changed expression.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yer've won ... boss," he said slowly.  John heard
+the changed tone and again held out his hand.  The carter
+took it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But peace had left them both strange spectacles.  The
+horse even seemed a little afraid of its master, and turned
+its head as he approached.  He was wiping his
+face, which had begun to swell, with a red handkerchief.
+John was doing likewise.  The absurdity of the
+whole affair was intensified in the process.  Miss Piggin
+now approached and offered a diminutive handkerchief,
+which John accepted, for his own was soaked by a
+persistent nose.  The right eye was slowly closing up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without further comment the carter took his horse's
+head and led it off down the road.  As John looked up
+and caught Miss Piggin's piteous expression, he could not
+help laughing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I suppose I look a beautiful object?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, Mr. Dean!" was all she could say.  If only he
+would faint now, all was safe!  Her womanly instinct for
+nursing the brave rose within her.  She would dearly have
+loved to hold him in her arms and bathe his face, and tidy
+his hair.  But romance gave place to the practical.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You must come to the Vicarage first&mdash;you can't return
+like that."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;I can't&mdash;but I want washing now before it
+dries," he replied.  There was a canal bordering the next
+field; the road led over the canal bridge.  The Vicarage
+was two miles away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm going to swim in the canal!" he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Pilgrim shivered at the idea.  "It's terribly cold!"
+she cried.  "You will get a chill."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's the tonic I want," he replied.  "You stand on
+the bridge.  I can strip underneath if you'll keep watch."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He led the way, and left her on the bridge.  What an
+amazing man!  A minute or so later she heard a splash,
+and shivered sympathetically in the cold November wind.
+She could not help just looking over the bridge a moment,
+and caught a glimpse of white shoulders, a dark head, and
+the strong arms thrashing the grey water into a foamy
+track.  Then he turned and she looked away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he came up and joined her on the bridge later, he
+looked marvellously refreshed.  It was true his eye had
+closed up but most of the horror of the battle had been the
+blood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But how have you dried yourself?" she asked, as he
+squeezed his hair with his hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He laughed at her with his merry eye&mdash;the right one,
+still visible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"On my shirt."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She blushed crimson.  Men had shirts, as she knew,
+but it was awkward to be told so by men.  They walked
+home through the barren copse, burning red on the horizon
+where the sun left the winter day.  For one person these
+were the woods of Broceliande, and her heart warmed
+towards the young knight fresh from the battle.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Woodman's expression, at the appearance of John
+just in time for tea in the study, was a mixture of
+surprise and disapproval.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My dear fellow&mdash;" he began.  "You have not been
+fighting?  An assistant master!  Whatever will Tobin
+say?  Don't eat all that toast&mdash;here's the fork, make
+your own&mdash;he will want a full explanation of that eye.
+What an eye!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John briefly recounted the episode.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I should leave out Miss Piggin," said Woodman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tobin strongly disapproves of masters walking about
+the country with young ladies, and as for fighting for
+them like bulls in a herd..."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, stop ragging.  What's the best for a black eye?"
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0401"></a></p>
+
+<h2>
+BOOK IV
+<br><br>
+LIFE
+</h2>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER I
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two young men stood on a country platform saying
+good-bye to each other.  One was bound for
+Cambridge, the other for London.  Two trunks were
+in charge of the porter, but neither of these belonged
+to the bronzed young fellow who took his seat in the
+train.  For although London was his destination, he
+had as much foreknowledge of his actual resting place
+in that metropolis as had Mr. Richard Whittington
+many years before him.  The latter was supposed to
+have brought a cat with him; the young man in the
+carriage had no cat.  He had health and ambition, also
+one hundred and twenty pounds in the bank.  He had
+been able to save the whole of his salary for the second
+and final term at Chawley School, which he had left at
+Easter, to the sorrow of the boys, who had marked their
+adoration with some tears, and a presentation set of
+"Shelley's Poems."  He had taken a bold step, highly
+applauded by Mr. Gerald Woodman.  He had sacrificed
+an income of sixty pounds a year, with board, lodging
+and washing, for the uncertainty of London.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was no regret in his heart on this lovely
+spring morning.  The song of the lark mounting to a
+southern cloud, the sense of budding things in hedge and
+tree, the sharp air, and the exuberance of his friend,
+Bobbie Vernley, all augured well for the adventure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You have given me a great time, Bobbie," he said,
+looking on the good-natured face of his friend.  "Don't
+forget to tell Marsh to write, and let me have all the news.
+I will write as soon as I get my rooms."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a slamming of doors, the screech of the engine
+whistle, a final handshake, a look in Vernley's eyes
+that told him much, and they were parted again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John sat back in the seat and watched the familiar
+station glide away.  Somehow this place always marked the
+beginning and end of things.  When next he came how
+would he stand&mdash;a success or a failure?  He had weighed
+anchor and was putting to sea.  He had youth, one
+hundred and twenty pounds, and determination.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opening a note book, he glanced through a list of
+addresses which gave him a little comfort.  He knew a few
+persons in London.  There was Mr. Steer, and a renewal
+of his acquaintance warmed him with joyous expectation.
+There was Mrs. Graham, to whom he was confidential, and
+who, looking in upon his dreams knew to what starry
+pinnacles he aspired.  Muriel had insisted on an early
+call on Mr. Ribble, but John felt doubtful.  A busy
+politician would find courtesy and kindliness heavily taxed if
+every stray youth seeing London rang his door bell.  But
+he made one promise to call formally.  There was a hope
+of companionship in the presence in town of Lindon,
+who had just left Balliol to study at the Royal Academy
+of Music, but a certain shyness still hung over his
+relations with that brilliant person.  There was something he
+never quite understood, a reservation in manner, if not
+in speech, which told John theirs could never be an equal
+friendship.  Somehow he always felt the debtor to Lindon,
+perhaps owing to his manner.  Despite his cordiality,
+his obvious liking of John's company, the latter always
+felt diffident; perhaps now he would learn to know
+Lindon better, relieved of the halo of a schoolboy's worship.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Interleaving his note book was Miss Piggin's card, and
+on it, in a pointed Italian hand, the address of a boarding
+house she recommended.  "Mrs. Perdie, 108, Mariton
+Street, S.W."  In his pocket, John carried another specimen
+of Miss Piggin's handwriting, on the flyleaf of "The
+Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft," calmly setting forth
+the inscription&mdash;"To John Narcissus Dean from Elsa Piggin,
+in memory of walks and talks."  Some of the letters
+had run, Miss Piggin explained, owing to the dew
+dripping from some roses just gathered, on her writing desk.
+The warmth of her pillow overnight had somewhat
+crinkled the dried page, but this Miss Piggin did not
+attempt to explain.  She carefully hid from all eyes that,
+with his departure, Romance died.  Henceforth, she
+accepted Fate with gentle compliance.  No more
+rebellions, never again the false hope of Springtime; even
+photographs were resolutely put away, John's included,
+but she permitted one small snapshot taken on the football
+field, to remain on her dressing table.  He had such
+a handsome leg, and her soul craved beauty.  For the
+rest she was unwearied in attention to her father.  He
+found clean nibs in his pens, his note-books carefully
+dusted and replaced.  She had a great scheme that afternoon
+for the Ladies' Sewing Meeting, which foretold long
+months of patient work&mdash;an altar cloth, embroidered
+with scenes from the life of St. John.  Appropriately
+therefore, the opening lesson was read from the Gospel
+according to St. John.  She began it with loving reverence.
+St. John was such a beautiful name, she thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And John?  Alas! he too dreamed, of a fair face,
+the laughter of maidenhood, the sudden shaking of curls
+beautiful in their agitation.  Those last moments in the
+hall, awaiting the arrival of Tod with his car, were
+painful almost.  One by one they had said good-bye.
+Mr. Vernley, red-faced, cheerful, friendly; Mrs. Vernley,
+motherly to the last, then Kitty, off for her morning ride,
+and Alice about to retire to her voice production; and
+then they were alone for a few precious moments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You will write?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Every day, darling," he vowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall always think of you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Always?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Always!" she promised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their hands are locked&mdash;silence, and tears in Muriel's
+eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall soon be on my feet."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Muriel!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John, dearest!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"London is nearer than Chawley."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, John, but&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is so new, such an adventure."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That thrills me&mdash;our day draws nearer, our day,
+Muriel."  There is another pause.  Bobbie bangs the
+door open before approaching.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Car's coming round, Scissors," he shouts.  "Good-bye,
+Muriel, old thing!  Remember me to the nuns!"  He
+strides up and kisses her soundly on the cheek, sees tears
+in her eyes; she feels the reassuring pressure of her
+brother's hands upon her arms.  And then they are gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the train drew in through the panorama of chimney-pots,
+factory roofs and gasometers, it was her face
+John saw, over the wretchedness of the bewildering city.
+In the station he awoke to the reality of the things under
+the girders and glazed roofs.  He carried only a bag; his
+trunk would be forwarded when he found rooms.  He
+stood on the platform hesitating a moment.  London
+frightened him.  It was so vast and self-centred, so busy
+with people who had apparently solved the problem he
+had to solve.  Where should he begin, and how would it
+all end?  For the moment he had one rule, strict
+economy.  He made his way slowly up the incline out of
+Liverpool Street Station, and asked a policeman the best
+means of reaching Mariton Street.  "Where is it?" he
+asked the genial fellow whose robust countenance cheered
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Pimlico!  No. 6 bus to Charing Cross, change to 24,
+that'll take you down to Mariton Street."  John thanked
+him and clambered to the top of the bus.  He watched the
+traffic, human and vehicular, streaming down Bishopsgate.
+At the Bank, he could not suppress a thrill as he
+looked on the restless tide surging into the vortex before
+the Mansion House.  St. Paul's, lifting its sun-struck
+dome into the morning air, pigeon-haunted, floated away
+behind, and the short descent under the viaduct brought
+them to Ludgate Circus.  There, narrow, mazed with
+telegraph wires, jammed with buses, cars, lorries, and
+hurrying humanity, rose Fleet Street.  An incommunicable
+wonder stole in on the boy's heart.  Here was the
+battle ground whereon he would throw down his gauge.
+The roar in his ears might have been applause, or was it
+the laughter of ridicule?  The gold-lettered sign-boards
+announced the tributary channels on either hand.
+Names familiar on the breakfast table; names of power
+and wonder leapt forth from these insignificant buildings,
+behind those walls sat the men who held the world
+in leash.  The fall of empires, the death of monarchs,
+the ruin of men, the fame that sprang upon them; all
+these things found their historians here.  Man-made,
+this world was hedged round with the divinity of power.
+Within those drab buildings beat the pulse of Time.
+Mercury, wing-footed, swept down those narrow stairways,
+and leapt forth from fourth-storey dwellings of the
+Olympian "We."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was soon passed.  The roaring bus soared up the
+gradient towards the Griffin and Shield at the City
+entrance of Temple Bar.  Beyond, a widening way diverged
+in two crescents around the pinnacled church.  High up on
+the right, the solemn solidity of the Law Courts, its clock
+hung from the tower far over the narrow street; a swerve
+and a new vista.  The Strand leading onwards past the
+wedge of the Australia House, the pillared colonnade of the
+Gaiety Theatre, and the narrows, with hotels and theatres
+on either hand.  Then the railed front of Charing Cross,
+a brief right hand glimpse of St. Martin's Church, and
+John descended.  Around the corner broke the wonder
+of the world, Trafalgar Square, flanked by the National
+Gallery, white against the blue sky, cumulus-banked
+with summits of sunlit snow.  Aloft, Nelson, dark and
+solitary, looking riverwards far over the head of the
+unfortunate monarch, superbly seated and orientated; the
+four lions, symbols of British solidarity and regal
+magnificence, in whose ears the song of the nation's traffic
+sounded by day and by night, guardians of the hub of
+empire; and listeners, perforce, to the revolt of humanity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Long stood the youth, gazing upon this scene, watching
+the brilliance of the fountains with their scintillating
+jets, about whose spray naked urchins as if strewn from a
+garland of Correggio, shouted and splashed.  Into his
+heart stole the magic of the place.  Here was the visible
+pulse of the nation, the England in which he lived, an
+Englishman.  Here was the dream, tangible, carried in the
+hearts of a thousand pioneers across the wastes of far
+places, the music accompanying the hymn of duty, the
+thought that built the empire imperishable in the love of
+her children.  He looked on the Roman magnificence of
+the Admiralty Arch, caught a swift translation of a
+Venetian moment when a cloudless azure dome encupped the
+towered church; and then, with a start, he returned to
+the business of the day.  A few minutes later one view
+crowded out another, until amid ecstasy and wonder, he
+seemed to be riding through history.  Whitehall, broad,
+official, stately; the sudden leap to sight of Westminster
+Hall; the familiar homeliness of the Abbey; the tracery of
+the Houses of Parliament; the clock tower and the bridge,
+and ere the tumult subsided in his heart, followed the
+long cathedral-greyness of Victoria Street, ending in
+the vulgar rout of traffic about the railed courtyard of
+Victoria Station.  John laughed to himself, swaying on
+the bus.  Was he seeking lodgings or El Dorado?
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+When the bell rang for the fifth time that morning,
+Mrs. Perdie let forth a protest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sure there's no peace in a basement kitchen," she
+moaned, wiping her hands dry after peeling potatoes for
+the evening meal.  It was no use expecting Annie to
+answer the bell; she was on the fourth floor making the
+young gentlemen's beds, and lost that moment in
+contemplation of a gaudy pair of pyjamas.  So while Annie
+speculated on the cost of a blouse made out of the same
+silk, Mrs. Perdie climbed the stairs and opened the door
+to another exquisite young man.  But she had a trained
+eye, and the first words of enquiry told her that this was
+the genuine article, the product which Mrs. Perdie, proud
+of being a connoisseur by virtue of seventeen years'
+service in the best families, reverenced and made adjustable
+terms for.  The mention of Miss Piggin's name immediately
+confirmed her impression.  Warmly she invited the
+young gentleman into the drawing room, hastening to
+draw up the Venetian blinds and apologising for her
+appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm not like this of a night-time.  You see, when they
+are all out I give a hand to the maid."  Then she was
+silent a space, while she absorbed the vision of the young
+man seated before her.  A visit from Phoebus Apollo
+himself&mdash;the original of the plaster statue on the shelf over
+the aspidistra&mdash;would not have silenced her so
+effectively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I knew at once he was of quality," she confided to
+Annie later.  "His hands, gloves and shoes&mdash;you can
+never go wrong there.  You can't be sure of accent.
+Some people are regular parrots.  And he was that shy
+I could have hugged him.  Didn't like to ask how much,
+he didn't, or what it included.  Different to that brazen
+pair on the fourth floor."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The interview was indeed somewhat painful to John.
+He had heard warning stories of the rapacity of landladies,
+of their dirty rooms, bad food and subtle extras.
+The most familiar jokes were based on the experiences of
+unfortunate lodgers.  He had expected to find Mrs. Perdie
+rat-faced, with a withered neck and untidy wisps of
+hair.  This round-faced woman with the pleasant smile
+and a straight-forward air was not the original of the
+caricatures; moreover he saw no cringing cat.  There
+was not even a bunch of wax grapes under a glass dome,
+which Tod assured him monopolised the mantelpiece in
+all boarding houses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At her invitation he made a tour of the bedrooms, and
+heard as he mounted the stairs, the separate histories of
+the occupants of each room.  She halted on the third
+floor and led the way into a back bedroom.  It was
+well-furnished as a bed-sitting room.  A writing table stood
+under the window, which looked out on the wide expanse
+of a factory yard.  The sky was cut by a huge chimney,
+belonging to the Army Clothing Factory, but this was not
+unpleasant, for it bore a slight resemblance to the
+Campanile of St. Mark's, Venice; at least with a blue sky an
+hour after sunset, the illusion was not impossible.  There
+was a large mirrored wardrobe, a bed with a purple eiderdown,
+a boxed-in wash-stand, a small table, an easy chair
+and a gas stove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Gas is extra, sir, there's a shilling slot meter in the
+recess so that you only pay for what you burn.  The bath
+room, with a geyser, is on the landing.  This room and
+board, is two guineas a week, laundry and boot cleaning
+extra.  There's breakfast and dinner in the evening,
+with midday dinner and tea on Sundays.  All our guests
+have lunch out.  I'm sure I could make you comfortable,
+sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Looking at the woman, John felt sure too.  He was
+glad to have settled the problem so easily.  Before he
+went, Mrs. Perdie gave him a latch key&mdash;a sign of
+confidence in view of the smallness of his bag, and in
+return he insisted on paying her a week in advance which
+caused her to say to Annie, "only a gentleman would
+think of that&mdash;handsome-like.  There's nothing like the
+quality."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she showed John out, he was reminded that dinner
+was at seven, and buses ran every ten minutes from
+the corner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know your name, sir," said Mrs. Perdie
+finally, as the young man put on his hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dean&mdash;John Dean," replied John with a smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Perdie smiled back as she closed the door,
+"Bless 'im," she said to the cat, which then appeared.
+"I wonder what he does&mdash;and such nice teeth and manners!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Annie descended from her dreams of glory, with
+a few loose feathers in her hair, Mrs. Perdie was rubbing
+a serviette ring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Annie&mdash;there's a new gentleman comin' in to-night;
+set a clean napkin and this ring between Miss Simpson
+and Captain Fisher, and get the back bedroom ready.
+Take the best towel up."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When John returned to Mariton Street that evening,
+the beauty of London burned in his blood.  He had given
+himself up to pleasant vagabondage all that day, abandoning
+the quest of livelihood.  On the morrow he would
+begin that grim task.  So after sending the address for
+his luggage to be forwarded, noon found him walking
+along the road by the garden wall of Buckingham Palace,
+towards Hyde Park.  It was sunny, and the pleasant
+hum of traffic, the bright-faced messenger boys, the
+nurse girls with their well-dressed children, the crescendo
+of an approaching bus, the lovely elegance of the lady
+whose car went parkwards for an airing, the stately
+fronts of the houses, the sun-gleamed masses of clouds
+that backed the dark figure of the charioteer on the
+quadriga near Green Park&mdash;all these things were part of this
+wonderful song of life.  It was almost incredible that he
+should seek a niche in all this splendour.  Those people
+around him seemed so well established; had they ever
+begun, or had they been mere victims of circumstances?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He watched a couple of riders turn in at Hyde Park
+Corner; a fresh-faced young man, stolid with good food
+and no worry, accompanied a fragile girl, whose
+well-tailored riding habit for a moment called up another
+figure he knew well in similar attire.  He followed in at
+the gates and turned to the left, wondering if ever he and
+Muriel would ride together down that glorious stretch.
+He sat down on one of the chairs and watched the riders.
+Children accompanied by grooms, elderly army officers,
+a very stout lady who appeared to break down the
+fetlocks of her mount, a tall girl in black top-boots, who
+galloped, with splendid hands, and laughed back at two
+young men who made desperate efforts to keep with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then his attention was attracted by an elegant
+apparition, which alighted like a bird of paradise from a car
+on the edge of the curb.  It was a boy-officer in the
+Scots Guards.  He was very tall and languid, but held
+himself stiffly erect as though there was a cavity between
+his shoulder blades which he wished to keep closed.  It
+was difficult to know how he ever washed his face, so rigid
+were the arms.  His hat which had a brass peak and a red
+and white diced band, half buried his face, the chin
+receding underneath a hairless upper lip, delicate and
+curved.  His painfully erect carriage seemed derived
+more from mechanism within than from the operation
+of will.  His tunic suggested a theatrical tailor, so
+flawlessly did it fit, with an exaggerated waist-line that made
+an hour-glass of a human trunk.  And as if in fear that
+it was just possible some one might mistake the young
+elegant for an ordinary officer in an ordinary regiment,
+the tailor had descended from fashion to eccentricity in
+the cut of the trousers, which, receiving inspiration from
+golfing breeches, bulged below the knees, where they were
+caught up by puttees that wound about two stick-like
+legs ending in enormous booted feet.  The young man
+was evidently delighted with himself.  He turned round
+three times in the sunshine, like a parrot on a perch.
+Then it happened that a square-shouldered country youth,
+in a coarse copy of the same uniform, but with ruder
+brass embellishments, saluted and passed.  The immediate
+effect was wonderful, if startling; a swift spasm, as
+of a Titan struggling with tetanus, galvanised the young
+officer into movement.  By a terrific jerk, he succeeded
+in bringing his out-turned palm behind his right ear
+where it locked for a moment before being hurled downwards
+to its former rigidity, the disturbed flesh subsiding
+again into calm dignity.  A few minutes later he
+was joined by a brother officer, an even more splendid
+figure wrapped in a long greatcoat of gorgeous blue,
+double-breasted and broad lapelled, with two vertical
+rows of buttons and a glimpse of scarlet lining within,
+where it gaped about his knees.  The waist line was
+identical, a similar hat hid a similar face.  One felt
+there might be a thousand of these in a box somewhere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Comédie Humaine continued.  Two seats away
+from him a rather stout lady, accompanied by three
+Pomeranian dogs, seated herself.  She was half-buried in
+furs above the waist, and half-naked below, but apparently
+suffered no discomfort.  John could not help looking
+at her ankles, which were shapely, a diamond watch-bangle
+encircling the right.  The lady noticed John's
+gaze and did not seem to mind, for she smiled.  Slightly
+embarrassed, he thought it right to smile back,
+transferring his gaze to the Pomeranians, in suggestion
+that they were amusing.  The exchange of smiles,
+however, made him aware that the lady was of
+indeterminable age, but had a very fresh complexion.  The
+wind also told him that she liked expensive perfume.
+He continued to watch the horses and the people, and
+caught whiffs of conversation.  He heard, from the young
+men, that certain things, he could not hear what, were
+"rather priceless" and "topping."  One voice was ecstatic
+over Pavlova, "but Novikoff!" exclaimed an adoring
+feminine voice, "you've seen the Bacchanale?"  Presently a
+long purple limousine drew up to the edge of the curb.
+The lady with the dogs rose and went towards it, the
+chauffeur opening the door.  She was just entering the
+car when one of the leashes dropped from her hands.
+The dog immediately ran off in the direction of John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Naughty Topsie!" she called.  "Come here!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Topsie welcomed liberty and sped on, John in
+pursuit.  He soon retrieved the runaway and towed it back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you so much," said the lady sweetly.  "Topsie
+is such a rebel&mdash;I love dogs, don't you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," said John.  He thought she looked critically
+at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you got one?" she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;I have just left school&mdash;it is difficult there."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;and are you starting business; I suppose you're
+quite thrilled!"  She laughed again and John responded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I have not started yet&mdash;I have just come to London
+to-day."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"All alone?" asked the lady, arching her eyebrows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But how romantic!  You sound like Dick Whittington,
+without a cat or a dog!"  She laughed again at her
+joke.  He noticed she had beautiful small teeth; a rope
+of pearls lay on her throat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you know London?" she asked again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;I have never stayed here for any time," he
+answered.  The chauffeur still waited with his hand on
+the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This park is very lovely," she said, gathering her furs
+about her.  "You should see it&mdash;will you drive through
+it with me?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The invitation was so gracious and alluring John
+could not refuse; he followed the lady into the car, and
+with the dogs in their laps, they glided forward.  It was
+a luxuriously appointed car.  Three silver sconces held
+flowers whose perfume competed with that of the lady.
+The chauffeur in front wore a cerise uniform, with a
+broad green collar.  Inside they were quite silent for
+a few minutes.  John's shyness overcame him, while the
+lady, reclining on an air cushion, arranged her furs and
+played with the collars of the dogs on her lap.
+John knew that he was being closely scrutinised, and he
+resolved not to reveal any more of his personal history.
+This close contact showed that his companion's age was
+about thirty-five, and the fresh complexion had not been
+acquired in the open air.  She made no secret of this,
+for she lifted her half veil, opened a vanity bag, took out
+what appeared to be a silver pencil, and raising a small
+mirror, carefully attended to her lips, which reddened in
+the process.  John wondered who she was.  There was a
+little pile of visiting cards in the wallet under the motor
+watch but they were upside down so he could not read
+them.  She was evidently a wealthy woman, and in some
+respects reminded him of Mrs. Graham, who also had a
+green jade vanity bag.  Mrs. Graham, however, on the
+one occasion when she used its contents, told him to turn
+his head away.  The lady in the car, having completed
+her toilet, raised a lorgnette, looked out of the window for
+a few moments, dropped it, and addressed John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"London can be a very lonely place," she said.  "I
+know, because my husband is in India with his regiment."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John hesitated in reply.  He could not just say, "Oh,"
+and if he said "I'm sorry," it would be stupid.  So he
+simply said, "Yes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you many friends here?" she asked.  The
+question was kindly.  He chatted brightly.  Her first
+impression was correct, she thought, looking at him.  He
+was a very handsome youth.  When he looked down she
+saw how the long lashes swept his cheek, and when looking
+at her his eyes had wonderful depth.  She liked the
+fine line of his profile, and the well-shaped, sloping ear;
+his hands too were fascinating, being strong and veinless.
+And in every movement and line, there was the symmetry
+of thoughtless youth, which was delightful.  After a short
+time he, too, was admiring her intensely.  She had an
+alluring voice&mdash;and he could not help noticing the ankles
+and small feet, so beautifully shod.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They turned and twisted, caught a glimpse of a sheet
+of water, an ornamental garden and bridge, then turned
+again, running parallel with a main road, whose roar
+could be heard behind the screen of trees.  The watch
+hands pointed to ten minutes to one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I am lunching in Cumberland Place at one," she said.
+"Can I drop you on your way?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had no way, but did not care to confess it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"At the gates will do, thank you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the car drew up near Marble Arch, she took a
+card from the wallet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This is my name and address.  Since you are new to
+London, let me offer you hospitality.  Will you not dine
+with me one evening at my house?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He thanked her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Shall we say Thursday at seven?  It will be quite
+<i>en famille</i>.  You will be the only guest."  She showed
+her beautiful teeth when he assented, and held out a
+diminutive gloved hand as he stepped out of the car.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye," she smiled, as he raised his hat, a glance
+taking in the sweep of his brow with its clustered hair.
+The door closed, she leaned back with a parting glance,
+and as the car lurched forward, he replaced his hat.  He
+looked calm enough, but there was tumult within.  For
+a few moments he gave no thought to lunch.  What a
+wonderful place London was!  Then he became conscious
+of the large, neat-lettered card in his hand.  "Lady
+Evelyn Warsett, 607, Queen Anne's Gate, S.W.," he read.
+Also he remembered he had not told her his name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When John returned that evening to Mariton Street
+the dinner gong was creating pandemonium in the hall
+below, and there followed an opening of doors, a creaking
+of stairs and a babble of voices.  He halted on the threshold
+of the dining room, dreading his entry into this
+strange circle.  But Mrs. Perdie was waiting for him
+and piloted him to his place at the table, where she
+introduced him to Miss Simpson on his right, and Capt. Fisher
+on his left.  The captain was very curt and ignored him
+throughout dinner.  Miss Simpson was assiduous in polite
+attentions and small talk.  When she discovered he had
+been in Asia Minor, life suddenly brightened for her.
+She had lived a year at Samsoon, with her brother, then
+the Consul, now a Governor in India.  The Captain
+sniffed and fidgeted.  He hated all his talk about Asia
+and India.  He had spent most of his life on the Gold
+Coast, and knew it was not so fashionable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When dinner was over the young men lingered behind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps you would like to have a smoke?" suggested
+Mrs. Perdie, going out and leaving John with the other
+boarders.  He now looked more particularly at his
+companions.  They had crossed to one of the windows where
+they began to bewilder the parrot by blowing smoke into
+its face.  Presently one of them seemed aware that John
+was in the room.  Pulling out a silver cigarette case he
+opened it and held it towards him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have a gasper?" he drawled genially.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John presumed he meant a cigarette, and took one.
+The donor extended an elegantly ringed hand to light his
+own.  There was an excessive length of cuff.  John's
+eye moved along the arm, and noted the carefully knotted
+tie.  The clothes were ultra-fashionable, the cut of the
+waist being much exaggerated.  The trousers had a razor-edge
+crease and the patent boots, narrow and pointed,
+were topped by brown canvas spats.  But despite the
+elegance there was something too pronounced in everything.
+The cloth was just too light in colour, too loud in check,
+the cameo ring too large, the pearl pin too pearly to be
+genuine.  Even the hair was curled until it suggested a
+wig rather than a natural covering, and the skin had a
+curious poreless texture.  But all these might have passed
+unnoticed by a less critical eye than John's, fresh to
+impressions after the plain severity of schooldays, had not
+the voice, and accent deliberately assumed, been so truly
+remarkable.  It was a high-pitched voice, that rather
+sang than spoke.  He turned from time to time to his
+companion, to whom, to John's amazement, he alluded as
+"my dear"&mdash;John wondering if that was the fashionable
+pet name in London.  The friend was of similar type,
+but he talked less and giggled more.  The teeth were
+profusely stopped with gold, and while they talked, he
+extracted a piece of washleather from his yellow waistcoat
+pocket and polished his nails.  He was the younger by
+about two years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mrs. Perdie didn't introduce us," said the elder&mdash;"my
+card."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John took the piece of pasteboard and read it.  In
+Roman printed type it ran "Reginald de Courtrai.
+Greenroom Club, W.C."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are French?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"By descent&mdash;my grandfather was a Courtrai de Courtrai."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;I'm afraid I haven't a card yet&mdash;my name's
+Dean."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you come to business?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;I have not long left Sedley."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The companion also held out a card.  John accepted it
+and read, "Vernon Wellington, Greenroom Club, W.C."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I bet Reggie at dinner you were a public school boy,"
+said the donor.  "Good old public schools we always say!
+Glad you've come.  We are trying to put some tone into
+this house.  Lord, it needs it, look at this!"  He waved
+his hand derisively towards a red-blue-and-gold china
+shepherdess on the mantelpiece.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Fine place, Sedley," commented Mr. de Courtrai,
+puffing out smoke, one leg crossed in the arm chair.
+"Eton,&mdash;Harrow,&mdash;Sedley&mdash;I think I should have chosen
+Sedley had I not been educated on the continent.  There's
+a fine tone about Sedley, what do you say, old dear?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old dear agreed.  "My people insisted on me going
+to a private school.  Thought me too delicate.  Always
+regretted it."  He adjusted his tie carefully, glanced at
+himself in the mirror and smoothed his hair with a thin
+white hand.  "You're new to London I suppose?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;I arrived to-day&mdash;but I shall like it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+De Courtrai blew more smoke into the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You must get some cards&mdash;really, my dear."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And a club," added Wellington.  "Every fellah must
+have a club.  We'd put you up, but ours is for the
+profession."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Profession?" asked John.  He was eager to know what
+they were.  He had never met any one quite like this.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We're on the stage," replied Wellington.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;it must be very interesting work, acting."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We aren't actors; we're in the ballet&mdash;the Empire.
+We're opening next Monday&mdash;'Scheherezade.'"  De
+Courtrai stroked his ankle.  "A superb spectacle, you
+must come."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John had never seen a ballet and he could not imagine
+the parts played by these young exquisites.  He remembered
+two pictures by an artist called Degas, on which
+Mr. Vernley set great value.  They were of ladies in
+short fluffy skirts with stumpy legs, on one of which they
+stood, stork-like.  Bobbie said they were ballet-girls, and
+that Tod had once run one, whereupon John naïvely asked
+"Which won?" causing Vernley to collapse in shrieks of
+merriment.  He had never heard of men doing ballet
+dancing.  Perhaps they had something to do with the
+scenery.  He did not care to hint at this, however, and
+said how much he would like to see the ballet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He'd better come on Wednesday, my dear," said de
+Courtrai, addressing Wellington, "when we're doing
+'Carnival.'  He'll fall in love with Harlequin, won't he?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Wellington giggled and exclaimed&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"S'nice!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is she very beautiful?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They opened their eyes wide.  Mr. Wellington again
+giggled, put his hand delicately on his hips, shook
+himself and exclaimed, "Chase me!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My dear!" exclaimed de Courtrai, dabbing his nose
+with a highly-scented handkerchief, "It isn't a she, it's
+a he!"  They laughed again, in a high-pitched key which
+jarred on the young man, and they saw that he resented
+their mirth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You mustn't mind, old thing," de Courtrai exclaimed
+apologetically, touching John's arm.  "You're really
+rather sweet."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John got up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm afraid I must go and unpack now."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Can we help?" volunteered Wellington.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, thanks, I haven't much," he replied and went out.
+He could hear them giggling as he went upstairs to his
+room, and felt furious with them for making such a fool
+of him.  How was he to know that Harlequin wasn't a
+ballet-girl?  He would talk less in future, and not ask
+so many questions.  But he disliked their manner
+although they had been very friendly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Half an hour later there was a tap on his door.  With
+his head deep in the almost empty trunk, John paused.
+The tap was repeated.  In reply to his call Wellington
+and de Courtrai entered, the latter carrying a cup.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We've brought you some coffee we've made in our
+room.  Ma Perdie won't make it without a shilling extra."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, thank you," said John taking the cup.  They
+paused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Won't you sit down?&mdash;at least, there's only two chairs;
+I'll sit on the bed."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They sat down and John sipped the coffee.  It was
+made from essence and sickly sweet, but he had to drink
+it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're very jolly in here," said de Courtrai thrusting
+his feet out towards the gas fire.  "A nice warm
+room&mdash;we're at the top.  You're getting your knick-knacks
+about, I see."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;just a few I've brought."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly from the other side of the room came a loud
+"Ooh!"  It was from Wellington who had been walking
+round on a tour of inspection.  He had halted at John's
+ivory brushes, with his father's monogram and crest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What charming brushes!" he sang.  "Look, my dear,
+aren't they just too lovely!"  He carried the tray to de
+Courtrai.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The latter looked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, I believe they're heavier than mine.  But Welly,
+you mustn't be so rude."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, it's all right," said John weakly.  The next
+exclamation came from de Courtrai, who suddenly saw the
+portraits on the dressing table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who's this?" he asked picking up Vernley's portrait.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My friend."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a sweet face!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John could hardly agree, and he thought with a smile,
+what Vernley would have said if he had heard himself
+called "sweet."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And this?"  Wellington picked up Marsh's photograph.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Another friend," replied John briefly.  Next to it
+stood a portrait of Muriel.  He didn't want them to
+probe all his secrets.  He was a fool for putting it out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But de Courtrai's eyes travelled over it without notice,
+to a Sedley group.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who's this with the ball?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;that's Lindon, the Captain."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a wonderful figure!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;he weighed twelve-stone-four.  He was stroke in
+the first eight too," said John, "and he's a fine pianist."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You can tell he's an artist by his eyes," exclaimed
+Wellington.  "I never make a mistake that way; do I, my
+dear!"  He giggled and sat down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Never, Welly&mdash;you've a gift for the s'nice and
+s'naughty."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Go h'on!" giggled Wellington, dabbing his face.  John
+stared, de Courtrai saw the wonder in his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We must hobble off&mdash;we're in the way&mdash;well see you
+again."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't forget Wednesday," cried Wellington in the doorway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ta-ta!" called de Courtrai.  The door closed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What a pair!  John didn't know whether to laugh or
+be angry.  They were very vulgar and inquisitive, but
+also very friendly.  He would not encourage them,
+however.  He resumed his unpacking.  An hour later he
+had finished, and was preparing for bed, when there was
+another tap on the door.  This time he pretended not to
+hear; he did not want them in again.  But when the
+tap was repeated, he went to the door and opened it.  In
+the darkness of the landing, he could not see who it
+was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Captain Fisher paused on the threshold.  He had come
+out of the darkness and stood blinking in the light.  John
+waited, for he seemed about to say something.  There was
+a long pause, a clearing of the throat, then&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Permit me to introduce myself, sir, I am Captain
+Fisher, Fisher of the 3rd Foot, sir.  Twelve years China
+Station, twelve Malta, six Gold Coast&mdash;damn it.  Glad to
+know you, sir!" he stammered, then bowed low.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Embarrassed, John bowed also.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Those were days, sir,&mdash;days&mdash;days of&mdash;" he put a hand
+on the lintel as though the memory was too much for him.
+"Egad, sir, they <i>were</i> days.  Fisher was a boy, sir,
+Lavington will tell you, sir&mdash;General Lavington, God bless
+him&mdash;ninety-two to-day, sir&mdash;we've drunk his health at
+the 'Rag' to-night.  A great Speeeech ... a wunnerful
+man ... ninety-two, not much longer, sir, any of us.
+An' here we are, in a Perdiferous house&mdash;pardon me, it's
+a great night&mdash;with foreign meat, cats, parrots and a
+shilling in the slot.  If any had a' known on China
+station that Charlie Fisher would have been living in this
+manag&mdash;menag&mdash;caravanserai, as Omar would say&mdash;You've
+seen 'em, sir,&mdash;the blighted blossom of India!  Ha!
+Ha!  An' the eunuchs&mdash;yes, sir, that's what they are!
+Pouff!"  Here Captain Fisher steadied himself from a
+fitful gust of indignation.  "Now there's a gel out
+to-night&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  <i>Take a pair of sparklin' eyes<br>
+  an' a&mdash;</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+hummed the Captain.  "You'll see her, sir, what a glorious
+vision!  Wants breaking, sir!  A high stepper like
+her father's fillies, but what a head&mdash;what a&mdash;I'm a
+connoisseur too, in my day, Dandy Fisher they call me.
+China Station twelve years, twelve years Malta, Gold
+Coast&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So you said, sir," interrupted John, breaking the circle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're a fine lad," exclaimed the Captain, looking at
+him keenly.  "Just such a lad as mine, God bless 'im.
+What's y'name?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dean, sir&mdash;John Dean."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John&mdash;ha! so's mine&mdash;God bless him&mdash;dear ol' John&mdash;dear
+ol' John."  He swayed a little, as he surveyed his
+waistcoat.  "He was your age too, and his hair too&mdash;just
+such hair&mdash;the gels loved him&mdash;dear ol' John."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is he&mdash;is he dead, sir?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The old man straightened himself proudly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"For his King and Country, sir&mdash;in the Boer War&mdash;an'
+a V.C., sir,&mdash;a V.C.&mdash;God bless 'im."  A tear
+trickled down his nose.  "The last to leave me&mdash;the
+last.  General Lavington said to-night&mdash;ninety-two, sir,
+he is, he referred to John, he knew 'im&mdash;signed his first
+papers, sir&mdash;dear ol' John.  Come and have a drink, me
+lad."  Captain Fisher turned and put a shaking hand on
+the banisters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not to-night, sir, thank you, it's late."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So 'tis&mdash;so 'tis.  Good night, my lad.  God bless you!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good night, sir!"  John waited until the broken old
+man reached his room, and then closed his door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With a last look round his little room, John swiftly
+undressed, stood pyjama clad and barefooted a moment after
+brushing his hair, looking out on the bright moonlight
+night, and the quaint caricature of the Campanile.  Then
+he turned off the light and leapt into bed.  But not to
+sleep.  This was his first day, and he now slept for the
+first night in the city he had come to conquer; so far
+he had done little conquering, he thought, as he reviewed
+the events of this day.  The moonlight flooded his room,
+making it still more unfamiliar.  He watched the swiftly
+fading glow of the gas fire, and his eye caught the
+portrait of Muriel, illuminated in a direct beam of moonlight
+on the mantelpiece.  Mastered by an impulse, he threw
+back the clothes and put a foot on the cold floor, then
+sprang out and took the portrait from its place.  For a
+long moment he looked at it in the dimness, then pressed
+his lips to the cold glass, and was about to get into bed,
+when he did what he had not done for a long time.  He had
+never given any serious thought to religion; perhaps he
+was instinctively rather than formally religious.  The
+times when he had sat in school chapel had been irksome,
+though occasionally a hymn, and the high fresh voices of
+the choir had stirred him, aesthetically, not spiritually.
+But to-night he felt very lonely, and just a little afraid.
+Moreover there was a new faith in his fervent love for
+Muriel, which somehow required expression.  So quietly he
+slipped down to his knees, buried his face in his hands,
+and prayed in a somewhat disordered fashion for
+something which he could hardly define.  Then standing up
+again, he looked at the photograph, wondering whether the
+head he saw, in reality lying on a pillow in a quiet
+country room, flooded with light from this same moon, would
+realise anything of what he had just done and said.  He
+turned to replace the frame, then, on a thought, put it
+under his pillow and got into bed.  Two minutes later,
+quiet breathing in a silent room told of a dreaming head,
+smiling for some reason, buried deep in the pillow.  He was
+oblivious even of Capt. Fisher's deep bassoon in a room
+above.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0402"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER II
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had never experienced anything like this before,
+and after the dismal events of the day, the
+exhilaration he felt was heightened by reaction.
+The stall in which he sat was luxurious.  It was
+good to see around him so many prosperous, well-groomed
+men, and smiling, richly clad, or half-clad women.  Then
+the lights, streaming on the gilding, the brass rails, the
+tall proscenium, and the gaudily panelled ceiling, with
+its naked nymphs, rosy limbed, floating from pursuing
+youths on banks of fleecy cumulus,&mdash;all tended to awaken
+the senses.  But oh! the music and the ballet! that wild
+spontaneous rush of thistledown feet and lovely limbs,
+the glitter, the elaborately evolved design, the swift riot
+of colour swimming on a sea of soft melody that poured
+out over the darkened auditorium!  From the white beauty
+of "Lés Sylphides," dreamlike, as a stirring of lilies on
+a moonlit pool, they had passed to the happy flirtations of
+"Carnival."  John, in ecstasy, forgot the sick misery of
+his heart, forgot those cold refusals, the reluctant
+opening of numerous doors, the frigid examination of
+self-confident men, the waiting, the snubbing, the insolence of
+office boys and porters; his deep hatred of Fleet Street,
+his apprehension of fruitless days, all passed away as he
+peered into these glades of music and loveliness.  With
+the blaze of prodigal splendour in "Scheherezade," the
+swift change of music from revelry to terror, the hurrying
+and scurrying of silk-clad women, the stern dignity of the
+departing Sultan, John's head swam.  He almost forgot
+to look for Wellington and de Courtrai in that rapturous
+release of the captives and the licentious abandon of the
+women on their entry.  It was with difficulty that he
+penetrated their disguise, for the effeminate dandies of
+Mariton Street were half-naked dusky men with muscular
+torsos who leapt and danced with fierce exultation before
+their adoring lovers.  John could hardly realise that these
+superb athletes, masters of rhythm and gesture, were the
+two vulgar youths who, despite his coolness, had shown him
+nothing but kindness, with such insistence, that he had
+accepted their pressing invitations to this performance.
+And his amazement passed to unbounded admiration when
+de Courtrai died from a stroke of the Sultan's scimitar,
+in a magnificent somersault that laid his body prone at
+the feet of his terrified mistress.  The curtain fell to a
+tumult of applause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The long interval enabled John to explore the promenade
+at the back.  He stood in a corner and watched
+the parade, and wondered if it was always the same, night
+after night&mdash;what kind of lives these people lived, where
+their money came from, their nationality, for there were
+overdressed young Jews with patent-button boots and
+silver-topped canes, elegant dandies with waisted coats,
+girlish-looking youths that smirked and simpered, heavy-jowled
+men with pendulous stomachs and evil gloating eyes
+under bald, shiny heads.  The women too, French, German
+and Russian, dark, fair, loud-voiced, high-heeled, arrayed
+in furs, small-footed and mincing, they passed, with
+quick eyes and mechanical smiles, or sulky stare and&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Penny for your thoughts, dearie," said a girl in a
+large white stole, as she laid a kid-gloved hand on John's
+arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He started more in fear than surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Lord love us&mdash;I shan't bite yer!" she laughed.  "So
+shy! and a pretty boy too," she added, giving her fur a
+twitch while she looked audaciously into his eyes with a
+frank stare.  "How do you keep your complexion, lovey?
+That ain't Ligett's one and six in cardboard boxes, I
+know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John smiled, almost unintentionally.  She could only be
+about eighteen, and despite the hard mouth, she had
+innocent, kind eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's right&mdash;you're a regular Adonis with that showcase
+smile," she exclaimed.  Several persons were watching
+them.  John coloured with self-consciousness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Gawd!  I wish I could do that&mdash;an' I did once, dearie,
+before the dirty work on the cross roads.  But I don't mind
+a Martini before Strumitovski waves his stick again."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What could he do?  To say "No" might provoke an
+outburst.  He moved towards the bar, her hand still on
+his arm.  He felt a thousand eyes turn on them, heard a
+thousand whispers.  He was sure the bar-maid smirked
+satirically when he ordered two Martinis.  He had never
+had a cocktail in his life, and didn't know whether to
+drink or eat the red cherry in the amber liquid.  His
+companion led the way and he saw she expected another,
+although he had not swallowed half of the bitter stuff.
+He ordered two more, and while they talked a warm glow
+crept over him, and with it a feeling of distance.  He
+seemed to be talking to her down a corridor.  There was
+a loud ringing of a bell above the babel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where are you sitting?" she said, propelling him out.
+Before he could answer some one called "Dean!" rather
+excitedly.  The voice was familiar, and turning, in the
+crush at the door, he saw Lindon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What on earth are you&mdash;?" began Lindon joyously.
+Then, suddenly he saw the gloved hand on John's arm
+and swiftly glanced at his companion.  Lindon winked
+expressively.  "See you later, Scissors," he called.  "I'm
+at Jules, Jermyn Street," and then disappeared.  Utter
+confusion fell upon John.  He strode fiercely along.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Lord! do you owe him a fiver?" simpered the girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;certainly not, it's you!" he returned fiercely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not flinch, accustomed perhaps to such remarks.
+John, although slightly drunk, was aware of his cruelty
+and felt penitent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't flare, dearie," she said quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He halted at the corner where he turned for the gangway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye," he said, somewhat ungallantly, to which
+she responded by detaching her arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Aren't you coming home with me, boysie?" she asked
+plaintively, her eyes very serious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;thanks, not to-night&mdash;I don't&mdash;I&mdash;" but he could
+not say it.  She divined it, however.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know you don't&mdash;and I'll not be the first.  You shy
+darling!" she cried impulsively, taking his face between
+her hands and kissing his mouth.  A moment later she
+had gone, leaving nothing but a faint odour of stale scent.
+Pale now, John leaned on the wall while the blood surged
+to his brain, then, with a heart thumping tumultuously, he
+found his way back to his seat.  The rest of the ballet
+passed unheeded; his mind was tracking that plaintive
+little face through the dark house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the curtain fell on the final divertissement, in
+accordance with instructions John found his way round to
+the stage door, in a dark back street, where stood several
+luxurious motor cars, a small group of young men and
+women, autograph hunters chiefly, a tout or two, all kept
+outside the stage door, blazing with light, by a
+hoarse-voiced man in livery, to whom in turn, each member of
+the company called "Good night, Billy."  At last Wellington
+and de Courtrai appeared and with them, three young
+ladies of the ballet, called Fluffy, Pop and Pansy
+respectively.  On the programme they had Russian names, as
+had his two friends, but their accents betrayed familiarity
+with Balham.  They were pupils in the <i>corps de ballet</i>,
+and for ten minutes&mdash;during which they all walked
+towards Piccadilly Circus, there was an animated discussion
+of the performance, its errors, and the wickedness
+of the conductor who had taken the last score through in
+seven-eight time, causing a collapse of the principals the
+moment the final curtain had fallen, whereupon he had
+been summoned to the wings by Lydia Lamanipoff and
+had his face well slapped for his insolence.  Pop declared
+that it would end that "affair" which had been a subject
+of current gossip ever since Lydia had thrown over
+Tamanski for biting her shoulder in the "Bacchanale."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John was swept along in the crowd, his own little group
+noisily laughing and talking, Pansy hanging on his right
+arm, while her other fondled a Pekinese dog with an
+enormous blue bow.  They turned in at a restaurant on
+the corner of a street, descended some marble steps that
+wound round a lift, and suddenly John, pulled through a
+couple of swing doors, halted amazed in a marble panelled
+room, over-lit, with innumerable small tables surrounded
+by men and women.  Wellington made his way down the
+centre of the room, glancing at himself in the large
+mirrors on his left and enjoying the sensation their entrance
+caused.  He commandeered a table down at the bottom,
+near the noisy waitresses' buffet; above the babble of voices
+rose the discordance of an orchestra on a dais.  Its
+chief function appeared to be that of creating as much
+noise as possible, including antics at the piano and on a
+small drum and an organ.  Wellington and de Courtrai
+appeared to be well-known, for several dandified youths,
+distinguished by spats, cuffs, side-whiskers or monocles,
+came over to speak to them, and all were very convivial,
+ending their remarks with, "Won't you introduce
+me?"  Handshaking was a great ceremony, accompanied with
+"How d'ye do?" to which was allied its inseparable
+bromide, "Pleased to meet you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pop distinguished herself by ordering steak and chips
+and a bottle of stout; Pansy had a more delicate taste,
+ordering sardines on toast, which de Courtrai declared
+was a specialty in this hall of many tables.  Bewildered,
+John ordered the recommended dish, refused a cigarette
+from a pale gentleman who insisted upon talking across
+Pansy to him, and was suffocated with the heat and
+tobacco smoke.  The conversation was still of Lydia and
+her loves, punctuated by long stories of the ladies, and
+other ladies' furs and "fellahs."  John, desperate for a
+theme of conversation, began by praising the Pekinese,
+and then narrated his experience with the lady and her
+three dogs in the park.  To his surprise it awakened
+immediate and deep interest.  At the end, the girls giggled
+and Wellington exclaimed, "Chase me!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's thumbs up," said de Courtrai, wisely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a cheek!" asserted Pansy, rolling her eyes; Pop
+declaring, "It's a shime to lead awy the young,"&mdash;whereupon
+there was loud laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mind what you drink," said Fluffy impressively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I should take Welly as chaperon," advised Pansy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John, getting redder and redder, partly in anger at his
+own naïve foolishness, partly at their insinuations,
+declared he was not going at all.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What!" they all screamed in amazement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wish I'd the chance," commented de Courtrai,
+adjusting his tie.  "I want some one to take a motherly interest
+in me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was another bellow of laughter.  All eyes were
+turned on their table.  John wished he could get away.
+But they sat on until the lights began to go out, and when
+at last they were in the street again, John discovered, to
+his dismay, they were not bound for home but for Pop's
+flat off Jermyn Street.  He suggested going home alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Rubbish, the fun's just beginning," cried Fluffy, taking
+his arm.  He was swept along with them.  Pop led the
+way, herded them into a small lift that ran up out of
+a dark hall in the street.  It halted on the fourth floor,
+where they all emerged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Wonder if the Colonel's in," said Pop, turning the
+key.  They all followed and the question was answered in
+the diminutive hall by the emergence from a brilliantly lit
+room of the Colonel himself.  He was big fat man, with a
+treble chin and thin lips.  His eyes were beady and their
+sockets were sunken and baggy.  On his enormous
+stomach he displayed a heavy gold chain, and as if to
+augment the size of the foundations of such an enormous
+superstructure, he wore white spats.  A diamond glittered
+on his finger, six black hairs trailed across his gleaming
+head, and his teeth were stopped with gold.  Anyone
+more unlike a colonel, John had never seen.  When
+John, later, asked de Courtrai for his regiment, the wise
+young man laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;he's one of the Nuts," answered de Courtrai.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Certainly he was.  He kissed the three girls in a
+fatherly way, poured for them all a whiskey and soda,
+offered John a cigar, and finally sprang amazingly on to
+the lid of the baby grand piano, where he dangled his
+enormous legs.  Pop disappeared into an adjoining room.
+Then it was her home thought John, for she emerged a
+few minutes later in a kimono, with slippers on and her
+hair down.  She curled up on a cushion by the fireplace,
+lit a cigarette, and looked up admiringly at the
+Colonel.  He had now dismounted, to permit Fluffy to
+sing, Wellington accompanying, after which the latter
+played with a skill and touch that surprised John.  When
+Pop had contributed, "Keep on loving me," to which
+refrain the Colonel pursed his lips frequently, they called
+for John to perform.  He pleaded excuse, but they would
+not listen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know anything, really," he urged, but they
+forced him down to the piano.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What is it?" asked Fluffy as he played the opening
+bars.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>O Lovely Night.</i>"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Pop looked at Wellington.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My&mdash;he's rapid, ain't he?" she said, but John did not
+hear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a strange stillness as he sang.  Even Fluffy
+stared into space, her pretty little face, under the rose
+shade, pensive.  "Makes me all shivery," she whispered,
+between the verses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Why did he sing this, John was asking himself.  It
+was quite out of keeping with the atmosphere.  He was
+a fool to court failure like this, but he struggled through.
+No one spoke when he finished.  Finally Pop asked for
+another cigarette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You've got a lovely voice," said the Colonel.  "Wish
+I could sing like that.  Could once, when a kid&mdash;in a
+choir," he said with a wry smile, pouring out a whiskey
+and soda.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Lor&mdash;you in a choir," smirked Fluffy, pushing a thin
+finger into his pendulous stomach.  The Colonel resented
+this familiarity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, my gal, me in a choir&mdash;and solo tenor too, don't
+you forget it!"  He gulped down his drink and sighed.
+Pop put her arms round his neck and kissed his bald
+head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Did 'ums den," she crooned, and they all laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon afterwards they left, Pop and the Colonel standing
+in the doorway until the lift had gone down.  Later,
+walking down Mariton Street, after they had parted
+from Fluffy and Pansy, de Courtrai discussed the girls.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Orl right, of course, but, as you know, not ladies."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is the Colonel Pop's father?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His two companions halted and stared at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"My dear child&mdash;" began de Courtrai.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dean's my name."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+De Courtrai gaped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Really if you resent our&mdash;" Wellington drawled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I do resent being made a fool," said John, hotly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The conversation was strained for the rest of the walk
+home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Viennese clock in the drawing-room struck three as
+they lighted their candles in the hall.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The following morning, in a contemplative hour in
+bed, John was conscience smitten.  He was on the road to
+ruin, exactly as in the books he had scoffed at.  Flashy
+companions, the stage, the stage door, actresses, fast
+places of resort, doubtful flats, men of loose morals, and
+drink&mdash;yes, three drinks, two in the bar&mdash;the bar!&mdash;and
+one at the Colonel's, and then, as ended all vulgar
+affairs, a quarrel on the way home.  What would Muriel
+think if she knew?  Was this the way he was winning
+through?  He had been in London four days and was on
+the downward path.  Penitent, he sprang out of bed, and
+to strengthen his will, denied himself even a dash of
+warm water in his bath.  At breakfast de Courtrai and
+Wellington were missing, for which he was grateful.  It
+was good to talk with the Irish girl, enjoy her bright
+laughter and the fresh look in her eyes; what a contrast
+to those bedizened ladies of the ballet.  Mrs. Perdie was
+in her most motherly mood; she came up specially from
+the kitchen to have a look at Mr. John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wondered if you were coming in, Mr. Dean&mdash;I was
+awake with my lumbago&mdash;but there you are.  It's a
+strange young man who can resist the night air of
+London!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He felt inclined to resent her comment, but it was so
+good-natured that he laughed in reply.  The real mother
+emerged half an hour later when she met him alone in
+the hall, where he came to enquire after his laundry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You'll soon lose that lovely colour of yours, Mr. Dean,
+in this whirlpool, if you deny yourself proper rest.  I've
+seen many a bright young gentleman go dull through
+coming home with the milk.  Perhaps I shouldn't say it,
+but lor, Mr. Perdie always said I was mother-mad, an'
+p'raps I am.  You'll not wear yourself out chasing the
+moon down, will you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her good-natured face wore an anxious look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An' it's not for me to say really, but them young
+gentlemen upstairs are not your kind, and I'm sorry if I'm
+presuming, Mr. Dean," she said, wiping her hands on
+her apron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not at all&mdash;I appreciate your anxiety, Mrs. Perdie,"
+answered John.  "I shan't use my latchkey very often,
+you'll find."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There, sir, I felt I must say it, seeing you might ha'
+been my own son, sort of fashion, an' I'm easy now."  She
+disappeared suddenly below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At ten-thirty that morning, John sat in the office of
+the <i>New Review</i>.  He had with him a letter of introduction
+from Mr. Vernley to Melton Cane, the editor.  For
+one hour he sat in the waiting-room overlooking Covent
+Garden, while he listened to the whirr of the typewriter
+in the next room.  A door on his right opened into the
+editor's den, wherein sat the assistant editor reading
+manuscripts, which he took ceaselessly out of a big tin box.
+The reader was a tall heavy man, with sandy hair and a
+fresh complexion.  He had chatted pleasantly with John
+and told him poetry was a drug on the market, and they
+were choked with it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ever since we discovered Mayfield's narrative epic,
+we've been inundated with plagiaries of his work.  I wade
+through them until I sink in despair."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But I haven't brought any poetry," explained John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The big man gave a sigh of relief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You look like a poet&mdash;which made me think there
+was no hope for you&mdash;all those who look the part write
+dreadful rubbish.  You saw that schoolgirls-dream come
+in a few minutes ago?"  He alluded to a magnificent,
+leonine-headed youth with flaming tie and dark cloak
+whom John had taken for one of the great on earth.
+"Here's the stuff he's left&mdash;without a stamped addressed
+envelope for return&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  <i>My soul is bitter within me,<br>
+  Long nights have I contemplated<br>
+  The ego that is mine<br>
+  And questioned to what immortality<br>
+  Destined I go&mdash;</i><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+I can tell him at once&mdash;the waste paper basket."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The offending manuscript joined the pile of the rejected.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You do write?" asked the assistant editor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A little."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Prose or poetry?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Prose."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah! there's some hope, but not much.  Are you aware,
+my dear boy, that only three out of every hundred
+novels bring their authors royalties, and that only one of
+those three provides a decent income?  Do you know
+that editors rely on big names, their directors' literary
+shareholders and occasionally, when they have been out
+of town too long and must go to press, the literary agent?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John did not know this.  The assistant editor stood
+up and yawned.  "One day I'm going to run a school of
+authorship.  Having been a hack for ten years with the
+income of a typist, I shall tell the aspirants how to
+become authors, and get testimonials from all the editors
+in whose papers I shall advertise my prospectus.  Have
+a cigarette?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John took one.  They smoked in silence for a while.
+The assistant editor pointed to a portrait on the wall.
+"That poor devil committed suicide in Brussels last week.
+He had a net income of £4 per month from this <i>Review</i>.
+Why do people write poetry, why do they write at all?
+Literature is not a profession, it's a form of vagrancy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You've been a vagrant?" said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How did you know?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I read your travel books and liked them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;well, I'm off for good this time.  I'm going to
+Capri where I shall sleep all day and talk all night.  Been
+to Capri?  No?  Well, it's a good place to fade away in.
+Are you going to wait for Cane?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He'll come in with a rush and go out with one.  He's
+lunching with the Irish Secretary.  He's in such a hurry
+that he's never sure whether he is in Constantinople,
+Berlin or Paris.  His pet theory just now is the
+German menace; have you anything on the German menace?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;I've&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's the line at present.  Last month we were
+Malthusian, this, we are standing for strong language in
+modern verse, next the German menace&mdash;we don't know
+what after that; the menace may run to two numbers.
+You will notice I am discreet.  That is half my charm.
+It's now twelve, I think you'd better wait half an hour,
+and then come out to lunch with me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh thank you, but&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, it's not kind of me, as you think.  You keep me
+from being bored with myself.  Presently you shall tell
+me all the ambitions of your white young soul, all the
+sinks you are going to flush with your flood of zeal, the
+heights of fame you will scale, the way you propose to
+pay for board and lodgings, how you'll persuade the publisher
+you are the infallible boom he is waiting for.  But
+you shall not read me any of your poetry."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't write poetry.  I told you I didn't," began
+John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Almost I am persuaded," said the assistant editor.
+"But you will; the symptoms are there It is a mental
+measles you cannot escape."  He stacked up the unread
+manuscripts.  "There are poets in that pile who can
+write like Keats, like Shelley, like Byron, like Wordsworth,
+and they do it just as well.  They've been born too late.
+What they can't do is to write like themselves.  There
+are over thirty Swinburnes here, and enough suggested
+immorality to poison the Vatican library.  Most of it
+is written by young ladies."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this moment Mr. Cane came in.  He was a little
+man, going bald, with scrubby moustache.  John was
+about to retire, but he bade him stay.  Rapidly he glanced
+through half a dozen letters on his desk, dictated social
+acceptances to his typist and then turned to John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now&mdash;what can I do?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John presented his letter.  Cane read it quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You want work, I see.  There's none worth having in
+the literary world.  You're well informed, I'm told.  Do
+you know Elverton Thomas?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've heard of him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He wants a secretary who can get points for his
+speeches.  If you like, I'll give you a letter to him at
+the House of Commons."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It isn't what I want, thank you," said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We don't always get what we want," snapped Cane.
+"I can't do anything else for you," he added with an air of
+ending the matter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You can if you will, Mr. Cane, please.  You know Mr. Walsh."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I want to see him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Newspaper editors are very busy men."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They've always time for good business," urged John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"H'm&mdash;how old are you?&mdash;you can get what you want, I see."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nineteen, with lots of drive in me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You want to get on a newspaper?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;I'm determined to."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'll ring up Walsh.  Go to his office at five to-day.
+He'll be in then."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Thank you very much."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Cane stood up, buttoned his coat, put on a glove.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm going now," he said to his assistant.  "I'll sign
+those cheques this afternoon.  Send back Professor Railing's
+articles on Shakespeare&mdash;there's nothing bar his
+resurrection could make a noise for him."  He strode to the
+door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How's Mr. Vernley?" he asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Very well, sir, thank you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And Muriel?&mdash;a bright child that!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A light leapt in John's eyes.  The other man understood
+at once and gave him the first warm human look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;she's very well, sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door closed, he was gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There! what do you think of him?" asked the
+assistant, somewhat proudly, John thought.  "He'll play
+bridge at the Reform until four, dance at Murray's during
+tea, and rush back here before dressing for the opera.
+And those simpletons," with a wave towards the pile of
+the rejected, "think he spends his time discovering them
+for the next number.  Our next specialty in verse&mdash;is
+a mechanic poet.  There have been navy poets, tramp
+poets, fishermen poets, postmen poets, porter poets, but no
+one's found a mechanic poet.  I have, and strange to say
+he doesn't write about lathes, cams or beltings.  He's
+gone back to pure Greek.  Here's 'Iphigenia in
+Balham.'  Victorian bricks and mortar mixed with ancient Greece.
+We've prevailed on the Bishop of London to quote it next
+month.  That'll start the <i>Church News</i>; an interview in
+the <i>Daily Mail</i> with the new poet, and we are well into
+a second edition.  Now let's go to lunch.  I don't know
+your name.  I'll call you Narcissus&mdash;listening to my
+echoes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's a lucky shot," said John.  "That is my
+nickname.  Dean's my name."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ha!" said the assistant editor.  "You are a reincarnation.
+I must take you to a lady friend of mine.  She
+will see the aura of a chlamys under your flannel shirt.
+My name, too, is strange&mdash;not what you would think for
+a moment.  Not poetical or suggestive, scarcely practical
+even&mdash;just Smith&mdash;you start at the revelation.  It is
+distinguished only by having neither a 'y' nor an 'e'.  We
+belong to the original Smiths&mdash;the blacksmiths.  Ready?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Crossing the Strand, John began to wonder if this was
+the inevitable end of all attempts to do work in London.
+It was good-natured of this stranger to take him out.
+He was amused at his torrential witty chatter, but
+it was not solving the all-pressing problem of getting a
+living.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After lunch they parted in the Strand, John promising
+to take Smith the short story which he confessed he
+had written.  It was now a quarter past three.  He
+walked slowly down towards Fleet Street.  Would Cane
+fulfill his promise and arrange his interview with Walsh?
+He particularly wanted to join the staff of the <i>Daily Post</i>.
+He had read it regularly at school.  Three times they
+had published letters of his, and they had taken two articles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found the Square, lying back from Fleet Street, in
+which the offices of the <i>Daily Post</i> were situated.
+Through the swing doors he came to an enquiry office, and
+asked for Mr. Walsh.  Had he an appointment?  He
+thought so, through Mr. Cane.  The uniformed attendant
+noted the fact on a slip of paper with John's name.  He
+was then led into a small waiting-room.  It was opposite
+the lift and contained a bare table and four chairs.  The
+walls were hung with portraits of former editors and
+directors.  John waited, standing.  His heart was beating with
+suppressed anxiety; he felt he was on the fringe of things.
+A long wait, then a page boy asked him to follow.  He
+entered the lift, rose several storeys, walked down a long
+white-bricked corridor, turned a corner and found himself
+in an oval hall, with several doors leading out of it.
+John was asked to wait.  Behind one of these doors sat
+the great man.  There was much coming and going of
+clerks, and possibly reporters.  Half an hour dragged by.
+John stood up and paced the floor.  Then three quarters
+of an hour, and still no summons.  Through a glass door
+he could see a young man writing under a shaded light
+He tapped the door, and the writer came to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is Mr. Walsh disengaged yet?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know&mdash;have you an appointment?  What name?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John told him.  The dark young man disappeared
+through another door.  He came back in a few seconds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mr. Walsh is sorry, but he cannot see you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dismay covered John's face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But I have been kept&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He is very busy to-day ."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Surely he knew that before?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps&mdash;but he can't see you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then I shall sit here until he can."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young man smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This office never closes," he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But that door opens," retorted John, nodding at a
+a door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a lucky guess.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"His secretary won't let you in&mdash;it is quite useless,
+really."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We shall see," said John, now enjoying his
+obstinacy.  A door close by opened, and a small clean-shaven
+man, of middle age with gold pince-nez, stood by
+listening to the debate.  He suppressed a smile as he looked
+at the flushed youngster, then came forward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What do you want?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I want to see the editor, sir, and if he's a gentleman&mdash;he'll
+see me after waiting for him an hour."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man peered at him through his eye glasses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm afraid he's not a gentleman, but you can see him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, thank you, sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come along," he said and showed him into a large
+room littered with papers and books.  He motioned John
+to a seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now what do you want?" he asked, standing with his
+back to the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I want to see Mr. Walsh, please."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"On what business?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's personal&mdash;" began John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps so&mdash;but he must know.  You want to write
+for the paper I suppose?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You've guessed it, sir,&mdash;but do let me see him," John
+pleaded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He's engaged with the chief reporter at present&mdash;but
+he will see you soon, if you're patient."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He then left the room by another door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John looked out of the window, down across the flat top
+of temporary buildings, and saw the traffic surging along
+Fleet Street.  He was engrossed in the spectacle when
+his benefactor re-entered and seated himself in the
+revolving chair before the littered desk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The editor will see you now," he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John jumped up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, thank you sir," he cried, and walked toward the
+door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"In here!" said the man, waving a hand for John to
+resume his seat.  "I am Mr. Walsh&mdash;though you may have
+expected a gentleman."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!" cried John, and collapsed in confusion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mr. Cane tells me you are an enterprising young man.
+I see you are an obstinate one.  They are both qualities
+required on a newspaper.  I'm sorry we've no vacancies.
+The principle on which a newspaper is staffed is that we
+always have more men than we can employ&mdash;for emergencies
+and for weeding out.  You have no experience?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No sir, but I&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't worry, experience is unnecessary to any but
+duffers.  You look sharp.  Leave your address with my
+secretary.  If a vacancy occurs&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But it won't sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How do you know?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I know that's the way every unsatisfactory interview
+ends," said John, grimly, more desperate than insolent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Walsh got up and crossed to the mantelpiece.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How old are you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nearly twenty, sir.  You see, I must earn a living,
+my bit of money won't last long.  That has nothing to do
+with you, but I know you will be glad to have me when
+it is too late."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The editor smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You believe in yourself, and you'll succeed.  But I
+can't take you on.  I'll attach you, however.  You can do
+a few theatres, and art galleries and perhaps the literary
+editor can give you a little work."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, thank you sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And one day we may be able to put you on the
+reporting staff."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"On what basis am I paid?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"For what you do."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And how much is that?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Depends on the chief reporter.  It's all I can offer you,
+it's a chance."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'll take it, thank you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John rose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"See Mr. Merritt before you go."  He held out his hand.
+"And I wish you luck."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John was dismissed.  Outside the door he took a deep
+breath.  He had won the first round.  All now depended
+on Mr. Merritt, who, he learned, was out.  John left word
+to say he would call the following afternoon.  His next
+job was to go into Philip's shop, and buy a map of London.
+At tea, in a Lyon's shop, he read down a list of amusements.
+Dramatic critic for the <i>Daily Post</i>&mdash;he murmured
+to himself.  It sounded splendid.  And what a shock for
+Wellington and de Courtrai!  That evening he wrote to
+Vernley, to Muriel and to Marsh.  He also sent a letter to
+Mrs. Graham and Mr. Steer, saying he was in London,
+and asking if he might call.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0403"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER III
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the entrance of the Circle Theatre there were already
+several loiterers awaiting friends with whom they
+were going to see the new play.  Among them John.
+There was of course, nothing unusual in his appearance;
+the gallery queue which had filed past the main entrance,
+after its long vigil, would not know he differed from any
+other of those fortunate fellows who, well-groomed, drove
+up in taxis and cars and walked to their reserved seats,
+carrying the undigested peacock to the stalls.  It was all so
+new to him, this animated scene with its types of humanity.
+Merritt, a thoroughly good fellow who had immediately
+shown a kindly disposition to the new man, had
+introduced him to Bailey, the dramatic critic of the <i>Echo</i>,
+who now accompanied him.  Together they stood by the
+portrait of a famous American actress and scrutinised the
+arriving audience.  There were Jews, of course, little men,
+with semi-bald heads and black curly fringes; they all
+wore patent button boots, and very fancy dress waistcoats.
+The cut of their clothes was ultra-fashionable, and there
+was a glint of gold and a flash of diamonds at many points
+of their ostentatious persons.  Gold-mounted walking
+sticks and cigars were noticeable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"These are the inner circle of the dramatic world," said
+Bailey.  "That's Reinstein; he owns six theatres and a
+chain of restaurants; you eat his dinners and then try to
+digest them and his plays in his stalls.  I've seen great
+dramatists, men who can make you weep with their beautiful
+sentiment, run across the street to speak to him."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's an awful looking beggar," said John, catching
+a vile leer directed at an under-dressed young woman who
+waved an ostrich feather fan as she passed, on the arm
+of an old man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A clever fellow&mdash;nine successes this season.  That's
+Wentz, his scout, a word from him will make or mar an
+actor or actress."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who's the man he's talking to?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah&mdash;that's Lewis&mdash;he's one of us," replied Bailey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Us?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The most aggressive, the most feared and advertised
+of us all.  His column every Sunday is said to be the only
+thing that Reinstein and his crowd worry about."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John looked at him.  Hook-nosed he wore an ingratiating
+smile and his voice purred as he spoke; when he
+laughed he emitted a high falsetto note.  John's
+observation was broken by the entrance of an amazing
+spectacle into the charmed circle.  A man, so diminutive that
+his dress shirt dominated him like a plate on a plate-holder,
+was shaking hands with Lewis.  On his fat nose he
+balanced, precariously, a pair of pince-nez through which
+he peered bemusedly.  The tips of his chubby hands
+just emerged from two prominent cuffs, his legs being
+wholly lost in corkscrew trousers falling over the feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good heavens!" cried John, "just look at&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But another apparition joined the circle.  Nature had
+created him as an antidote to the little man.  He was
+huge; a behemoth.  His heavy jaw, the massive head, the
+long teeth, made him a perfect ogre, and in fulfilment
+he scowled at his companions.  His large hands hooked
+themselves by the thumbs on to the pockets of voluminous
+trousers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They belong to us," said Bailey, enjoying the shock
+he administered.  John's pride in his vocation had been
+too obvious not to afford amusement to a confirmed cynic
+who had sat in the stalls for twenty years, and had never
+betrayed the weakness of enthusiasm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But&mdash;but surely," said John, "the newspapers don't
+send people like these&mdash;what about their dignity?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dignity!  There's no such thing in journalism.  That
+belongs to the leader-writer&mdash;in print."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are they all like this?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Most of us," replied Bailey, lighting a cigarette from
+the stub of another.  "We're working 'subs' by day and
+deadhead gentlemen by night&mdash;the more respectable are
+civil servants&mdash;and they are the least civil critics.
+Still&mdash;there are a few presentable ones; we have the Grand
+Old Man&mdash;he's not here yet.  He is a perfect contrast
+to the Nut-food man&mdash;they'll be here later."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A curly-headed young man in a fur coat strolled in.
+He gave himself a side glance in the long mirror,
+approved of his classic beauty and passed on.  Everybody
+nodded to him and he acknowledged their homage
+graciously.  Several elderly ladies and a flashily dressed
+actress hurried after him into the theatre.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's Ronnie Mayfair&mdash;the actor.  Freddie Pond will
+be here soon.  I've never known him to miss a first night."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just then, John's attention was attracted by a swift
+glimpse of a passing head.  Its unusual beauty arrested
+him, the dark vivacious eyes flashing under a head of black
+bobbed hair.  She could not be more than twenty, he
+thought, she was so slim.  The extreme simplicity of her
+dress, falling without any decoration from shoulder to the
+knee, emphasised the lightness of her poise.  She was a
+swift darting creature, with a sensuous mouth, crimson
+and pensive.  But there was determination, defiance
+almost, in every movement of her body.  Passion merely
+smouldered: she could be a creature of sudden contrary
+moods.  She threw John a quick but searching glance as
+she passed, conscious of her power to attract, and the weakness
+of all his sex to respond, and yet it was not a challenge
+so much as a half-contemptuous provocation of his nature.
+Bailey, observant and detached, did not fail to see the
+magic fire that had leapt from one to the other.  He saw
+this youth quiver with a sudden agitation, saw the
+answering challenge of the lithe form that flitted by, sure
+of the spoil if it cared to possess.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," said Bailey, laying a hand on John's shoulder,
+amused at his false assumption of indifference, "don't
+be another moth.  There are too many singed already."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy laughed, then, with a careless tone&mdash;&mdash;"Who
+is she?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Chelsea Poppy&mdash;she's Hoffmann's famous model."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He knew then in a moment.  So this was the Chelsea
+Poppy, the much sonneted model of Hoffmann's famous
+heads.  He loathed this forceful Jew's sculpture&mdash;its
+deliberate accentuation of the ugly, its cult of the repulsive,
+its coarse workmanship, apologised for as the new art.
+Like others he had wondered how foolish Society women
+could make themselves so extravagant over this ugly little
+man, the jerseyed king of the Café de l'Europe, with a
+court of disorderly disciples.  The head of Poppy was
+famous.  In the marble he had loathed its sensuality, the
+ugliness of the contorted face.  But there was a repulsive
+similarity to the original; it was a cruel travesty of the
+flower-like beauty he had just seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She's&mdash;amazing," said John, not trusting himself to
+say more.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"In many ways," added Bailey.  "Here's Freddie.  It
+is a perfect first-night, if the Grand Old Man will come."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Curtain up!" came the call.  The lounge emptied into
+the darkened house.  The dramatic critics became very
+serious.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The end of the first act gave John another glimpse of
+the Chelsea Poppy, a less assuring glimpse.  She was
+talking, at the entrance to the bar, to a cadaverous fellow
+who leered at her, and an involuntary shudder passed over
+John as he noticed the possessive look in the eyes of the
+man; he resented the fact that the girl seemed in no way
+perturbed.  Probably she was at home with that kind of
+man; certainly she talked with absolute familiarity, and
+her hoarse little laugh jarred on the ears of the youth ready
+to adore.  Twice she winked at a pair of young cavalry
+officers who sat on a lounge opposite, partly to display
+their seamless boots, partly to catch the girl's eye.
+Snatches of their conversation floated over to the youth
+who stood alone under the mirror.  They were enjoying
+themselves at the expense of the promenaders.  The
+diminutive fat man provoked their scorn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How do such people get into this part of the house?"
+asked the pink and white youth, twisting an auburn
+moustache.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Can't say," drawled the pride of the regiment, regarding
+with satisfaction his thin thighs.  "The fellow's a
+reporter I suppose!"  They yawned and then watched
+a girl's ankles until she drew near, whereupon they coldly
+looked at her from head to foot.  She seated herself on the
+lounge.  When John turned away she had taken a cigarette
+from the proffered case.  They did not rise with the
+call of the curtain.  In the interval after the second act,
+John let Bailey point out more celebrities.  There was a
+distinguished looking Jew, with dilated nostrils, iron grey
+hair and a stoop, handsome in the manner of his race,
+bearing the impress of intellect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's Luboff the novelist!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The famous portrayer of Jewry passed; his face,
+despite its lineal coarseness, had an amazing beauty in its
+character.  A few minutes later Bailey was talking with
+the novelist and introduced John, who found himself
+magnetised by an intense personality with great charm.  He
+was a man with a hundred fights against poverty, prejudice
+and ill-health, but he had triumphed nobly.  He
+had interpreted the Jews to a scornful world, displayed
+their poverty, revealed their poetry.  As a dramatist he
+had assumed the role of a reformer; he entertained the
+crowd, but he lectured it.  After a few minutes' chat he
+left them to speak to Lord Rendon, who, despite his
+elephantine exterior, had a nimble mind versed in the
+subtleties of politics and philosophy.  At this moment John's
+attention was arrested by the re-appearance of the girl
+in red.  She was talking to an astounding man whose
+hair straggled in disorder down to and over a soft brown
+collar.  He wore a pair of black metal pince-nez, smoked
+a stubby pipe, the bowl of which he pressed from time
+to time with fingers that scorned the need of the manicurist.
+The Socialist was written all over him; there was
+sabotage in his eyes, repressed defiance in his gestures.
+He wore, to accentuate his untidy eccentricity, a faded
+brown sports coat, the pockets bulging with papers, and
+most of the buttons missing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah," said Bailey, "now you've seen the nut-food
+man&mdash;that's Adams of the <i>Argus</i>&mdash;clever chap, but thinks
+untidiness is a sign of intellect."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I see he knows the model&mdash;he's a Bohemian?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;at least he hopes so.  We haven't any real
+Bohemians in this country.  They live on the Continent.
+When Englishmen try to be Bohemian they only succeed
+in being lazy or noisy.  You'll find that each of them is
+regarded as a rising poet, a rising novelist or a rising
+dramatist.  They're always rising until they are middle-aged,
+when they disappear somewhere.  Really, Bohemians
+are the dullest persons; they've no topics but their
+egotism.  Avoid them, Dean&mdash;they're never hygienic.  I
+can enjoy a third-rate artist who is ornamental, but
+these people are merely extravagant."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But he looks interesting," urged John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"So he is&mdash;you want to meet him?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;"  He was desperately anxious to know Adams,
+for Adams knew the girl.  He must speak to her before
+the play ended.  Bailey guessed the hope and buttonholed
+Adams who shook hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This is Mr. Dean.  Tilly," he said, turning to the girl
+who had drawn aside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Miss Topham," he informed John.  The girl looked
+at him casually, and merely exclaimed, "Oh!"  It was
+a shock to the eager youth and for two or three minutes
+she ignored him.  Then&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're new to London?" she said coldly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, but who told you?" answered John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No one,&mdash;I could see you were by the way you've been
+looking at people."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was a set back.  John gave her a frightened look
+and she was pleased by this success.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have I&mdash;I hope I don't appear&mdash;" he stammered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It doesn't matter&mdash;they like it; that's what they come
+here for."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John was a little uncertain who "they" meant.  It
+seemed to include every one but herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you a cigarette?" she asked, abruptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy's heart sank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I haven't&mdash;I don't smoke.  I can get some."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't bother."  She looked at him curiously.  "You
+don't smoke&mdash;you're a queer kid."  They stood alone now,
+for Adams and Bailey had strolled on.  He noticed
+how transparently thin were her hands, which she tucked
+in her belt.  Her neck had a lovely line in its perfect
+sweep from the throat down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are an art student?" she asked, with a faint
+smirk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh no&mdash;I'm on a paper&mdash;why?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You examine like one."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He flushed with the detection, and she gave a little
+laugh of triumph.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sit down and tell me all about yourself&mdash;you puzzle
+me," she said.  "You look as if you'll do all sorts of
+wonderful things, but people who look like that hardly ever
+do anything."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was easier now.  They sat side by side on the
+lounge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's little to tell, Miss&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, drop that, I'm Tilly to every one."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tilly then,&mdash;you see I haven't left school long."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I can see that&mdash;the down's on you yet."  The
+remark hurt him and she saw it, swiftly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't mind me," she said quietly, putting a hand on
+his arm.  "You see I'm used to men that gloat and want
+rebuffing."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She laughed at the surprise in John's eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't look like that or I shall melt.  You're a nice
+boy, and I'm afraid of you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of me?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;you make me think of lots of things I've given
+up thinking about.  Harry must ask you to tea."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So she was married!  Of course she was married, he
+reflected, he was a fool not to have known from the first.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I should like very much to come."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at him again, until he looked away, and
+with a little laugh jumped up.  "We must get back now.
+I'll see you soon.  Good-bye!" and she was gone.  What
+an off-hand creature!  He was annoyed at her manner.
+She had treated him like an infant.  She had laughed at
+him.  He had let her see too much.  When the play was
+ended and he stood in the crowded vestibule with Bailey,
+amid the crush of fur-wrapped women and black-coated
+men, he was still thinking of her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You've made a hit with Tilly," said Bailey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;and she doesn't pay compliments&mdash;but don't let
+her play with you; she doesn't take any one seriously."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm not likely to do that," replied John shortly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come along then&mdash;we've to get our work done."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+III
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Merritt, chief reporter of the <i>Daily Post</i>, was a remarkable
+little man.  He was quite aware of this and retained
+his reputation with ease.  The life of a chief reporter
+is a desperate one.  The most amazing news scoop
+to-day is dead twenty-four hours later, and a big
+reputation can be lost in a day's idleness.  Merritt showed
+no signs of anxiety.  He sat at his desk in the stuffy little
+room adjoining the reporting room, whence he would
+dart out to send a man speeding across London or to
+Aberdeen.  His totally bald head gleamed with vitality.
+He could be very rude and very rough, but men had
+rushed to Ireland at his behest and accounted themselves
+rewarded when he smiled and said "Good!"  He was
+part of the <i>Daily Post</i> and could not conceive how a man
+could wish to live for anything else.  No one ever saw him
+go home and no one ever saw him come; he was the first
+and the last, and when he had gone, he was not at rest.
+His voice often spoke over the wire from Brixton,
+disturbing the early morning rest of a jaded reporter.  A
+fire at Muswell Hill, a murder in Camden Town, a
+burglary in Knightsbridge or an assault at Tottenham&mdash;he
+knew of it first, scented the clue, despatched the
+sleuth-hounds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was rumoured that he was married, but for years
+there was no evidence, until one day he disappeared and
+returned wearing black.  He had buried his eldest boy
+of twelve.  The senior reporter to whom he mentioned
+this was about to make a remark, and he saw Merritt's
+mouth twitch, but the next second he was being told of
+an entry on the diary.  It was work, work, work.  Other
+men fell ill, became nervous wrecks, took to drink, were
+promoted, or left.  Merritt remained chief reporter,
+known from one end of Fleet Street to another, perhaps
+from one end of the world to the other.  He never went
+out, save at four o'clock for an hour, when he would be
+seen in a bar near by, within sound of the buses, and he
+went there for news.  He knew every one.  Men in the
+Lobby of the "House," on the Stock Exchange, in
+Whitehall or at Epsom would ask "How's Merritt?"  He was
+the link to publicity.  He knew enough about the lives
+of men to equip a squad of blackmailers; and K.C.s
+consulted him when accepting briefs.  He had saved a king
+from assassination and rescued a bishop from a charge of
+being drunk and disorderly.  He had witnessed a succession
+of editors.  Merritt stayed, for Merritt was the <i>Daily
+Post</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But above all, this stout little man of fifty knew men.
+It was he who discovered Burton Phipps, their star
+descriptive writer, had sent him off to Norway to
+intercept and expose the sham explorer of the Pole.  Jane, the
+finest parliamentary sketch writer in England, was trained
+under his hands.  Merton, the editor of the <i>Morning
+Telegraph</i>, Layman, the President of the Board of Trade,
+Reddington, chairman of the United Banks&mdash;all had
+groaned in their youth under his merciless yoke of
+discipline.  Loved and feared, he spared no man, and he
+never encountered rebellion because he never pitied
+himself.  "Merritt's a devil," every one said&mdash;"but a
+wonderful devil," they added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He took John in hand.  He made him compress a column
+of wonderful writing to fifteen living lines.  He made
+him re-dress a plain narrative in a style that "tickled."  He
+told John to use words of as few syllables as possible.
+"All sub-editors are ignorant and full of malice," he said,
+with traditional jealousy.  He was never to worry about
+what the public thought of this or that.  "The public
+don't think, they follow."  It was a heartbreaking
+apprenticeship.  The fine column on the Kennel Show went into
+the waste paper basket.  "There's two murders come in
+and the subs say we're overset."  He ridiculed a "special"
+on teashop girls with rapier wit, told John he wrote too
+fast to write well, and was as guileless as an infant in
+arms.  Once, with a brusque committal of a much-esteemed
+article, he brought misery to John's eyes, saw it,
+and growled,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're a journalist all right, but your stalk's green,"
+and with his wry smile brought a lump into the youth's
+throat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Am I&mdash;am I giving satisfaction, Mr. Merritt?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chief reporter looked over the top of his glasses&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Chief sent you to me for occasional work.  You've
+done a banquet, a dog-show, four police courts, three
+inquests, two plays, a poster show and several special
+enquiries.  You've been running about like a hare for ten
+days&mdash;you've not been an occasional, but a daily event.
+And I don't waste my time!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was true, John was worked hard every day.  Each
+night the diary had the initials J.D. with a cryptic
+assignation following.  Sometimes he accompanied a senior, a
+note-taker, and looked out for a descriptive paragraph;
+more often he was alone.  On the night that he had
+returned from his first play, after he had sent in his
+pencilled copy to the subs room, he looked at the diary and
+almost jumped in exultation.&mdash;"J.D.  7.15., Artists Union,
+Chelsea Theatre, half col."  Here was his chance!
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+IV
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The members of the Artists Union were certainly
+artistic.  A novelist who specialised in love and divorce
+in the Sunday newspapers and was dignified with the
+title of 'publicist' made a long tirade against the ignorant
+but prosperous industrial classes.  A young man followed
+this, very nerve-racked and bordering on hysteria, with
+an oration proving that hunger and genius were
+inseparable, whereupon a stout lady at the back of the
+diminutive theatre rose up and declared that all artists,
+musicians, and authors should be a direct charge on the
+Government, a sentiment that was applauded loudly.
+Thoroughly enjoying himself, John sat next to a young lady
+in a gaudy kimono who was busy sketching the speakers,
+while a young man with a red beard that half hid a
+very weak mouth, drank tea out of a thermos flask.
+A wealthy lady, interested in art, occupied the chair,
+which must have been very uncomfortable, for most of the
+brilliantly insulting things said applied perfectly to her
+husband, a wholesale grocer, who, to atone for disfiguring
+England with placards inciting the public to drink
+Tiffinson's Tea, bought preposterous modern paintings at
+well advertised figures.  John discovered it was a
+gathering of minor notabilities; there was Mr. Shandon Gunn,
+the cubist painter who laboriously disguised the fact that
+he had ever studied at the Slade School, or knew the
+meaning of perspective.  When slightly drunk, he was reputed
+to be epigrammatic.  His speech was cheered vociferously
+for its cleverness in conveying absolutely nothing to the
+audience.  He was followed by Mr. Leslie Bumbo, a pallid
+fellow, the apostle of art with an ego, who wrote art
+books, and kept a book shop in a slum, which revealed a
+knowledge of business, since the bookshop kept him.
+Moreover, he led a culture movement for leisured ladies,
+who gathered every Wednesday in a shanty at the back
+of his house, where, in a dim light and a dim voice, he
+droned out his latest discourses on art.  It was
+remunerative if mournful, for the ladies paid a shilling for
+admittance, bought the discourses and went home feeling
+gloriously advanced.  His speech this evening was
+confined to an embroidery on "The Ugly as an incentive to
+Murder."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John was indebted for personal details to the young
+lady in the kimono, who called him "kid" and smoked
+incessantly while she drew.  Towards the end of the meeting
+she waved her hand to a girl who had pushed forward in
+the crowded doorway.  John looked and, with a slight
+thrill of pleasure, recognised Tilly.  In the conversazione
+that ensued when the formal meeting ended, they sat
+in a corner together and drank coffee.  She knew
+everybody and introduced him freely as "Scissors."  When
+the company was going, Tilly, who had collected a small
+crowd, caught hold of John's arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come along, Scissors!" she cried, propelling him
+towards the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"To my studio&mdash;we're having a romp."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But I can't go&mdash;I've to get my copy ready for the
+office."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh damn!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He wished she hadn't said it.  Perhaps he was
+old-fashioned, but somehow, a girl who used that word was
+a little&mdash;er?  That was what John could not precisely
+say; he had been trying to since their first meeting.  He
+did not want to appear a prig, and yet&mdash;.  He knew
+Muriel would not approve, but he laughed at the thought.
+A speaker had been attacking the Victorians for their
+smugness&mdash;well, he was being very early Victorian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come on, kid," cried the young lady in the kimono.
+He stood between Scylla and Charybdis.  A vision of
+Merritt nerved him to resistance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then come after, we'll go on till three or four."  Weakly
+he declined and weakly he surrendered.  He took
+the address and promised to return as soon as he could.
+It was half-past one when his work was done, and he
+knocked at the door of Birch Lodge Studios, No. 4, off
+the King's Road.  There was a great noise of revelry
+within.  When the door opened, he found himself in a
+large room, with a half-roof of sloping glass through which
+the moon peered down.  A dozen Chinese lanterns
+illuminated the room and were reflected in the polished floor
+whereon about twenty couples were dancing to the music
+of a gramophone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors, you dear!" cried Tilly, as he entered.  "I
+didn't think you'd come."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But I promised," he said, as she took his overcoat.
+The next moment she had taken him in her arms and they
+were whirling through the maze of the dance.  She was
+hot and the studio was stuffy, and there was a
+languor in the manner in which she hung in his arms that
+was half-trustful and half-seductive.  At the far end of
+the room, where the candle of the lantern was guttering,
+it was almost dark as they danced round.  She gave a
+little laugh as the candle went out, her mouth provokingly
+near to his, her eyes softly luminous in the moonlight
+falling through the glass.  The rhythm, the warmth,
+the music worked upon him; he was whirling, he knew not
+where.  For a moment he hesitated, then laughed as she
+laughed, and the next moment quenched his boyish thirst
+on her lips.  Convulsively she clung a moment, then
+collapsed softly in his arms, and he experienced a strength
+that was weakness, a tenderness that was cruelty.  He
+paused, floundering in a sea of the senses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Go on," she whispered, for the other couples in
+rotation were crowding upon them.  She pushed him round,
+but not before the girl in the kimono swirled by and
+laughed out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Caught you that time!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tone was vile, the accent inexpressibly vulgar; it
+jarred on the excited youth who danced dizzily.  Tilly,
+more acutely alive and now self-possessed, felt her
+partner give a shiver of disgust.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's sit this out&mdash;I don't want to dance any
+more&mdash;please."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They sat on a camp bed along the main wall, in silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're angry," she whispered looking at him coyly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm not."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, yes you are&mdash;look at me, you sulky boy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked into her mischievous eyes, and he had to
+laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She twined her fingers with his.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's sensible," she said.  "We're only young once,"
+and she let her head rest on his shoulder, her soft hair
+warmly clouding his cheek.  The next moment he was
+holding her with all the strength of his lissome young
+body, and laughed delightedly when she winced at his
+ardour.  Yes, he was only young once.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "<i>&mdash;way down in Tennessee,</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+whined the gramophone.  Only a few were dancing now.
+Little bursts of laughter and chatter came from dusky
+groups around the studio.  It was all rather unearthly in
+that aromatic atmosphere.  Some one wound up the
+gramophone and put on a new record&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "<i>While shepherds watched their flocks by night<br>
+  All seated on the&mdash;</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, stop it," came a voice, and there was a laugh all
+round.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Got 'em mixed," responded another.  "Here's 'In
+Alabama'&mdash;how's that?"  The gramophone whirred on, and
+the dancing began again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was nearly three when the guests began to depart.
+John knew none of them.  He had not seen their faces
+clearly all the night, but they somehow knew his name
+was "Scissors," and treated him familiarly.  Most of the
+men were about his own age, the women a little older.
+The humourist of the party, whom they called "The Doc"
+was about forty-five and seemed to father the assembly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't go yet," said Tilly as she stood by the door.
+"I'm not a bit sleepy and I want to talk."  He stood aside
+and let the others go.  At last only one girl remained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John came back to earth abruptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where's Mr. Adams&mdash;I haven't seen him all the evening."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Harry?&mdash;oh, I don't know&mdash;he comes in when he likes,"
+replied Tilly, drawing up a chair to the anthracite stove.
+She began talking to the other girl Fanny, who presently
+rose and said, "Good night," disappearing into another
+room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Is she staying with you?" asked John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Who&mdash;Fanny?&mdash;no, we live here together.  She's getting
+married next week, poor kid, to a little blighter.
+Lord knows why she picked him&mdash;or why any girl marries
+at all."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But&mdash;you're married!" said John, surprised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stared at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Married&mdash;whatever makes you think that?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I thought Mr. Adams&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tilly interrupted him with a short laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You've been listening to gossip.  Everybody says I'm
+going to marry him&mdash;but I say not.  I'm not going to
+keep any man, and that's what marrying a man of genius
+means."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But John cared nothing for the philosophy.  He was
+relieved, for the last two hours he had felt an unmitigated
+bounder.  A new cheerfulness swept over him, and Tilly
+noticed it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, you're waking up&mdash;you've been like a bear with
+a sore head!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sorry," he said, simply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"All right, Scissors!"  She slid on to her knees at his
+feet.  "And kissing's no harm," she sighed, looking up
+into his face.  "And oh, I'm so lonely at times!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She pulled his face downwards with her tiny hands, and
+ran her fingers through his hair.  The sensation made
+him laugh as he slipped his arms under hers and drew
+her upwards until their lips met.  In the darkness he
+could hear the beating of their hearts, and the silence
+singing in his ears.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0404"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER IV
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+Annie had been upstairs three times that morning
+to see if Mr. Dean's shoes had been taken inside
+his room.  But the door was still closed and the
+shoes on the mat outside.  At last she gave away her secret
+hero.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mr. Dean's not up yet," she said reluctantly to
+Mrs. Perdie, as she came downstairs to the kitchen.  "Shall
+I keep his breakfast 'ot?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What?&mdash;not down?  Why it's half past ten!  Have
+you cleared away yet?" cried Mrs. Perdie, emerging
+wet-handed from the scullery and a brisk encounter with
+saucepans.  "We can't keep breakfast going into lunch time."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Annie halted, she did not expect an order that would
+deprive her favourite of his breakfast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You'd better take it up on a tray to his room," said
+Mrs. Perdie, relenting&mdash;"and I'll speak to him when he
+comes down."  She disappeared again into the scullery
+where she thought long on the ways of young men and
+how cruelly the wicked city corrupted them.  Lying in
+bed late had been the first sign of Mr. Perdie's breakdown.
+Once a man began to lie late, his backbone went, of that
+there was no question.  She tolerated such a thing with
+de Courtrai and Wellington on the top floor.  It was in
+keeping with their characters.  Weedy young men in a
+fast profession might be expected to lie in bed in the
+morning, even at the cost of losing breakfast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Strange to say, the one who suffered most, Annie, who
+carried up the breakfast, grumbled least.  She tapped,
+gently at Mr. Dean's door, to absolve her conscience, but
+not to wake him, then she tiptoed in.  He was fast
+asleep&mdash;though she could see very little of him, with his
+head buried in the pillow and the sheets hunched up
+round his shoulders.  Cautiously she drew up the blind
+and flooded the room with light.  Then she placed a small
+table at the side of the bed.  Still he slept.  For a few
+moments she stood in romantic contemplation of his
+tousled head, with its ravelled locks.  How lovely he
+looked, with his boyish colour and his strong throat.  His
+pyjama jacket, unbuttoned, gave a glimpse of a strong
+chest.  Greatly daring, she leaned forward.  Just once
+she would do it&mdash;she might never have the chance again&mdash;and
+oh, she had wanted to, so many times.  Often she
+had longed he would just come and put his arms round
+her and kiss her fiercely&mdash;she wouldn't have minded if
+he had been cruel even.  She stooped and very lightly
+kissed his hair, just where it fell in a mass to one side
+of his brow, and she felt her very heart would betray
+her.  But he slept on, unconscious of all the love poured
+out over him.  Softly Annie went out.  She halted on
+the threshold with the tray in her hand, flushed and
+trembling with excitement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Lor&mdash;I'm daft!" she thought, and then walked loudly
+into the room and deposited the tray on the table with a
+bang.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Here's breakfast, Mr. Dean.  It's half past ten and
+missus says she can't keep it any longer!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was awake in an instant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good heavens&mdash;I've overslept!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I should think y'ave, Mr. Dean&mdash;that's being up 'o
+nights at them dances."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Captain Fisher's been asking for you, Mr. Dean,
+He's very excited at breakfast about something in the
+papers.  He says you're a remarkable gentleman.  He was
+so excited."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But what about, Annie?" asked John stretching.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know that, sir, but he wants to see you&mdash;come
+in drunk last night 'e did, and was 'orribly rude to Miss
+Simpson, on the landing.  Said he hated damn gramophones
+grinding hymn tunes over his head.  He apologised
+this morning and now says he's been grossly insulted
+because Miss Simpson didn't say anything, but gave him a
+temperance tract.  The missus had to speak to them both
+and the Captain gave notice."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"When does he go?" asked John, cracking his egg.
+The gossip of this caravanserai amused him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He never does go; he always gives notice when
+Mrs. Perdie says what she thinks," replied Annie.  "'Ow could
+he go anywhere else when all know 'is little 'abbits?  But
+I've got a lot to do.  The tea orl right, Mr. Dean?"
+she said, moving to the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Quite, Annie, thank you," he replied smiling at her.
+She closed the door on her hero with a resolute sniff.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Drinking his tea, with a head clearing, John became
+reflective.  This would really not do.  Half of the
+morning gone, and he was due at the office at twelve!  Then
+his mind went back to the night before, and to Tilly.  It
+had all been rather hectic.  Now he thought of it, he had
+been a decided fool, sitting there until the early morn, just
+holding in his arms and kissing a girl whom he had not
+known six hours, and who called him "a dear kid."  Why
+had he behaved like that?  He was lonely perhaps&mdash;and
+he had amused himself, that was all.  He didn't, couldn't
+love her, and certainly she had never for a moment thought
+of him in that way.  Turning to pour out some more tea,
+his eyes fell on a framed photograph on his dressing table.
+Yes, he had been a bounder&mdash;he couldn't tell <i>her</i>, she
+wouldn't understand, for even he did not.  And yet, if
+he met Tilly again&mdash;he dismissed the idea deliberately,
+but remembered in doing so that he <i>would</i> meet her
+again.  There was a dance at the Studio next Friday.
+No,&mdash;he must not go there again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He slipped out of bed, and bath towel in hand, surveyed
+himself critically in the glass.  Did he look a rake?
+Was dissipation stamping its marks upon him?  But the
+vision in the mirror was that of youth, flawless in
+careless health and grace.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he appeared in the hall downstairs, and Mrs. Perdie
+hurried forth to give a little motherly advice, he
+looked such a slim picture of radiant youth, his dark eyes
+shining, his face gleaming, with high spirits bubbling
+over, that she lost the opening words of her prepared
+overture, and worshipped for a moment, after which her
+chance was gone, for Captain Fisher emerged from the
+drawing-room, newspaper in hand.  He flourished it in
+John's face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Egad, sir, it's great&mdash;I've not laughed so much for
+years&mdash;you've got the real touch&mdash;I always thought those
+Bohemians were mad."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He touched his forehead with the rolled-up copy of
+the <i>Daily Post</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"May I look a moment?" asked John, a little bewildered.
+He opened the paper on the third page and saw
+his name in black type.  The editor had put it to the
+description of the Artists Union meeting.  John
+suppressed a shout of triumph.  There was his name true
+enough, "John Dean," with three quarters of a column of
+close print following!  Of course, the House of Commons
+was not sitting, so space was plentiful; still there
+was his name, for all the world to see!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The omnibus that carried him on its top that gay spring
+morning as it wound its way past the Victoria Station
+down Victoria Street, under the grey front of
+Westminster Abbey façade, on up lordly Whitehall, might
+have been the steeds of Apollo the sun-god, so radiantly
+rode youth through the world, all civilisation singing
+about him, organised for his delight.  He remembered
+hearing an odd remark of Merritt's one night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The first time you hit a bull's eye with the Chief, he
+gives you credit for it&mdash;there's your name on the
+target&mdash;but you've to be a marksman for that to happen."  And
+it had happened.  For the first time he experienced
+confidence, he was now conscious of approval.  Before, it
+had been like dropping his articles down a drain.  They
+disappeared for ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Merritt said nothing to him at the office, but in the
+afternoon, as he sat writing a letter in the reporters' room,
+the door of Merritt's little office opened.  There was a
+sound of laughter within, and John caught sight of
+Phipps, who had just returned from a conference at
+Vienna, on which he had been writing with customary
+brilliance.  John had never spoken to their leading man, who
+was as dizzily remote from his humble inquest-police-court
+haunting orbit, as the Pleiades from the sun.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dean," called Merritt, putting his head round the
+doorway.  John went in.  "I want to introduce you to Burton
+Phipps," he said.  Phipps rose and held out his hand to
+him.  John could not see him clearly in the sensation of
+the moment.  Why was he so ridiculously sensitive that
+his eyes watered, whenever something really wonderful
+happened?  He gulped and heard Phipps praising and
+laughing about his article.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you doing anything?" asked Phipps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come out and have tea with me then.  Good-bye, Merritt."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye&mdash;Phipps."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John followed as in a dream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Outside they crossed the square, plunging into the five
+o'clock traffic vortex below Ludgate Circus, walked a short
+way and then turned into a narrow entry.  Through a
+couple of swing doors they found a hall, whose walls were
+plastered with notices, and then a lounge with small tables.
+A few men nodded to Phipps, the diminutive waiter smiled
+as on an old friend when taking the order for tea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now for the first time John was able to look critically
+at his new friend.  It was a face and head of arresting
+dignity, beauty almost.  Of small build, he was a slim,
+compact man of about thirty-five with a boyish expression.
+He was pale, his eyes a steely grey, very intense, with
+points of light in the pupils, glowing and alive in contrast
+to the general pallor of the brow.  His hair was short and
+slightly wavy, the nose arched and Roman.  It was a
+chiselled face, that of a man of thought, into whose lines
+had passed the experience of emotion, suffering perhaps.
+It was, in a curious way, a face, ascetic and carven, that
+suggested sorrow, sprung from contemplation rather than
+life's trials.  And the voice was in accordance with this
+impression, for it was deep, with notes of rich melancholy,
+the voice of a great preacher.  To John, he seemed much
+as he would have expected to find one of the knights of
+the Round Table, a strong, handsome personality&mdash;yet
+human, and sensitive to the beauty of life as well as its
+ugliness.  There was a quick nervousness in the shape and
+movement of the hands, the right fingers being stained
+with nicotine, for he was an incessant smoker of cigarettes.
+In his talk he had a sense of humour which seemed to
+belie the seriousness of his expression, but that may have
+been due to his subject, for John had got him to talk of
+his famous adventure at a Grand Duke's wedding when he
+had figured as a foreign statesman and given Fleet Street
+an "inside" story that kept it talking for twenty-four
+hours&mdash;a long time for Fleet Street to discuss any subject.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he told John something of his experiences as a
+war correspondent in the Balkan War.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A bloody, horrible business.  I can hardly forgive the
+folly of men, Dean.  There are people here talking about
+our next war&mdash;with Germany.  What insanity&mdash;and what
+wickedness!  If only they had seen and not read about
+war.  I don't think there's any war worth fighting."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not for honour?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Were they ever fought for that?"  Phipps looked at
+him piercingly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I suppose not," assented John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And in future, there'll be no war worth winning," he
+said in his deep voice.  "The price of the effort will
+out-value the prize.  Well, if another war comes along, thank
+heaven I shall be too old for sending telegrams to the
+British Public about its picturesque bloodiness."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they had parted John felt he had made a new
+friend.  That was the marvel of London.  You met the
+men who did things; you were at the hub of creation, their
+names and faces were familiar with the day.  Steer,
+Ribble, Phipps&mdash;what would some men have given for his
+good fortune?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he arrived back at the office, word came that the
+Chief wanted to see him.  He went through to the
+Secretary's room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;Mr. Walsh's just going&mdash;I'll ask if he'll see you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He came back a moment later and ushered John in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Walsh sat at his littered desk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sit down, Dean.  Do you know French?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A little, sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you speak it?&mdash;can you be understood and understand?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I&mdash;I hope so sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Walsh smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And how much Danish?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John looked surprised.  "Danish, sir?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The editor laughed and then got up, putting his hand
+on the youth's shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't let that worry you&mdash;England was proud of
+possessing a Viking's daughter as queen, but few of us
+know a word of her language.  On Friday, I want you
+to go to Copenhagen to an international telegraph
+conference.  It will last a fortnight.  Merritt will tell you
+what we want, and our man in Copenhagen will look
+after you.  You will go to Harwich and cross to Esbjerg.
+The cashier will give you the necessary money.  I hope
+you'll enjoy the trip.  Good-bye."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He touched a bell, his secretary came in, John went out.
+Dizzily he walked back to his room.  Travel!  And he
+was a special correspondent!  He could envision the
+italicised words, the magic words he had seen under Phipps'
+name.  "<i>Our Special Correspondent.</i>"  To Merritt he
+stammered out the news, but the unimpressionable
+Merritt seemed to know all about it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Keep your mouth shut until you go&mdash;or others will be
+green with envy.  They can't help it, poor fellows.  Half
+of them are plodders, and you don't work for all you do&mdash;it's
+just in you, that's all.  That's half the tragedy of life&mdash;to
+the plodders.  You needn't come in to-morrow.  I'll
+look up the boats and trains."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Outside, in the street, John stood for a moment, while
+the world went by him.  A queer fellow Merritt.  How
+he had humbled that triumph&mdash;"half the tragedy of
+life&mdash;to the plodders."  Somehow it made his exultation seem
+childish and mean.  They were such good fellows too, full
+of kindness, and a spirit of give and take, and he, the
+newest among them, the cub, was racing ahead.  It must
+be bitter.  They filed before him&mdash;merry little Bewley,
+daring and audacious, Lawton, the dreamer and writer
+of rejected verse, Russell, the ponderous, saving hard for a
+home and sentimental about children, Johnson, who longed
+to retire on a farm&mdash;name after name, each coupled with
+hopes and ambitions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now his chance had come.  He must tell some one.
+He went back into the clerk's office and rang up
+Mrs. Graham.  Yes, she was in and would be delighted if he
+would dine with her.  At the Temple Station he booked
+for Sloane Square, his nearest point to her flat in Cheyne
+Walk.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0405"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER V
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The success that fell upon John Dean did not
+delude him.  He had been unnerved too young to feel
+trustful toward life.  While everybody called him
+lucky or blessed by the gods, and prophesied the dizzy
+heights to which good fortune would carry him, he was,
+nevertheless, suspicious.  Twelve months had gone by
+since he had secured his position with fine work at
+Copenhagen.  That mission, which from an incident had
+developed into an important European situation, he had
+handled in a masterly manner for his years and inexperience.
+Some men in Fleet Street called him precocious, others, less
+complimentary and less successful, brazen-faced.  Phipps,
+with whom a warm friendship had grown up, called him
+"an amazing child," and laughed good-naturedly over the
+adroitness with which he had got his despatches through
+ahead of his colleagues.  They had met, about mid-June,
+at Warsaw, whence Phipps was bound for Constantinople
+to report on the Young Turk party and the revolutions.
+It was the following Spring when they met again, and
+greatly to John's delight, Phipps had hunted up Ali, at
+college in Constantinople, and had brought back news that
+the finely grown young Turkish gentleman, now a keen
+follower of Enver Bey, had talked rapturously of John
+and the early days at Amasia.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You must be one of his gods, Dean, by the way he spoke
+of you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We were great friends, I remember.  I often wondered
+if he still recalled me.  We have ceased to write&mdash;how
+strange to think he is now a big fellow&mdash;he used to be so
+shy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Phipps had brought a letter for him.  Later, in his own
+room, John had broken the seal and read it.  It was a
+strange epistle, one moment full of the formality of the
+Orient, and then suddenly passionate, breaking into ornate
+declarations of eternal friendship.  But it was Ali, as of
+old, and as John read, there were the old scents of that
+gorge in his nostrils; he could hear the tinkle of the
+Yeshil Irmak as it ran down, moon-silvered, over the
+stones, and, as the moon peered into the dark ravine, the
+distant drone of the drums in the valley.  The old thrill
+was still in his blood.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>O sworn brother, I clasp your hands and look into
+those wonderful eyes of yours.  Still am I Ali, your proud
+servant, still would I follow you, John effendi.  Often I
+think of you in the night time when the </i>caiques<i> are at
+rest by the Galata Bridge, and the moon floods the
+cypress groves.  Often I wonder if still that gift of mine
+is with you.  Your friend tells me that you prosper, that
+you are fair to behold, a leader among men.  It is well.
+I knew this would be, of old.  Sad that manhood is upon
+us and that we hear not the voice of each other.  Still
+in my heart you linger.  In time, it may be we meet, and
+oh, beloved friend, the joy that shall fall upon us,
+Insh'allah.</i>"
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+On the night he received the letter, John went round
+to Lindon's flat at Battersea, which overlooked the river
+and Chelsea on the opposite bank.  It was a grey Spring
+evening, and the great flood ran linked with lights
+reflected in the stream; the beauty of melancholy was on
+the face of things.  John stood staring out of the window.
+Lindon was playing by candle light; now grasping fame
+as a pianist, he was attractive and forceful as ever.  John
+watched his splendid head between the candles on either
+side, as it moved with the rhythm of a Brahms waltz.
+Suddenly the player stopped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"A penny, Scissors," he said, seeing the deep gaze.
+John laughed and looked out of the window again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They're not worth it&mdash;only&mdash;I often wonder, Lindon,
+if ever we quite realize the whole wonder of life&mdash;of this&mdash;of
+friendship, of youth?  It's all slipping by and it's so
+good, and we make so little of it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lindon rose, walked across to the window and put his
+arm in John's.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors, you're quite an old sentimentalist.  Of course
+it's good&mdash;and we enjoy it, at least I know I do."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They watched the sunset fade in silence.  When a last
+line of flame had died into the grey bank of cloud, John
+spoke.  It was evidently the end of some thoughts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It will have been worth it&mdash;when it all ends and we
+look back.  I've been lucky."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ends?  What a morbid fellow you are!  Why ends?
+It's all just beginning, Scissors!  Why we've got the world
+at our feet!"  Lindon laughed.  It was so hearty and
+infectious that at any other time, John would have laughed
+too.  All's letter had upset him a little.  He shivered in
+his chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You know, it's silly, Lindon&mdash;but I feel there's a
+tragedy coming.  Life's just too good&mdash;it won't behave
+always like this.  It waits and then pounces and you are
+in its grip."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Rot!&mdash;Scissors.  Let's have the light on, it's getting
+creepy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;I want you to play&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What, in the dark?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Please&mdash;play that Brahms again&mdash;I can see all kinds
+of pictures."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment, Lindon hesitated and then, seeing the
+earnest appeal in John's eyes, shook him playfully and
+went over to the grand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall have to feel my way, Scissors."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he played very softly and with great feeling.  John
+sat in the window and let the rich music flow over him
+in that growing darkness.  It was of Ali he thought; and
+then he was a little boy on the verandah, in the arms of a
+grown man; suddenly he was standing with him under an
+almond tree in blossom, and the man's head was bowed
+in grief; out of the dusk came face after face; what did
+they here in this scented Eastern Garden?  He caught
+the swift animation of Marsh's glance, about to speak;
+there was Vernley, the old poise of the head he knew so
+well; and, somehow, Mr. Fletcher was with them.  How
+wonderfully Lindon was playing&mdash;and how insistently
+came the muffled pulse of a drum, perhaps down the gorge
+in the old deserted Khan.  He must follow it&mdash;how it
+beat through his brain, insistent and full of wonder.  He
+was going towards it, strangely elated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was quite dark when Lindon struck the last chord
+and let the sound flow through the room before the
+pedal-release curtained the room in silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John started, as if rudely awakened.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a London he knew now.  He had followed the
+long social programme reaching its climax in June.  He
+watched the fashionable crowd at Burlington House on
+private view day; the smaller, but more interesting
+gathering at the Grosvenor Galleries when the International
+Society's show opened; concerts at Queen's Hall, first
+nights at the theatre, garden parties, polo at Hurlingham,
+the Derby and Goodwood,&mdash;all these things occupied
+his days.  It was a vivid, everchanging experience,
+this life of the journalist, and with it all he touched many
+circles and found new friends.  The cranks, the idealists,
+the hard relentless men of affairs, the propagators of
+creeds,&mdash;he met them all, and from them learned something.
+There was a soft spot in the heart of most men if you
+could touch it; they were very human in one aspect,
+though he stood appalled at the pace humanity set itself
+in the mad race to success.  How many of these hectic
+men and women ever realized what life was?  They dared
+not stop to contemplate.  On, on, on, lest the horror of
+their own entity should frighten them.  They feared
+themselves, they must never be left to themselves.
+Solitude meant madness&mdash;there was forgetfulness flowing
+down the crowded thoroughfares.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Only artificial people praise the country&mdash;they feel so
+superior to it," said Harry Merivale, brightly, as he sat
+at lunch in the Union Club, where John was the guest
+of Major Slade.  The company laughed at this statement;
+it was the applause that always spurred Merivale to
+further efforts in the preposterous.  At thirty he had been
+considered a wit and a man of promise.  Now at forty
+cautious men shook their heads and looked suspiciously at
+the flippant monologue-artist.  Merivale was an advanced
+revolutionary on five thousand a year.  Three years as
+private secretary to Lord Eastbourne had filled him with
+contempt for those who did not decorate their titles.
+Merivale, who developed his sense of the theatre assiduously
+and derived pleasure from the fact that persons thought
+must be descended from the famous historian of the
+Roman Empire, was a precisian.  He pronounced his
+words, despite the pace of an utterance made to prevent
+interruption, with unction; he was as careful about
+their use as he was careless about their meaning.  He
+would have sacrificed his grandmother for an epigram.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His attire was as precise as his small flat in Mayfair.
+He hoped he was the last to preserve the traditions of
+the Augustan age.  He read Locke "On the Human
+Understanding" in a room hung with choice examples of
+Signorelli, Lippo Lippi and Angelico.  His furniture was
+Chippendale, his books were all leather bound.  Sometimes in
+a long monologue on the bad government of the age, he
+quoted John Stuart Mill.  He refused to recognise any
+novelist since Fielding, any musician since Handel.  The
+last statesman died with Pitt the younger.  The only
+persons he really respected were his valet and his banker.
+They both moved in the best circles.  Major Slade
+collected his epigrams and performed the office of an
+enlarging mirror.  He spoke of Merivale with a note of
+melancholy as of a man who could have been great had
+it not been vulgar.  Merivale himself found comfort in
+this reflection; after all, he was, among the crowd, the
+one man self-possessed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His day was perfectly ordered, his trousers perfectly
+creased.  A vellum bound copy of "Marius the Epicurean"
+always lay on a bedside table.  He had a model bachelor's
+rooms, and kept a full diary.  He envied the poor their
+indifference to dirt and despised the rich for their
+contempt of brains.  He had a beautiful voice, an
+unfailing eloquence and a safe income; few men had attacked
+the dinner tables of Mayfair with more perfect, if
+restricted, assets.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John met Merivale at the Phyllis Court Club, where
+he had been staying for Henley Regatta.  Marsh was
+rowing for his college, Vernley and his people were also
+at the club.  Merivale was known to Mr. Vernley, who
+delighted in pairing him with Marsh, now a brilliant
+extempore antagonist.  Those had been great days at
+Henley.  Marsh was radiant.  Never had John seen him more
+audacious, more triumphant.  Merivale, disconcerted,
+admired, and, being an astute tactician, adopted Marsh as
+his pupil.  Their dinner table was the noisiest, their little
+set the most conspicuous.  They all registered a vow to
+spend August together on the East Coast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+These were days of supreme happiness.  Evenings in
+Mrs. Graham's charmed circle, the intellectual stimulus of
+a supper gathering at Mr. Ribble's house, the glimpse of
+home, obtained at Steer's, where the nursery woke to
+riotous mirth with the advent of "Uncle John"&mdash;or those
+marvellously perfect dinner parties at Slade's house in
+Braham Gardens, with guests as carefully chosen as the menu;
+the air of self-possession and quiet mannered ease, the
+atmosphere in short which is the inseparable adjunct of
+the Wykehamist the world over&mdash;or, turbulent and youthful,
+the late dance-parties in Tilly's studio&mdash;with Tilly,
+deep in love this time with the attractive young pianist
+whom John had brought along one evening&mdash;yes, it was
+a splendid life, with every hour booked ahead, and heights
+of glory for youth to scale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, in all these things the most ardent, John turned
+aside at moments and his thoughts were far away.  If
+Muriel were here among his friends, to share this wine of
+youth!  At night-time, often in the stillness of the long
+stone streets, so solemn at mid-night, as he walked home,
+he would wonder just how she lay pillowed in her bed in a
+room he knew not in the Convent of the Sacred Heart.
+A momentary glimpse held him in the spell of
+recollection&mdash;the way her little hand tucked away a rebellious
+curl behind the ear, even the way she had of nibbling at
+a concert programme!  And to see her run up a flight
+of steps&mdash;up the terrace at "The Croft," and then turn
+at the top, breathless and flushed, her eyes shining!  Why
+was she exiled from him?  It was cruel to waste the
+ardour of their youth in this senseless fashion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On his last visit to the Vernleys, he could no longer
+keep silent upon his dream.  Quickly, bluntly almost, he
+poured out his whole heart before Mr. Vernley, who
+listened to him with a kindly tolerance.  It might end
+everything; he would have to leave the house, of course,
+but this dual existence was intolerable.  To his surprise
+Mr. Vernley just placed his hand on his shoulder, and
+said very kindly&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You must be patient, my boy&mdash;you are but boy and
+girl yet.  Twenty-one&mdash;and so much before you yet.
+Just wait, John, and then we'll talk seriously."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But I'm very serious, sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Vernley smiled in his kindly fashion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That is why you should wait.  Come, John&mdash;suppose
+we talk of this in a year?"  He looked at the intense
+young face before him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then you&mdash;you don't forbid me, sir&mdash;I mean I may
+hope&mdash;" he stammered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The verdict is with Muriel, John.  She will know her
+own mind soon, and when she is home and has been
+presented, then you two can decide.  I am not so old-fashioned
+as to think a father can do other than advise.  If
+I say 'Good luck' to you, will that suffice for the present?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, thank you, sir!" cried John, gladly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So ended the overture.  It was a phase successfully
+passed.  The young lovers breathed freely again.  Time
+was the enemy now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The summer wore on.  There were visits to the Fletchers
+and to Marsh's.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Mother's another 'ism," said Marsh, meeting him at
+the station.  "They come and go like Dad's pipes.  She's
+a Sunphoner this time&mdash;all gladness and love is
+transmitted on rays of light.  To smile is to love.  Clouds,
+which obstruct sunshine, are agglomerations of sin.  When
+you frown you are abetting the devil.  Mother carefully
+cultivates the gladsome wrinkles of the sunphoners.  Dad
+calls it the Cheshire Cat Society."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John found her as sweet and gentle as before.  Always
+in her hands there seemed to be flowers, and the birds
+sang louder in her garden.  Were any evenings, anywhere,
+more restful than those around her lamp?  Mr. Marsh
+came and went from the study.  His hair was a little
+whiter, his belief in the <i>Nation</i> even more unshakable.
+As for Marsh, was there any one in the world quite like
+this tall, perverse, quick-spoken humourist?  Mrs. Marsh
+sat and worshipped, her hands ever busy in his service,
+and John thought he treated her like a fluttered bird,
+something to be petted and soothed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It is splendid to watch over your success, John," she
+confided one evening.  "But please don't let success harden
+you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Am I hardening?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;perhaps not&mdash;it's youth changing, I suppose&mdash;I
+would like to keep that first glimpse of you&mdash;when Teddie
+brought you here&mdash;so nervous."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John laughed happily, and held her hand which,
+somehow, had found its way into his.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a silly little woman I am," she whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think you're a darling," he responded, "and Teddie's
+a lucky boy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was good to fall asleep in that little chintz-curtained
+room, to watch the moon climbing through the elm-tree
+branches, to hear the owl screech and the church clock
+strike in the dead of night, or to wake with bird song in
+the cold freshness of the country morning.  Then Teddie
+would bang about, pyjama-clad with tousled hair, uttering
+some fantastic epigram, or a new plan for exasperating
+the conservative-minded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was he who, one morning in Grafton Street, saw in
+the shop window of an antique dealer, a small bronze
+statue labelled "Narcissus listening to Echo."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors!" he cried, clutching his arm.  "There's your
+namesake, minus tailor's trimmings!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a moment he had rushed into the shop.  A fierce
+discussion ensued with the bespectacled Jew, who began
+a recital starting at Herculaneum B.C., but was interrupted
+in the Italian Renaissance by Marsh, who calmly offered
+him half what he asked.  They haggled and scorned each
+other while John wondered which traced his ancestry to
+Judæa; then Marsh conquered at his original bid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They bore it home, swaddled in <i>The Times</i>, to John's
+room.  John protested, he could not let Marsh pay so
+much for a present, but all his protests were over-ruled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of course you must have it&mdash;and offer libations to
+your great ancestor.  What a leg he's got&mdash;he could do
+with more meat on his torso and less on his toes, while
+you could&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't be rude," interrupted John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It was a trick of the Phidian period of sculpture to
+lengthen the tibia to ensure&mdash;" on went the dissertation.
+Mid-way through a comparison of Michael Angelo with
+Benvenuto Cellini, there was a sudden explosion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The old devil!" cried Marsh, looking closely at the
+statue.  "He's swindled us&mdash;it's cracked over the
+thigh&mdash;look!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John looked.  There was a fissure in the bronze about
+an inch long.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"An appendicitis operation," said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'll take it back," cried Marsh indignantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't&mdash;I like the lad better for his imperfections&mdash;he's
+more human."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So the statue remained, raising its finger in a listening
+attitude on the bookshelf, recalling with an antique
+grace an artist's triumph in a dead civilisation.  It
+revived, indeed, a pagan creed in the Perdie household.
+True, Mrs. Perdie was shocked by "that 'eathen thing
+without its coverings," and Annie simpered whenever she
+swept the feather brush over it, but Miss Simpson's eyes
+watered when she saw it, for she recalled how her dear
+brother, the Governor, had shown it to her in the museum
+at Naples&mdash;"when I was quite a girl, and Lieutenant
+Ranson, a charming young gentleman, was going to buy me a
+copy, but&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John had seen his portrait on her table, and had looked
+silently at the laughing face of the lover, drowned a week
+after it was taken.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wellington and de Courtrai borrowed "Narcissus" for a
+tea party they gave, with great success, to a crowd of
+ladies and gentlemen from the theatre.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yer can't see fer face powder in the air," commented
+Annie, after taking in the tea.  John was a guest.  He
+enjoyed hearing them lie so magnificently to each other
+about the salaries they earned and the promises made by
+managers.  Yet they were good-hearted backbiters, loving
+the venom for the chameleonic skill with which their
+tongues struck the victims, intending no permanent harm
+to any one.  They all showed the worst side to the world
+and kept their private griefs smothered in the dreary
+back rooms of dingy lodging houses.  For all their
+cheapness, Wellington and de Courtrai had hearts of gold.  They
+had nursed him through a bad attack of influenza, with
+unwearying devotion, and no woman's hand could have
+ministered more skilfully and patiently.  Their artificiality
+was on the surface, their feminine air companioned a
+feminine tenderness to each other&mdash;and on this occasion, to
+John.  Even Captain Fisher, when they cooked his breakfast,
+on the sudden collapse of Mrs. Perdie and Annie with
+influenza, declared they were born batmen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If they'd take a cold bath every morning and crop
+their hair, they might pass as men," he growled.  They
+would have won him completely by their attentions during
+those influenza days had they not called him "dear," in
+conversation on the third morning, whereupon Captain
+Fisher spilt his coffee in an apoplectic rage.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+III
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was during those weeks of July that Lindon arrived
+at a condition which to John seemed hysterical.  Ever
+since he had taken him to Tilly's studio he had haunted the
+place like a silent ghost; that he was madly in love with
+her he made no attempt to hide, and she, no less than he,
+found the day dull when he was absent.  He vowed that
+Tilly was necessary to his music; he could not work without
+her, there was no quality in his playing unless he played
+to her.  One night, after John had dined at his flat,
+Lindon walked up and down the room, pouring out his agony
+of mind.  His people had refused to allow him to marry
+yet.  "I'm tied up with an allowance, Scissors&mdash;and I
+can't go on&mdash;we can't go on&mdash;it's hell!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We?&mdash;is Tilly unwilling to wait?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, to wait&mdash;like me&mdash;why should we lead this
+miserable divided life, when we belong to each other, when
+there's no existence apart?  I tell you it's immoral!  Why
+shouldn't I marry&mdash;in the vigour of youth, with a girl in
+a million.  It's natural, it's right&mdash;and we're told to
+wait&mdash;for what?  Till we're wiser, if you please.
+Wiser!&mdash;oh my God!  Madness, that's how it'll end!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly he turned upon his heel and looked at John,
+who sat quietly in a chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors, sometimes you make me want to kick you&mdash;you
+agree with 'em!  Have you got an ounce of passion in
+you?  Do you know what sex means?  I doubt it.  Why,
+there are nights I can't sleep, when I think such things
+as&mdash;but you never seem to be aware of anything.  I have
+seen you dancing with girls, your face like a wax mummy.
+Why when I take hold of them, sometimes I want to make
+them cry out in my grip, and when their hair touches my
+face, I&mdash;I&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He halted then, and caught John's wrists in a vice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't believe you've ever felt like crying about a girl
+just because she's been pleasant to another fellow, or
+wanted to gather her up in your arms and carry her off
+to a secret place."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The younger man broke away from the frenzied grip.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Lindon, I shall think you are mad in a minute."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I am&mdash;do you wonder?  Here am I, a vigorous man,
+with abundance of life singing through every vein, all
+nature crying out for me to express myself, and night and
+day I fight the desire down, hold myself in leash, shut up
+in these four walls&mdash;you must know what it means, you're
+no longer a kid.  Nature never intended this, she meant
+us to break the barriers.  We're all defying her; I am,
+you are, Tilly is&mdash;and it's all wrong!"  He looked
+desperately at John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't think love is a thing that you can talk about
+in this way," said the other quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"For you&mdash;perhaps not&mdash;you're not hot-blooded like
+me&mdash;you're self-contained.  But I'm not like that, I must
+have somebody I worship.  Why, do you know at Sedley,
+it was you&mdash;there, now you know I'm mad."  He laughed
+bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I knew," said John, looking out of the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You knew that I cared about you?" asked Lindon.
+They heard the clock tick in the long interval of silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;I could see you liked me very much, and I was
+afraid of you&mdash;I was told you were very jealous."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"By Vernley?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lindon laughed rather grimly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You see how I torture myself&mdash;I don't suppose I'm
+normal," he added bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No one in love is," added John, half to himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lindon looked at him keenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How do you know that?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're not the only lover, I suppose?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment Lindon stared at him; there was such
+a depth of feeling in those simple words.  Impulsively, he
+linked his arm in John's.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors, old thing, forgive me.  I'm a selfish
+beast&mdash;why do you let me carry on in this childish way?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John half smiled in reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Because I've often wanted to myself.  After all, you
+know, you should be grateful&mdash;Chelsea's nearer than Belgium."
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+IV
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The last week in July saw a great re-union.  The
+Vernleys had taken a house at Mablethorpe, on the East
+Coast, for the summer.  Its chief attraction was that it
+possessed no distractions.  There were neither pierrots,
+promenades, theatres, nor any of the other feeble forms of
+amusement with which people in search of a holiday
+disguise their boredom.  And to increase the solitude of their
+retreat, the Vernleys' house was a mile out of the village,
+snugly ensconced behind the high sand dunes with which
+early settlers had fought the encroaching sea, and kept for
+themselves a lowland intersected with dykes and devoid of
+trees.  Bobbie grumbled all day long at the obvious
+insanity of his people in choosing such a place.  A lover of
+the flesh pots, he contemplated the house and surrounding
+country with supreme disgust.  His disapproval was
+obviously artificial, however.  They had brought their horses
+with them, with which to explore the Lincolnshire lanes.
+A short car journey took them to Skegness, "which is
+Mablethorpe, only more so," commented Bobbie.  Kitty
+found great excitement in riding her mare down the sand
+dunes, until the authorities protested against the breaking
+down of the sky line and Mablethorpe's one claim to
+singularity.  But the tennis and the bathing were without fault.
+Even Bobbie was silent upon these, and his frequent
+indulgence in both betrayed almost enthusiasm.  Mrs. Vernley
+had chosen the place for the air, although Mr. Vernley
+swore that it was because no friends would come there to
+visit them.  He was consoled somewhat by the discovery
+of a radical parson in a near village, who knew all the
+quaint little inns and the merits of beer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the greater part of the day they all lived in bathing
+costumes since, as Marsh expressed it, the weather was hot
+and as perversely pleasant as the landscape.  London was
+with them, Lindon dwelling in a wonderful July heaven,
+for diplomatic John had contrived for an invitation to be
+sent to Miss Topham, whose pleasure coincided with the
+business of painting Kitty on horseback.  Their open
+delight in each other supplemented the mirth of the party,
+though perhaps John felt lonelier in contrast, for Muriel
+was visiting the home of a school friend at Liége until the
+second week in August.  John's sky had just a little
+shadow in it, but with Marsh and Vernley at hand, there
+were no silences for self-commiseration.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They breakfasted at seven, with the sea wind blowing
+through the room.  It was Mr. Vernley's great complaint
+that there were neither letters nor newspapers until eleven
+o'clock.  A great strike was threatened, and he watched it
+carefully day by day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have the silly beggars struck yet?" asked Bobbie, one
+morning as they all lay, after bathing, on the slopes of the
+sand dunes facing the sea and the wide flat beach.  As he
+asked the question he was industriously trickling sand
+down John's bare leg.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;the Prime Minister receives a conference to-day.
+There seems to be more trouble over the Sarajevo incident."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's that, sir?" asked Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"One of the Hapsburgs potted at by a Serbian&mdash;those
+blighters are always shooting one another in the Balkans,"
+interrupted Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's a report from Copenhagen that Russia's
+mobilising," said Mr. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, you must never believe reports from Copenhagen,
+sir," cried Lindon, looking sideways at John.  The next
+moment he just escaped a shoe by ducking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Kaiser says that Austria must have guarantees
+from Serbia, with penalties, and that Russia must acquiesce."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wish somebody would have a shot at that idiot," said
+John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well you can, when he's had one at us, as he intends,"
+replied Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, bosh!" cried Marsh, "every half-pay major who
+wants conscription and has had a week's holiday in Berlin,
+propagates that yarn.  The Germans would no more think
+of fighting us than the Chinese&mdash;they wouldn't have a
+dog's chance."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"With twelve million disciplined troops?" queried
+Mr. Vernley, over the top of his glasses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why, sir, we'd never meet 'em on land.  How would
+they get here&mdash;with our navy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley got up and shook the sand off his legs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come on, Scissors&mdash;let's have that tennis four&mdash;if we
+let Lindon and Marsh go on there'll be war in England; I
+can see Lindon's gorge rising at the little Englander!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Little Englander&mdash;why of course!  We are the wealthiest
+race on the earth, have the greatest possessions, and
+the worst slums!" cried Marsh.  "What good is the wealth
+of India when there's Sheffield, or the possession of Egypt
+when it can't wipe out the slums of Lancashire&mdash;we have
+the largest national debt, the heaviest taxation!  And
+there are idiots banging the big drum, raising the German
+bogey, because they want to go and grab more countries,
+when we can't manage what we have got!"  Marsh was
+flushed and the wind had blown the hair down into his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But we do manage it&mdash;and well," asserted Tod, usually
+silent, and just appointed to a commission in the Guards.
+"We have civilised India, brought justice and liberty to
+its people as well as health&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And Christianity," added Mrs. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, and thrown away hundreds of lives and millions
+of money on South Africa&mdash;only to realise we had no right
+there and to give it back again," retorted Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You must admit, Teddie, we have a genius for
+government," said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Not while we've Ireland threatening insurrection every
+minute," flared Marsh, his blood up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think you boys had better play tennis," called
+Mr. Vernley, from behind the newspaper.  "You'll get hot to
+some purpose then.  But unless I'm mistaken, this old
+country will be in the balance soon.  Austria has attacked
+Serbia, and is bombarding Belgrade.  Russia has sent an
+ultimatum on behalf of her ally, and the Kaiser is
+hurrying back to Berlin."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That idiot will only stir up the mess," said Bobbie.
+"What's it all about, Dad?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Austrian Archduke was assassinated at Sarajevo.
+Austria demands penalties and will not accept Serbia's
+offer.  It is reported Germany is strengthening Austria's
+hand, and Russia stands behind Serbia.  Sir Edward
+Grey has offered his services as mediator."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, he'll settle it!" cried Bobbie.  "Clever dog, Grey."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It looks to me like a European conflagration unless
+great tact is shown," said Mr. Vernley.  He turned to his
+wife, "I think we ought to wire for Muriel to come home."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But why?  Belgium is not affected."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The whole circle looked at Mr. Vernley who took off
+His glasses and tapped the newspaper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It may mean war for us."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"For us!"  They all echoed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We've too much sense, sir, to be messed up in these
+ludicrous Balkan squabbles.  The blighters are always
+nibbling at one another's ears.  Well, here's one who won't
+join in.  If every man thought and acted as I do, there
+wouldn't be any wars!" declared Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why?" asked John.  He had never seen Marsh quite so
+excited before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Because if there were no feeble fools willing to be made
+into gun fodder, there'd be no wars.  You can't have wars
+without soldiers."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But supposing Germany declared war on us," began Tod.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, bosh!" interrupted Marsh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Germany will not declare war on <i>us</i>," said Mr. Vernley
+quietly, "but if this unrest spreads, she may declare
+war on France&mdash;and that would involve our honour; we
+should have to help France."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It seems a terrible mix-up, all these entangling
+alliances," sighed Mrs. Vernley, "and it is unthinkable that
+the world's rulers will let us slip into war.  To-day war
+would be terrible with all the science and inventions of this
+age."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It would be insane!" cried Marsh loudly.  "We must
+refuse to be pushed in by the financiers and land-grabbers.
+Think of the millions it means, the homes ruined, the
+sons and fathers butchered&mdash;why it's incredible!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But if our honour&mdash;" began Tod.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Honour be damned!" snapped Marsh.  Then quickly,
+"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that.  But it's wicked to
+think of war.  I refuse to think of it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We may have to, Marsh," said Mr. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I won't."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If we had to fight, wouldn't you?" asked Kitty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marsh stood up, looking very handsome in his flushed
+indignation but John noticed how his lip trembled as he
+paused before answering, and looked out to sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," he said quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Vernley looked at him steadily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm afraid, Marsh, you would be&mdash;" he began to say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Called a coward, sir&mdash;I know.  But war's insanity, and
+only the corrupt, the insane and the ignorant will allow it.
+I'll consider it my duty to refuse to condone it at any
+cost."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;you're&mdash;you're impossible," muttered Tod.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're&mdash;you're a professional soldier," retorted Marsh,
+and the moment he uttered it, turned white in the face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;Tod&mdash;please I didn't mean it like that&mdash;I didn't
+really."  There were tears in his eyes as he turned
+appealingly.  Tod put his hand on his shoulder and smiled
+at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's all right, Teddie&mdash;you were always volcanic.  I
+believe you're the kind of fellow that would win the V.C."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think," said Mrs. Vernley breathing freely again,
+"that it is very silly to take things as seriously as
+this&mdash;there won't be a war."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Grey'll settle it," said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We hope so," added Mr. Vernley, folding up his paper.
+"But I shall go to town to-morrow to be at the centre of
+things and I shall wire to Muriel."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But she will be home in a week, father," cried Mrs. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And she's quite safe in Belgium," declared Bobbie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps&mdash;I hope so, but it's too near the storm centre,"
+replied Mr. Vernley.  "And now, my dear, what about
+lunch?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Walking back to the house, John expressed fears about
+Muriel to Bobbie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, she's all right," he replied, confidently.  "The
+guv'nor always takes a serious attitude to things&mdash;it's a
+parliamentary habit, Scissors&mdash;and Muriel can look after
+herself."  Marsh walked silently with them.  He seemed
+depressed.  The sky was blue, the sun shining, but John
+felt the air was heavy.  He slipped his arm through
+Marsh's.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+V
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rumours followed rumours, and one morning as John
+came down into the hall before breakfast, Tilly met him.
+She looked very attractive and girlish in her white jersey
+with its blue collar encircling her pretty neck.  John could
+understand Lindon's infatuation.  He had watched her
+slim figure in the water, a graceful sprite, so light and
+vivacious that she might have been a fairy's child.  Her
+cream skirt this morning was short, revealing two shapely
+legs in white stockings, and he could not help looking
+intently at the little bare patch beneath her throat, red with
+the sun, running down to a channel of milky whiteness,
+dimpled by the suggested proximity of her breasts.  She
+noticed his admiring observation, and placed her hand,
+light as a bird on his arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors, what do you think&mdash;Tod's going to town with
+Mr. Vernley this morning!  I tell him he'll spoil the
+men's four we arranged to play the doctor's friends."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"To town, whatever for?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know, you persuade him to stay."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Righto&mdash;where is he?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tilly nodded towards the dining room.  John walked
+in, and as he did so, he realised something.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Morning, Tod!" he called brightly.  "I hear you're
+going to town."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, Scissors&mdash;I've got to see a few friends."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;you'll be coming back before I go?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, yes&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that moment Bobbie burst in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say, Tod, what's this nonsense about going to town!
+You simply can't, you'll bust up the&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He caught a glance from John that checked him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I must see some friends," said Tod.  "I'll be back in
+a few days."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, very well," assented Bobbie, lamely.  John had
+gone out.  He followed quickly, overtaking him in the
+hall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What on earth did you look like that for, Scissors?" he
+asked.  John drew him aside from where Mrs. Vernley
+stood watering a flower pot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I thought you did not realise."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Realise what?" asked Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why Tod's going to town&mdash;it isn't to see friends."  Then
+seeing the mystified expression on his friend's face,
+"I'll bet he visits the War Office to find out whether his
+regiment's likely to get orders."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good God!" exclaimed Vernley, "but&mdash;surely we're not
+going to war!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We must keep this from the mater," whispered Vernley.
+Then, to John, "You're a wise old bird, Scissors&mdash;I'd never
+have guessed."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Immediately after breakfast Mr. Vernley and Tod left
+for London.  Their going brought one little hope to John.
+Muriel would be here now in a few days.  This was the
+last week in July&mdash;Tuesday.  He had to return in a week,
+the Tuesday following Bank Holiday, on August the
+fourth.  Muriel would be here by the 1st at the latest.
+They would have a few days together before he could come
+back again, early in September.  On the fifth he had to
+leave for Paris, to relieve Phipps, who was there on a
+special mission.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Those jolly days went quickly.  They bathed, boated,
+played tennis and lolled on the dunes.  Marsh made
+frequent excursions into Mablethorpe, where he had
+contracted a mania for shooting at bottles in a booth,
+returning with a cocoanut and a German watch as prizes.  He
+was elated with his great success as a deadly shot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm surprised you should like shooting," laughed
+Mrs. Vernley when he presented her with a cocoanut, and
+pinned the watch on the cook's blouse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But at bottles, not human beings, Mrs. Vernley!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Same thing as soldiers," cried John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"According to you&mdash;green and empty."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a laugh all round and Marsh shied the
+cocoanut at John, who split his white ducks in performing
+a somersault.  That afternoon he infected Lindon and
+Tilly with his craze and dragged them off to Mablethorpe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John dozed on the lawn, Bobbie was engrossed in a
+novel, Mrs. Vernley was taking her siesta.  Only Kitty
+was alert.  She had been writing to Alice who was singing
+on the morrow at Manchester.  Suddenly she put down
+her pen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bobbie, I say, just look at Teddie tearing along&mdash;has
+he gone mad?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She pointed and they looked in the direction of the
+Mablethorpe road that ran between a deep dyke and the
+sandhills.  He was running breathlessly, his shirt wide
+open at the neck.  He was a lonely figure on the road,
+but, catching sight of them on the lawn, waved a paper in
+the air.  John woke up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He's won another prize!" he suggested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But where's Lindon and Tilly?" asked Bobbie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then John started up and went across the lawn, and
+Marsh, now within hailing distance, shouted&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Special out&mdash;Germany's at war with France&mdash;threatening
+Luxembourg!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A minute later, panting, he reached the gate, where
+they ran to meet him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hoo!  I'm blown&mdash;there!"  He thrust the paper into
+eager hands.  "Tilly and Lindon are coming&mdash;I've run
+all the way.  It looks like business, doesn't it?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They read down the column.  It was brief, with
+messages from many sources, none authoritative, but the
+fact was clear&mdash;Germany and France were at war.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Germany has delivered a request to Luxembourg
+asking for the free passage for her troops to the French
+frontier; her neutrality will be respected in the event of
+acquiescence," read John aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Neutrality respected&mdash;after walking across them!"
+snorted Bobbie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly John gripped the paper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Brussels.  From our special correspondent.  It is
+rumoured that a demand for the free passage of German
+troops, as in the case of Luxembourg, has been made to
+the Belgian Government.  No official statement was made
+at noon, but the Belgian army is being mobilised as a
+precautionary measure."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Muriel was in Belgium!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At tea they had a thousand hopes, fears, views.  All
+the evening Marsh walked about muttering, "It's
+incredible&mdash;the twentieth century, and civilisation to come
+to this!  But it'll all be over quickly, there's that in it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Quickly, why?" asked Bobbie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The Germans will be in Paris in a fortnight!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"They won't!" said John grimly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why not?" asked Kitty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We shall stop them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We?" echoed Tilly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;France is our ally, we must stand by her."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's no definite treaty compelling us," said Mrs. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's not a matter of compulsion&mdash;it's a matter of
+honour," asserted Lindon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Honour!" cried Marsh.  "Honour&mdash;and spread the massacre!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The French are our allies.  Germany knows that, and
+has thrown down the gage.  We are challenged," said John
+grimly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then&mdash;it&mdash;it means war for us?" asked Mrs. Vernley.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh dear&mdash;oh dear&mdash;oh dear!" she murmured, clasping
+and unclasping her hands.  Marsh sat silent with the rest.
+The net was closing.  Not one of them mentioned Muriel's
+name, chiefly because she was in all their minds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That evening a wire came from Mr. Vernley.  The
+Belgian Legation refused to issue passports.  He had
+wired Muriel to return at once.  He was coming down in
+the morning.  Charlton, of the Foreign Office, said there
+was every hope that they would keep out of the war.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Vernley arrived in the morning, and with him came
+the news that Belgium had refused Germany the right of
+access across her territory and Germany had declared war
+and was hacking her way through the country.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That means we are all in," said Lindon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We shall know soon.  England has sent an ultimatum
+declaring she will defend Belgian neutrality according to
+the treaty."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Those were hours of suspense to the Vernley household,
+all their thoughts turned to Muriel.  Where was she?
+Mr. Vernley was sure she was on her way to England; she had
+had ample time to reach Ostend.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Just think, all of these people in a few days will be
+living in apprehension&mdash;and every one of us shouldering a
+gun!" said John, looking at the crowd on the shore.  A
+group of red-faced youths sauntered by, hatless, in vivid
+blazers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There goes gun-fodder," muttered Marsh.  The strain
+was telling on him; he had lost his buoyancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You pessimist&mdash;youth's going to have the time of its
+life&mdash;action, a world in the making!  Why Marsh, it's
+our age, this.  It means the old men take a back seat!"
+cried Lindon, laughing at Tilly, who hung on his arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And what of us?" she asked, a little jealous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nurses, all of you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She shivered slightly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I should be ill at the sight of blood."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was evening when they sat on the sandhills and saw
+the wide-winged sunset spread across the fen-land.
+Suddenly a cry from Bobbie made them turn.  There, on
+the grey horizon, where sea dissolved into approaching
+night, they saw a twinkle of lights, flashing through the
+greyness.  The slim forms of ships were just discernible
+as they slipped northwards into the gathering darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Warships!" cried Lindon.  "We're ready and watching."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It began to rain.  Bobbie and John were the last to
+enter the house.  They halted for a moment in a cutting
+of the sandhills and looked over the dark expanse of sea.
+That slow procession northwards of ships had given a
+sudden reality to the rumours.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John took Vernley's arm as they walked on in silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I wonder where we'll all be next year at this time,"
+said Vernley.  "I suppose this is the end of
+things&mdash;well&mdash;we've had a good time&mdash;haven't we, Scissors?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John could not speak.  The great drama rendered him
+speechless.  Out there, across the North Sea, lay Germany.
+In millions of homes, their windows bright in the dusk,
+mothers and wives were saying farewell to their loved
+ones; in Austria too, in Russia, thousands of leagues
+across the Balkans, from the Bretagne coast to the sunny
+Riviera, the hand of Mars knocked on the door of castle
+and cottage.  Already the sky was stabbed with flame,
+the silence of the harvest fields broken with the battery of
+guns.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John looked across the peaceful fenland.  Here and
+there a light shone in a farmstead; the silence was broken
+only by the low sighing of the sea, fitfully borne inland.
+England, his country, sinking to sleep, guarded by her
+inviolate seas.  A great love of this land rose in his heart.
+God keep her secure!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dulce et decorum pro patria mori," he half murmured
+to himself, but Vernley heard him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, and there's one thing, Scissors&mdash;we're all in it
+together, that'll be the good part of it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They walked on, arm in arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So passed Tuesday, August the fourth; the suspense of
+the ultimatum, and then the fifth, with "WAR" flaring in
+great letters on the bookstall posters.  The station was
+crowded with the general exodus.  All the Vernley
+household were going up to town.  The platform was a scene
+of good-byes.  Hatless lads were bidding one another
+cheerful farewells, the girls, jerseyed and laughing, hung
+on their arms.  There was an air of suppressed excitement;
+they might have been going to a picnic, but deeper
+observation revealed a nervous tension.  At Boston, Marsh
+left them to go on to his people.  He had been very silent
+for the last two days.  He said good-bye gravely.  Only
+to John did he unburden himself in the last minute.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This is the end of us all, Scissors.  This war will go
+on for years.  We shall be worked up into a fierce hate.
+The Press will keep it going, it'll get bloodier and
+bloodier&mdash;and no one will win in the end.  There'll be nothing
+but widows and cripples, famine and debt.  Good-bye,
+Scissors, write to me at home."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They shook hands; neither dared say more.  The next
+minute, the train moved out, leaving Marsh standing
+amid his luggage, raising his hat to them, a graceful figure
+of youth, outwardly calm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Intensity increased when they reached London.  They
+all parted hurriedly.  Bobbie was going to enlist at once,
+Tod had received orders.  Lindon hoped to get out as a
+despatch rider.  John, what was he going to do?  He did
+not know, he was bewildered.  In his head there was only
+one idea, to get to Belgium at all costs, to find Muriel,
+from whom no word had been received.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At his rooms he found a wire from Merritt, bidding
+him call.  Walsh saw him at once.  His wish was
+miraculously fulfilled.  He was to leave immediately for
+Belgium as special correspondent of the <i>Daily Post</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0501"></a></p>
+
+<h2>
+BOOK V
+<br><br>
+THE NEW WORLD
+</h2>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER I
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The crowded steamer from Folkestone reached Ostend
+in the last glow of the sunset as it fell on the
+straggling Digue, domes, hotels, casinos, verandahed
+houses, the pleasure haunt standing inviolate on the
+edge of the plains, that beyond, were now drenched with
+blood.  A fortnight had elapsed, full of irritating delays.
+There were interviews at the War Office, where every obstacle
+had been raised, frantic journeys to the Foreign Office,
+the Belgian Legation, the offices of the Newspaper Proprietors
+Association.  Nobody wanted war correspondents out
+there, except the papers.  Then more delay while John
+bought a car, a rare thing, for every one had been
+commandeered by the War Office; and with all this work he had
+made desperate attempts to get into touch with the <i>Daily
+Post</i> resident correspondent at Brussels, beseeching him to
+ask for Muriel at the Convent of the Sacred Heart.  But
+all was chaotic at the other end of the wire and day after
+day he had to return to poor Mrs. Vernley with no news.
+Then, the last day, at the last minute, news came from
+Muriel herself.  She had joined the Belgian Red Cross;
+the convent had been turned into a hospital.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The steamer was warped in at Ostend amid amazing
+scenes.  The harbour was crowded with refugees, pitiable
+objects, sitting on their small bundles hastily gathered
+before flight.  The moment his car was landed, John
+pressed on towards Bruges.  Again and again he almost
+told his chauffeur to turn round and pick up the wretched
+people straggling along the road towards Ostend and
+England.  Tired women trudged the long roads, carrying
+infants in their arms, while small children clutched at their
+skirts.  There was no crying, no complaining, only dull,
+voiceless despair on every face.  Old men and women
+went by, pushing their worldly wealth, bedding for the
+most part, on barrows.  Yes, they had seen the war, out
+there.  The German bombardment was terrible.  They
+were destroying everything.  The gallant army resisted
+every inch, but what could they do, little Belgium,
+against these hordes?  John ran into Bruges soon after
+dusk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At daylight, he was on the crowded road again, this
+time towards Ghent, where the other correspondents had
+established their headquarters.  There had been one
+topic at Bruges.  The wonderful English army was over
+and fighting!  It had all been so swift and silent.  The
+Germans were furious and amazed.  They had orders to
+wipe out the contemptible little army.  Nearing Ghent
+there were signs of war.  Ambulance vans swept by, in
+them inert swathed figures, mud-stained and pallid.  The
+environs of Ghent were choked with cars, lorries, refugees,
+detachments of men on the march.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John found his colleagues at the long low Hotel de la
+Poste in the Place d'Armes.  There was Tompkins of
+the <i>Standard</i>, tall, lean, and depressed with the hopelessness
+of it all; and V. E. A. Stevenson, the veteran, who
+had seen ten wars, and hated them all.  He was a cynic, a
+pacifist and a revolutionary.  He derived grim satisfaction
+when ardent Belgians mistook him, with his red, weather-beaten
+face, trim beard and white hair, and breast blazing
+with war ribbons, for an English general.  He suffered
+them to embrace him ecstatically, and sighed for his
+home at Hampstead,&mdash;"built out of the blood of the Boers,"
+he explained grimly.  Trevor of the <i>Times</i> walked about
+morose and self-important; the heavy brow of Willing of
+the <i>Express</i> was seen towering above every group of
+Belgian generals.  He had a miraculous knowledge of the
+disposition of the armies, and they consulted him as a
+general staff.  Also, genial, and an optimist to the core,
+Biddings of <i>Reuter</i> walked about the lounge in carpet
+slippers.  He refused to go out.  What was the good of
+running about the highways and the byways?  Every
+general and person who was somebody came to the hotel.
+He picked their brains&mdash;"very poor rubbish heaps"&mdash;gathered
+up the gossip and at tea-time had such a store
+that the weary, muddy colleagues were glad to barter
+news.  He was more eloquent, despite an impediment,
+with the poker in his hands, when, with the cinders, he
+would show why the Germans could not possibly get to
+Paris.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the third day after John's arrival, Phipps turned
+up.  He had been in the thick of it, at Termond and Alost.
+He had had no food, was nervy and on the verge of a
+breakdown.  His eagle features were sharper than ever, and
+his brain wonderfully alert.  His despatches had created
+something of a sensation in England, not only for their
+news, but also for the humanity, the tenderness running
+through his vivid epics of suffering and incredible
+heroism.  He was in Paris when the war broke out, moved
+up with the French armies, had been with the British
+Army in its great stand at Mons, had dragged back
+through that dogged retreat, "a bloody terrible business,
+Dean&mdash;walking on torn flesh all the way,"&mdash;and had
+passed on into Belgium.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"God&mdash;how I hate it&mdash;it's insensate, blowing all these
+splendid lads to atoms, for what?" he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"For England," said Trevor, with disapproving dignity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"England!  Rubbish!" snapped Phipps.  "They're giving
+the same reason in Germany, Russia, Austria, Serbia&mdash;the
+same fierce old women are brow-beating every timid
+lad, and the same stupid, red-faced Generals are sitting
+at mess while their puppets are pulverised with something
+they can't see, which doesn't give them a dog's chance
+before bespattering the turf with their brains!  If this is
+civilisation, why&mdash;" he broke off as though realising the
+futility of everything.  "I suppose we shall have to go
+on writing as if it were a football match, and be censored
+every time we hint at such a thing as spilt blood or a nasty
+mess."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked out, even more pallid, and went up to his
+bedroom where he hammered out a long despatch on his
+"Corona."  Eight other correspondents were doing the
+same thing in other bedrooms.  For an hour there was a
+rapid clatter of typewriter keys.  At five o'clock the
+despatch rider left for the Signal Station, whence their
+despatches crossed the wires overnight, in time for the
+Englishman's breakfast table.  Curiously, those at home
+knew more than these correspondents.  They explored a
+corner, oblivious of the fate of the world beyond.  In
+England every morning the public watched the ugly black
+snake marked on the map, as it slowly curled its way
+towards Paris.  In a top left hand corner another black
+line closed in upon Antwerp and crept along the coast
+towards Ostend.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We shall have to move out soon," said Riddings.  "The
+streets are choked to-day with ambulances&mdash;that's a sure
+sign."  Every night sleep was broken by the incessant
+roar of guns, and the night sky flickered and quivered.
+Those were the days when the name of Liége was on every
+tongue.  Could General Leman hold out?  Then came
+news of a terrible massacre at Malines.  The name sang
+in John's heart like a bell.  Muriel&mdash;was she there?  Had
+she remained and met the German invasion, or where was
+she?  He wired to the Vernleys' beseeching news.  That
+same day a shell fell into the town.  The British had
+marched through St. Nicolas; the fate of Antwerp hung in
+the balance, the black snake was closing in on Ghent and
+curling upwards towards the coast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If we don't move soon, we're luggage for Germany,"
+said Biddings.  "The generals have all gone and they know
+when it gets chilly as well as the swallows."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Walking down the Grande Place, John suddenly
+clutched Phipps' arm.  The next moment he had seized
+a car standing outside a shop and was driving madly
+down a side street.  Phipps watched him go in silent
+amazement, but John, half-crazed with fear that the car
+ahead would give him the slip, drove furiously, without
+heeding the traffic through which he miraculously raced.
+For in the car ahead, he had caught a glimpse of a face
+that had made his heart jump.  Muriel was in it, a Muriel
+he knew despite her nurse's hood and cape!  He was
+gaining on it now; it paused in front of a building.  He
+alighted on the pavement simultaneously with the slim
+nurse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Muriel!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned, then rushed into his arms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, John!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Two ragged children lifted their caps and yelled "Vive
+les Anglais!  Vive l'Angleterre!" but the lovers stood
+there alone in the world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why are you here?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She laughed, her fingers playing with the button of his
+tunic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And you?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Our headquarters are here&mdash;Hotel de la Poste&mdash;until
+to-night," he replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her face shadowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I have just been fetched.  Tod&mdash;he is here&mdash;dying."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tod!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;he came out with the Antwerp expedition&mdash;I
+am just going in to him&mdash;come!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She clasped his hand and they entered the gloomy porch
+together.  The place had been a school&mdash;desks and chairs
+were piled up in the lobby.  A Belgian soldier saluted
+and conducted them to the matron, a pale little Belgian
+woman.  Lieutenant Vernley?  Yes, he was here, but he
+could not be seen, M'sieur was ill, very ill, "a la morte,"
+she added, raising her hands helplessly.  John explained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Ah!&mdash;his sister?&mdash;pardon!  We expected her.  Yes,
+come!  You shall go in."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They followed down a long ward, with dozens of beds,
+and groaning shapes beneath blankets, and entered a small
+room, very dull.  In the corner was a bed and on it the
+figure of a boy.  His shirt was open at the neck.  His
+unshaven chin was growing a sandy beard, which contrasted
+with the green-grey pallor of his face; the hands
+which lay over the brown blanket, were red and soiled.
+Muriel slipped to her knees at his side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tod dear!" she whispered, taking his hand in hers.
+But he lay without response, his leaden head deep in the
+pillow.  John stood in the doorway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"In the stomach, m'sieur&mdash;a shell splinter," explained
+the matron.  "He has been delirious, 'Muriel,' that was
+all he cried, 'Muriel.'  We found a letter from
+Mademoiselle in his pocket, and sent for her yesterday."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He doesn't know me," said Muriel, turning pathetically,
+but a pressure on her hand told her she was wrong.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh Tod, darling, I've come.  I'm going to nurse you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A glimmer of a smile faded across the lad's face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John left her then, he would be back in an hour.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+When he returned, Muriel, very quiet, was sitting in
+the matron's room.  He knew in a moment it was all
+over.  Very gently he took her into his arms, and let her
+cry, with her head on his shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They buried Tod the next morning.  Phipps was there,
+and an English Army Chaplain, and two Belgian generals,
+carrying wreaths from the town authorities.  Thus another
+Englishman was committed to the soil for whose defence
+he had gladly given his young life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After the funeral, they had to hurry away.  Shells were
+falling into the town.  Melle had been heavily bombarded
+and the Town Hall was a heap of ruins.  Half the
+inhabitants of Ghent seemed to be streaming along the road
+to Bruges.  The inevitable moment of parting came for
+John and Muriel.  She was rejoining her unit, now at
+Bruges.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When would they meet again?  For a long moment
+she clung to him in the desperation of love.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We will get leave together and be married, Muriel,"
+he urged.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, John but not now&mdash;we must go on, these poor
+things need us.  I am almost happy here.  I could not sleep
+in England, knowing what happens day and night!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Muriel&mdash;promise you will take care, I shall be
+anxious for you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And you&mdash;you are running all the risks.  Oh, John, we
+must come through!  Life is going to be so wonderful
+even yet."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He kissed her hungrily, wrapped the rugs round her
+in the car, and saluted as it carried her away.  He waited
+until the traffic blotted her from view.  Then he joined
+Stevenson who was waiting with his car at the hotel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was burdened with their luggage, the precious
+typewriters precariously balanced on the top.  They were
+going south into the British lines and the welter of blood.
+Antwerp had fallen; nothing could now stop the Germans
+reaching the coast.  And England perhaps.  But that
+was an incredible thought to John.  England could not
+know ruin like this.  He looked up at the moon hanging
+serenely over the flat Belgian countryside.  The same
+moon peered down on English homes and in silent glades
+where the birds slept.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So ran the drama, act by act, in those epic days.  While
+England waited breathlessly, the terrible tides of war,
+now sweeping onwards, now refluent, devastated the
+countryside of Europe.  The little fire, lighted in
+Sarajevo, spread outwards until it lapped countries and
+capitals and nations in its lurid glow; until the windy plain
+of Troy, the desert slopes of the Holy Land, the forests
+of the Caucasian mountains, and the shores of the Tigris
+and Danube shook with the tramp of men.  Month after
+month, the war spread its leprous hand across the face
+of splendid courageous manhood.  Sometimes, in the
+agony of his soul, when coming from dressing stations
+where men held in their entrails, by pools coloured like
+sunset with the blood and limbs of men and horses, John
+cried out against the monstrous infliction of pain.  Was
+it not better that the world should crash into another
+planet, and find the peace of obliteration?  And to heighten
+the useless agony of this drama, came the reports of official
+squabbles, the blunders of statesmen, the rhetorical
+recriminations of politicians, hurled from nation to nation
+with cheap victories of words, while men struggled with
+mud under a murderous hail of iron.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For fifteen months John rushed about the fringe of war
+in his great car.  They were days of terrible strain, but
+his efforts seemed as nothing beside the herculean labour
+of those wonderful boys who tramped along the tree splintered
+roads of Flanders, singing in defeat as in victory,
+dropping swiftly by the roadside in a convulsive cough as
+death fell upon them from the air.  He was up every
+morning at five, astir before daylight in the cold wintry
+air, with a long motor journey to the lines, there to watch
+the coloured panorama of a bombardment, the unearthly
+silence of "zero" when the barrage lifted, to wait in those
+minutes when youth leapt forward upon death; and then to
+visit the clearing stations where men who had been splendid
+to look upon, so full of the vigour of youth, lay torn
+in ribbons, demented, delirious.  Month after month he
+went through the hideous routine when suddenly, one
+night, after writing his despatch, he fell forwards upon
+his typewriter.  They found him in a dead faint.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've seen this coming," said Biddings.  "He's worn
+himself away&mdash;and he'll have company soon," he said,
+turning to Phipps, "if you don't write and smoke less."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A week later John was at the Vernleys, lying about in
+their rooms, and talking as though all those months had
+been a nightmare.  It was not the same house; Kitty was
+nursing in London, Alice was on a farm.  Bobbie was back
+home with a wound, hoping to be released daily from
+a luxurious private hospital in Sussex, "where the
+chambermaid's a countess and the matron a snob."  Muriel&mdash;the
+saga of Muriel, they all called it.  She had contributed
+to history.  The story of her stand at Lens had made all
+England ring with her fame.  She had been mentioned in
+despatches for her heroism under fire.  John had not seen
+her since that memorable day in Ghent, but letters came
+and went.  She wrote vividly of her experiences, and he
+began to be a little in awe of her obvious efficiency.  News
+of one, he could not gain.  There was no mention of
+Marsh among any of his friends.  Bobbie had been curtly
+silent when asked.  "Never heard of him&mdash;don't expect
+he's wounded."  Was that a sneer? thought John.  Even
+Mr. Fletcher, forwarding parcels from the boys of his
+House asked, "We can't trace Marsh&mdash;do you know his
+regiment?  He does not reply to letters."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With quiet, and Mrs. Vernley's assiduous attention, John
+quickly recovered.  She had aged much since the death
+of her eldest boy, and sorrow had rendered her more
+gentle and self-effacing than ever.  These were lonely
+days for her, with Mr. Vernley away as a Director in one
+of the Ministries, her daughters all on war work.  They
+had long talks at tea time, when John read the pages he
+had gathered together of a book of despatches.  He was
+a famous man now, and he rather enjoyed the experience.
+There was nothing elating in being famous, just because
+every one was glad to shake you by the hand or because
+your name was a password whenever and wherever it was
+uttered; it was indeed wearisome to be pestered with
+petitions for your support of all kinds of fantastic charities,
+to be expected to speak here, there and everywhere, or
+to be an afternoon's attraction at an ambitious lady's
+drawing-room party.  What he enjoyed was the freemasonry
+in which he could now move among the men and
+women of the earth who did things, and were great,
+simply because their natures were rich in character and
+prodigal with varying gifts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After his sojourn at "The Croft," he spent a fortnight
+in town looking up old friends.  It was a London
+strangely, terribly changed.  It was, in one phase, a
+London more interesting.  Down its pavements in great
+variety of uniforms, passed the young men of all the earth;
+youth from the plains, the jungle, the prairie, the veldt,
+the backwoods and the ranch, youth in splendid careless
+vigour, snatching hectically at joy, not turning to see
+the shadowy spectre over their shoulders.  It was strange
+to stand in Piccadilly Circus, dimly lit, and watch the
+theatres pour out their festive crowds, to sit in the busy
+restaurants, to see mankind, strained, feverish, but
+debonair, trying to laugh in the face of ruin and death.
+It was a London of extremes; the wounded silently borne
+from Charing Cross, the beautiful living swept out in
+the deadly maelstrom at Victoria Station; the painted
+women gaily surrendering to the rabid hunger of youth
+in arms, full-blooded and reckless; the air of intense
+expectation of fresh development, the swift rise and fall
+of national heroes, the craving for a strong man to lead
+the nation to victory; the silent evidence of the wreckage
+in those endless hospitals, the fierce old women full of
+hate, and the beardless boys drilled and transported like
+sheep under the charge of hard-voiced blasphemous
+sergeants,&mdash;all these things revealed a nation at war, a
+nation unnatural in its hopes, fears, suspicions, enthusiasms,
+yet heroically treading the inevitable path through chaos
+to some kind of ending, either of victory or defeat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was while watching the crowd surging into the Piccadilly
+Tube entrance, that John's heart suddenly leapt up
+in surprise.  Surely&mdash;yes, it was the undisguisable
+Marsh&mdash;and yet!  John stared a moment.  A tall, sun-browned
+youth in kilts, with the black and red hose of the Black
+Watch, was laughing down into the face of a girl whose
+hand rested persuasively on his arm.  She was pursuing
+her profession, the oldest under the sun, with all the
+usual assets, the flaunting white stole over the shoulders,
+the large beaded vanity bag, one hand gloved, the other
+thin, manicured and nervous, glittering with rings, too
+large to be genuine.  There was something pathetically
+obvious in the loud declaration of her clothes, the
+challenge of her carriage, the provoking tilt of her hat over
+large observant eyes.  She had found her object of a
+night's passion and pay&mdash;the human agent of bread and
+rent.  Here was another youth, beautiful in his strength,
+snatching at a brief expression of manhood as a
+pleasurable anodyne for an approaching ordeal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned and the young officer half hesitated.  John
+moved forward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Marsh!" he said quietly.  A malevolent look glittered
+beneath the dark hat, the tall youth peered at the intruder
+half-resentfully; even then he seemed confused.  With a
+shock, more of pain than disgust, John saw that Marsh
+was not quite sober.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What are you&mdash;" began John, when Marsh's senses
+cleared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors, by God, this is great!"  Then, awkwardly,
+he grew conscious again of his company, insistently
+standing by him&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This lady is&mdash;is&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's all right, Marsh&mdash;where are you going?" asked
+John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He's coming home with me," said the girl sullenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a note.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This is an old friend I've not seen for a long time&mdash;I
+want to talk to him," he said quietly, putting the note in
+her hand.  Defiantly she thrust it back, and her mouth,
+hard and unpleasant, curled malevolently; she was baulked
+of her prey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Keep yer bl&mdash;&mdash; money, I'm not depending on
+missionaries," she snarled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John looked at her calmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend you.  Then you
+will join me at supper with my friend?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was something so kind and disarming in his voice,
+that she suddenly melted.  Her eyes assumed a tenderness
+surprising and almost pathetic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'll go&mdash;he's your pal I see, and you poor boys may
+not meet again."  .She turned away, but John put a
+detaining hand on her arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I really meant my invitation," he said quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then (God! the horror of it!), she momentarily misinterpreted
+his insistence, and involuntarily her professional
+air returned, only to be dispelled again by the kind
+cleanliness of the young man's eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;kid, thanks, I guess I'll pick up a boy."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John put his hand in hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;in memory of our meeting, have a&mdash;holiday," he
+added lamely.  This time she let the note rest in her hand.
+He thought she was going to cry, but suddenly she turned
+and was lost in the passing crowd.  Marsh stood there,
+silent, bemused.  John said not a word, but called a
+taxi, and pushed his friend into it.  In the darkness
+Marsh sat huddled up.  They were speeding down
+Piccadilly and turning by Hyde Park Gate when he seemed
+conscious that he was being carried away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where are you taking me, Scissors," he asked in a
+dull voice.  (Could this be Marsh, the debonair, the
+irrepressible?)
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Home," John replied laconically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm leaving Victoria at four a.m.&mdash;for France."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John started.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But you&mdash;you were&mdash;" he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Going to spend the night with a gay woman, like the
+filthy cad I am.  Oh, I know what you're thinking!  Well,
+I was&mdash;I'd have been one of those deserters you see under
+escort."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're drunk, Teddie," said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's no excuse&mdash;in a court martial."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was silence again.  It was now half-past eleven.
+He would get him home and make him rest for the few
+intervening hours.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Perdie was up when they arrived.  Fortunately
+Marsh pulled himself together, and was his graceful self,
+but when he gained John's room, he collapsed on the bed.
+John went below to ask for coffee, a little apologetically.
+But Mrs. Perdie was in a delightful fluster.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The bonnie laddie&mdash;oh, I want to cry when I see a
+kiltie.  His mother must be proud of him.  An' the Black
+Watch!  Many's the time in Edinburgh I've seen&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John left her in ecstasies.  He wanted to pull the bonnie
+laddie round, for the credit of his dear mother and
+himself.  But Marsh had recovered and was sitting
+upright in a chair.  He had been brushing his hair and
+straightening the thin khaki tie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I suppose you're thinking&mdash;" started Marsh, bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a stroke of luck it was&mdash;Jove, Teddie, it does
+me good to see you!  But where have you been?" cried
+John.  And the other, seeing he had no intention of
+alluding to the circumstances of their meeting, took the
+hint.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"This is the end of two years' resistance to the folly of
+mankind," said Marsh in a laugh that had no mirth, as
+he stroked the sporran over his knees.  "It's been a long
+disagreeable story!  Let's see, we parted at Boston in
+August 1914&mdash;Lord, it seems ages ago.  I went home, and
+then the battle began.  I didn't believe in war&mdash;I don't
+believe in the war," he added with emphasis, "and I've
+gone through hell for my belief.  I'm not going to give
+you a recital of it all.  The badgering of one's relatives,
+the sneers, the fierce old ladies who asked if I didn't think
+I ought to go.  And the mater's had it too.  They made
+it so unpleasant for her that she never goes out now.
+Well, I've stuck it out for two years, and hell every minute
+of it.  Scissors, I'm just nowhere at all.  I went to some
+of the meetings held by the conscientious objectors, but they
+made me ill.  Most of 'em are long-haired fanatics, living
+on vegetables and cram full of isms.  They've got courage,
+there's no denying that; it takes more courage to stay out
+of this war in face of public opinion and calumny, than to
+go into it&mdash;but they seem to enjoy their persecution and
+welcome it.  I can't&mdash;it's misery not to be along with all
+the boys, but I've stuck to my belief until&mdash;until&mdash;oh,
+Scissors!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bent his head forward, burying his face in his
+hands, and cried like a child.  John moved, and sat
+beside him on the arm of the lounge chair, placing an arm
+across his shoulders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Teddie, old man&mdash;I know it must have been awful&mdash;you
+needn't tell me."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marsh lifted his head again, and blew his nose very
+hard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Until, Scissors&mdash;" he continued determinedly, "one
+day, a year ago, I was at Paddington Station, and saw
+Bobbie coming down the platform.  He was in khaki, looking
+very fit.  I hadn't seen him since our holiday.  You
+can guess what a joy it was.  I just rushed up to him&mdash;and&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marsh's knuckles whitened as he gripped his handkerchief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors, he cut me dead&mdash;he didn't even acknowledge
+that he heard me&mdash;but he <i>saw</i> me&mdash;he looked right
+through me, and went on, leaving me like Lot's wife.  I'd
+had a hellish time&mdash;that just finished me.  A fellow can't
+go on fighting the world when his best friends quit him.
+I just went home and buried myself.  I didn't write to
+you&mdash;or to any one; I wasn't going to risk a second
+incident like that.  I kept in,&mdash;but&mdash;I've been in the war
+every minute.  I've gone up and down those casualty lists,
+Scissors.  They're all going; there's hardly any of the
+old set left.  Fletcher's House has been wiped out&mdash;a
+whole bunch at Neuve Chapelle, and I'm going now.  I
+don't believe in the damn war.  It's mad, it can't bring
+anything but indemnities, starvation, hatred.  Every day
+I am more convinced of the insanity&mdash;the beastly, selfish
+filthiness of it, with all these horrible old politicians
+making speeches out of it, the business man 'doing his bit,'
+as he calls his plundering, the fierce old women lapping up
+German blood like vampires.  I've deserted, Scissors, I've
+funked the battle against it&mdash;I can't carry on this lone
+fight any longer.  I enlisted a few months ago&mdash;been
+training at Salisbury and here I am, a tailored product
+of Scott Adie, Highland outfitters, and one of our
+'darling brave lads' ready to die for his country."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He laughed bitterly at the wry humour of his position.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm going to disembowel some mother's son I've never
+seen.  They have been working us up to blood fury on
+stuffed sacks.  I've learned how to draw out my bayonet
+with a twist, and when I've blotted out the light of life
+in half-a-dozen mother's hearts, a more expert pig-sticker
+than I am will blot out my mother's happiness.  And it'll
+go on and on for years, till there's hardly a sane,
+able-bodied fellow left, and then one side will crack, and the
+political and financial ghouls will gather over Europe's
+corpse and exact terms and wave flags of victory."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marsh stood up and paced the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where's the sense of it?" he cried, stretching out his
+hands.  "What has victory to do with justice&mdash;the strongest
+wins!&mdash;but it doesn't follow the strongest is right!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His eyes softened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And, Scissors, those kids in my platoon&mdash;there's not
+one of them eighteen yet; they're just babies and I mother
+'em night and day.  You know how puppies are, with
+clumsy paws and trusting eyes?&mdash;-well, they're just like
+that, Scissors&mdash;and when they're&mdash;they're sent into the
+line&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here his words choked him.  Mrs. Perdie entered with
+the coffee, and with further exclamations of delight
+offered all kinds of service.  With many thanks and
+refusals, John got her out of the room again, but not
+before she had asked to give the young gentleman a kiss,
+"as if I was your ain mother, bless her&mdash;and God keep you
+safe," she said, retreating to the door with tearful eyes.
+Marsh seemed better for having unburdened himself.
+John wanted him to have a nap, but he would not.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's talk, Scissors, till it's time.  We've such a lot
+to say and you never know, we may&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, rubbish, Teddie."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So they talked, and the old days with their golden
+careless hours all came back again.  Remorselessly the
+clock crept on.  At three, Marsh said he would have to
+go.  He had his kit to get at the luggage office.  John
+went with him.  They walked along the silent unlit streets.
+At Victoria there were signs of life.  Figures in khaki
+loomed out of the darkness; for a moment they halted,
+the sound of marching feet came down the Buckingham
+Palace Road.  Ghostly they sounded in the night hush;
+a little group under the flare of the coffee stall watched
+them pass a thousand strong, burdened with kit, obscurely
+leaving the homeland many would never see again.  Marsh
+and John watched them pass, grim faces, pallid in the
+dim light, a few whistling out of bravado, but apathetically
+silent, most of them.  They followed the detachment
+into the lighted station, passed the barrier at the
+departure bay.  Marsh found a carriage full of other officers,
+some half-sleepy after long night journeys, two saying
+farewells to their lovers, one very drunk, alternately
+blasphemous and maudlin, kept in control by a friend.  The
+doors slammed, a shrill whistle cut off the useless scrappy
+conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Their hands met in a firm farewell clasp.  They could
+not trust themselves to speak.  The train moved.  Marsh
+with a final forced smile looked at Scissors, equally
+mechanical in response.  A yard now apart&mdash;two yards&mdash;the
+train diminished, the carriage faded&mdash;then two red lights
+receded in the girdered darkness; after that a mist and
+the heart's desolation.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+III
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next morning, the <i>Daily Post</i> rang up, asking him
+to call at once, and the same voice told him that news had
+just come of the death of Ronald Stream.  It was difficult
+for John to realise that the death of one so exuberantly
+young was possible.  He had a vision of a night in a room
+at Cambridge when he had talked there, so radiant and
+intensely interested in anything, and so much the young
+god in his beauty and zest, that John had felt shy of
+approaching him.  And now he was dead, in the far away
+Dardanelles.  Fame too had touched him by his legacy
+of a few immortal sonnets, in which beat the heart of
+young England.  Death seemed impossible to that pard-like
+spirit, swift and beautiful.  For a space, John thought
+of his friend Freddie Pond.  He had encountered him
+only two nights ago as he leaned against the box office
+in the vestibule of the Court Theatre, during an interval.
+John thought he had aged and looked sad and tired,
+perhaps the act of watching the swift passing of so many of
+the brilliant spirits he had herded, was wearing him.  In
+some respects, waiting at home was worse than the struggle
+at the front.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He saw Merritt at the <i>Daily Post</i>, busy and tireless as
+ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Don't know what the Chief wants&mdash;are you better?
+You're looking fit.  Just heard young Bewley's won the
+Distinguished Service Cross for bombing Bruges
+docks&mdash;a bright kid always."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Walsh rang for John and he went in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're fit, I see," said Walsh.  "Would you care to
+tackle a naval job?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Anything," said John, "rather than be out of it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sending you to the Dover Patrol.  I know little
+more, how you'll live, on board or ashore.  I'll give you a
+note to Blackrigg at the Admiralty, he'll tell you.  Good
+luck to you, Dean."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was outside again.  This time the sea!
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+John called, in the afternoon, on Blackrigg and got his
+orders, then he made his way to Gieve's in Bond Street
+for a ready-made uniform; he was leaving for Dover the
+next day.  Outside the Admiralty Arch he heard his name
+and turned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A girlish figure in grey was calling him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tilly!" he exclaimed in glad surprise, "wherever have
+you sprung from?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I think I must ask that!" she laughed softly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was looking very beautiful and he wished he was
+not in such a hurry; he had much to ask her and she came
+out of a happy past.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you in the same studio?" he asked, in a string of
+questions.  She was thinking how big and strong he had
+grown, the boy had disappeared in this rather stern
+looking young man.  But he had seen things and was a name in
+the world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;no&mdash;I'm at our flat," she replied.  Then, seeing
+the enquiry in his face&mdash;"Oh, of course, you don't know&mdash;we
+were married a month ago&mdash;I'm Mrs. Lindon now."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She saw his face brighten with sudden pleasure, and as
+he expressed his wishes, she could not restrain the tears
+that gathered in her eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are&mdash;are not unhappy?" he asked, suddenly.
+"Lindon's all right?&mdash;where is he?" he added anxiously,
+as the tears trickled down her face.  She choked, and he
+took hold of her arm to draw her aside from the
+inquisitive glances directed to them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He's&mdash;he's not killed?" whispered John hoarsely,
+apprehensive of the common answer of these days.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;no," she replied, in a quiet nerveless voice&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"worse."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Worse?" he queried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He was wounded four months ago&mdash;his right hand
+shot away."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They stood still, while the traffic roared about them.
+Strangely detached from the scene, John watched the
+confluence of the traffic around King Charles' statue, as it
+poured out of the Strand, Northumberland Avenue and
+Whitehall.  He saw the pigeons fluttering down upon the
+placarded base of the Nelson plinth in Trafalgar Square,
+and over it all, his brain was repeating an awful echo,
+"His right hand shot away," the hand that had threaded
+those swift passages of Beethoven, Chopin and Debussy
+on many memorable nights, one of the hands on which
+rested his future fame.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tilly, my poor girl!" he said quietly, as she stood there,
+frail and tearful.  "Let's walk down the Mall&mdash;I want
+to hear all."  He took her arm, and led her away from
+the traffic's vortex.  For a space she did not speak, then
+she smiled wanly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, I have him with me&mdash;he is so brave, and pretends
+he never misses it&mdash;ties his own tie and is so proud when
+he gets it straight&mdash;but I know all he's suffering.  Sometimes
+I have seen him looking at the closed piano as if his
+heart would break."  She said no more, and they walked
+on.  Then abruptly John stopped and looked down into
+her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Tilly&mdash;you have been married a month&mdash;then his&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her eyes met his and answered him simply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, you poor brave child!" he cried, his own voice
+trembling this time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"He needed me so, Scissors&mdash;and it makes no difference
+to me; at least I have him safe now.  But for him&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They walked on in silence.  At the Marlborough Gate
+he left her, with a promise to call on his next leave.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0502"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER II
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The months slipped, months of peril, of thrills, of
+human drama and comradeship.  On Christmas
+Day, as they entered Dover Harbour, John looked
+forward to the leave he had obtained.  It had been a
+dreary, nerve-wracking experience, a life in which
+monotony gave place to unexpected activity.  But the moment
+they reached the harbour, he was told to report at the
+Admiral's office, and half an hour later was under orders
+to proceed to Scapa Flow, the other extremity of Great
+Britain, there to join H.M.S. Fanfare, of the Grand
+Fleet.  Hastily collecting his things, including a bundle
+of letters awaiting him, he bade hurried and warm farewells
+to his shipmates, good fellows all of them, despite
+the fact that they growled night and day about the Service,
+knowing well they would be broken-hearted if they had to
+leave it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the evening of the same day, he was in the night
+express to Edinburgh.  He had had a few hours in London
+and had made three calls&mdash;first at Mariton Street to
+deposit clothes and get fresh ones.  Here he found
+Capt. Fisher in a state of high prosperity, as something in the
+Ordnance Survey Department.  He was enjoying the war
+tremendously and prophesied that it would last another
+five years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It has revived British character, sir&mdash;the tonic we
+needed!" he said, blithely indifferent to the holocaust of
+youth.  Miss Simpson, too, at the tea-table showed an
+indomitable spirit.  She had been visiting the dear brave
+boys in a local hospital, and related with gusto a story
+told her of a Ghurka soldier who carried eight Germans'
+heads in a sack, which he had refused to give up.
+"That's what should happen to all the Germans," she
+added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's very horrible!" said John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Simpson opened wide eyes in surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he called on Mrs. Graham, for he remembered that
+her boy was a midshipman stationed with the Grand Fleet;
+perhaps they could meet.  Her flat, with its exquisite
+taste, cast the old spell upon him, even before she came
+into the room.  There was something so intimate in the
+books, cushions, curtains, rugs and china, something that
+revealed the hand of Mrs. Graham.  She greeted him
+with great pleasure, made him talk, and as he did so,
+he sat wondering at her beauty, the lovely order of her
+hair, the music of her voice.  She had just had a letter
+from Muriel.  That opened the flood-gates and for an
+hour a wonderful little nurse near Amiens was the sole
+topic of conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's more than a year since I saw her," he said, "and
+I am getting more desperate every day."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You poor thing!" smiled Mrs. Graham.  "This war is
+very hard for young lovers; I pity them most of all.  But
+she writes?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Now and then&mdash;and wonderful letters too.  I'm going
+to make extracts and publish them."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You mercenary man!" she laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The hour fled.  He had to go.  She pressed a little
+autographed copy of Flecker's Poems into his hand.  He
+could smell the particular perfume she used, for an hour
+afterwards.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was not until John was seated in the train, speeding
+northwards through the night, that he had time to
+open his letters.  There was one from Marsh, in a base
+hospital, wounded but cheerful and recommended for the
+M.C. "for conspicuous bravery in attack."
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Just fancy how all the 'brave lad' stick-at-homes will
+be writing to congratulate me on coming to my senses and
+showing my courage!  Ough!  Scissors, it makes me sick.
+One hundred glad-eyed youngsters were minced by steel
+in that attack&mdash;we gained eighty yards and lost it all an
+hour afterwards.  What idiots we humans are!</i>"
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+A very short letter from Muriel.  She was resting after
+a nervous breakdown.  How long was the war going to
+last?  It was very wonderful being in the midst of things,
+but sometimes she wanted to cry out; was Europe quite
+indifferent to all the suffering?
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Oh, John, if only we could just romp into tea at 'The
+Croft' as in those old days, with Dad and Mr. Ribble
+discussing the Insurance Bill, and poor Tod banging in,
+covered with motor grease, and you and Bobbie eating up all
+the bread and butter.  It is awful to think it will never
+be like that again...  I feel ages old...  If this&mdash;</i>"
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+Here came a break in the letter.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>I've been called away for half an hour&mdash;a poor fellow
+in my ward who kept asking for me.  He's only twenty-five,
+and so young and strong, with the dearest funny little
+smile.  He's so helpless.  I feel just like a mother, with
+all these big babies around me&mdash;and they're quite as
+troublesome, but very dear.  I begin to realise, John, that
+I had never really lived.  I see things quite differently,
+and you'll probably find me another kind of Muriel
+altogether.  I expect you've changed also&mdash;haven't all
+values changed these days?  We lived in a very little
+world once, and thought too much of ourselves.</i>"
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+He dropped the letter, a chill had come over him.
+Was it envy of those big babies, and particularly the one
+"with the dearest funny little smile?"  Changed!&mdash;what
+did she mean by that?  He hadn't changed, why should
+she?  True, they hadn't met for a year&mdash;and she had
+not written lately.  Why had he not insisted on their
+marriage?  He laughed then, a little uneasily at a thought
+that said, "You're jealous!" and read on&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>It was very wonderful when you wrote about our
+settling down when it is over&mdash;if ever.  Somehow it seems
+too much to hope from life.  Things were getting very
+crazy in 1914 and I feel this war is putting our relations
+on a more sensible basis.</i>"
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+A more sensible basis!&mdash;what on earth did the girl
+mean.  Was she getting unnerved?  He read the sentence
+over again.  Yes, he must insist on their marriage.
+She wanted a controlling hand; this war was too much
+for her.  With this resolve, he read on again, and became
+easier in mind.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>John, I couldn't leave this now, like this, with all this
+life going on.  It must be terrible for women to sit and
+wait at home.  Poor things.  I read some of their letters
+to the men here and I nearly break down.  I am feeling a
+little shy of you, John, you are so famous now.  The
+nurses here bring me cuttings about you, and in the mess
+room, there's a Sphere photograph of you coming down
+a gangway.  I love the naval uniform, and to think that
+I've never seen you in it!  Be kind to all those dear little
+middies, they must feel so lonely on that big dreary sea.</i>"
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+John smiled as he put the letter away.  At that very moment,
+one of those "dear little middies" lay with his head
+fast asleep on John's shoulder, where he had slipped over.
+He would have to tell Muriel that they detested being
+called "dear," "little," or "middies," and that the average
+"snotty" could be entrusted to look well after himself.
+There was another letter from Bobbie.  He was not fit
+for foreign service and he had been given a post at the War
+Office.  Miss Piggin sent a pair of woollen gloves she had
+knitted in "desperate moments," for Chawley School was
+now a hospital for the wounded, with Mrs. Tobin as
+commandant, "very successful, her firmness keeping the men
+in order."  Mr. Tobin was a chaplain at the front.  She
+had had a piece of Egyptian pottery sent by Mr. Woodman,
+who was a lieutenant in the Yeomanry stationed
+near the Suez Canal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Having read his letters John surveyed his carriage,
+thinking of sleep.  He had been unable to get a sleeping
+berth, but there was only the "snotty" and himself in the
+compartment.  That young gentleman had been solacing
+himself for his departure from home-worship and
+civilisation, with a copy of <i>La Parisienne</i> and the semi-nude
+mademoiselles therein, all of whom appeared to spend their
+time dressed only in chemises, sitting on the knees of
+officers.  John reflected on the necessity of a press censor
+for the safeguarding of "snotties'" morals.  The
+immediate problem was how to dispose of this lad without
+waking him, if possible.  John looked at the face on his
+shoulder; it might have been a baby's, so fresh and
+unwrinkled, with a little red mouth through which a row
+of white teeth just showed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Very quietly he lowered the lad until he was reclining
+on the full length of the seat; pulling his legs up entailed
+risk, but it was done, and the Navy slept soundly.  John
+made himself comfortable and dozed off.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was awakened by a ray of sunlight striking his eyes.
+The train was standing in a small station.  Looking
+out of the window, he saw a group of houses, all brightly
+yellow in the morning sun.  A slight mist and a chill
+air told him it was early morning and there was the
+smell of the sea in the air.  A great range of blue mountains
+loomed in the distance, with a flat estuary between,
+and the tide out.  He was alone in the compartment, but
+in a minute or so his companion returned along the
+platform, fresh-coloured and bright-eyed in the nipping air,
+bearing two cups of steaming coffee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Will you have one, sir?" he asked.  "I'm awfully sorry
+I went to sleep on you last night&mdash;did I push you off the
+seat, sir?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John laughed and explained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where are we?" he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bonar Bridge&mdash;we're on the Highland Railway now,
+sir.  We've passed Cromarty Firth&mdash;we've got a dummy
+fleet in there to diddle Fritz&mdash;then through
+Sutherlandshire&mdash;jolly wild and desolate over those moors all the
+way to Thurso.  We'll be there by tea-time, sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The boy chatted away brightly.  This was his second
+journey, he was proud of being a veteran.  He had been
+in the Jutland Battle, blown into the sea and picked up
+from a grating by a submarine, along with five survivors
+of a crew of eight hundred.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The day drew on; noon passed; still they climbed
+northwards.  They were in desolate regions now, with tiny
+hamlets set in the wild moors.  There was a feeling of
+great space and the silence was broken only by the cry of
+a bird.  They passed Dunrobbin Castle, standing high and
+lonely on its promontory overlooking the desolate sea.  As
+prophesied, they reached Thurso at tea-time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A motor omnibus took them along the coast from Thurso
+to Scrabster, the point of embarkation.  Here John parted
+from his young companion, who gave him the smartest
+little salute, bestowed on admirals and admiring young
+ladies only.  John boarded a destroyer.  Half an hour
+later, entering a gate made by two drifters which lowered
+a boom, he saw the Fleet.  There it lay, enormous, like
+floating animals asleep on the water, glittering with the
+afternoon sun.  Here was the strength of England.  It
+was a sight to quicken the heart.  From his place on the
+bridge, to which the skipper invited him, John surveyed
+this grey steel city of the brotherhood of the brave.  The
+sea mist seemed to cloud his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That night he met his fellow officers, walked over the
+ship, a new model of the Dreadnought class, installed
+himself in his cabin, saw his office with typewriter, clerk's
+desk, and telephone to the wireless room.  He interviewed
+his marine orderly, a stocky little Cockney youth, shining
+all over like the breach of a gun.  He slept soundly that
+night, awakened early by his orderly with a hip-bath, hot
+water can and carefully brushed clothes.  At ten a cutter
+came to take him to the flag ship to present his much-examined
+credentials.  A smart flag officer met him at the
+top of the companion way and conducted him below.  The
+Commander-in-Chief would see him in a few minutes.
+John waited on the deck flat.  Rear-admirals entered and
+emerged from the white-enamelled, brass-handled door on
+his right.  There seemed to be a staff of flag officers in
+attendance, all young and alert, with their gold lace and
+showy aiglettes drooping from their shoulders.  Half an
+hour passed, John growing more nervous every minute.
+Then the young flag officer called his name and ushered
+him into the presence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a large room, with a fireplace and the far end
+completely windowed, bow-shaped, under which ran a
+verandah round the stern of the ship, where grew potted
+geraniums.  In the sunlit air above the wind-flecked water,
+small seagulls cried and hovered.  The water threw a
+shimmering reflection on to the white ceiling.  By a table,
+on which stood a silver portrait frame, a small bookrest
+holding novels, a "Who's Who" and an "Army Guide,"
+was a baby grand piano.  A red carpet covered the large
+floor up to the pilastered fireplace.  All this John saw in
+a glance before looking into the face of the man, who
+stood, his back to a large flag-dotted map of the North
+Sea, holding out his hand, his face puckered in a pleasant
+smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was a small man, with dark penetrating eyes, a
+thin-lipped wide mouth, with corners that suggested a vivid
+sense of humour.  The nose was slightly hooked, and
+John immediately recognised the striking resemblance to
+his brother, a Hampshire vicar who had stayed with the
+Marshs.  But if the great position and fame of the man
+before him made him nervous, it was immediately
+dispelled by the kindness of the voice, and the charm of his
+personality.  For twenty minutes they talked, their
+conversation touching many points of common interest, and
+on this occasion only briefly upon the work of the new
+correspondent.  Every minute an anxious officer looked
+into the room, but the Chief ignored his hint of fretful
+persons without.  At the end, another warm handshake
+and John passed out.  Back on his own ship again, he
+was assailed and made to satisfy the general curiosity
+concerning "the Old Man."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus he entered upon a new era of experience, and
+watched Spring give place to Summer in the chilly northern
+waters; and upon the precipitous cliffs of the lonely
+islands saw the bird life, indifferent to mankind invading
+its hitherto unmolested domain.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+III
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tranquillity of his new life, despite the atmosphere
+of constant vigilance, brought a great calm to John.  He
+had been a silent sufferer in the appalling devastation,
+human and material, he had witnessed in Flanders, and
+under the fearful strain of the Dover vigil.  Life on board
+was industrious but regular, and with the cheerful
+companionship of these well-balanced philosophers around
+him, he began to feel less acutely sensitive to the tragic
+action of the world drama.  In a way he felt uneasy.  He
+was not quite taking his share of the burden laid on the
+shoulders of youth.  He would have liked to stand by
+the side of Vernley and Marsh and a dozen others.  Here
+he was a spectator, waiting for something that might never
+happen, something which he hoped never would happen,
+for the event was fraught with immense and appalling
+possibilities.  Often John stared, hypnotised by the sleek
+quiet power of the long guns, that moved so slowly in the
+morning air, like cautious antennæ.  Yet swift destruction
+could pour out of those harmless nozzles under the
+obedience of hidden forces within the turrets.  It seemed
+incredible that floating mammoths such as these ships
+might dissolve in air under the battery of similar guns.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But as the weeks wore on, eventless save for rumours
+and the variations of discipline, the idea of war receded,
+though occasionally incoming destroyers or drifters brought
+grim little stories of short encounters outside their
+tranquil anchorage.  They read the newspapers and closely
+followed the vicissitudes of the war, now spread to many
+fronts, in many climes, and affecting almost all races on
+the earth, either directly or indirectly.  And the incredible
+was happening, the successive war prophets, the weekly
+commentators, fell into oblivion, for this war went on
+despite all the carefully enunciated reasons why it could
+not go on.  According to statistics, the German legions
+had been wiped out many times over, but still they pressed
+hard the defending line, changed from the defensive to
+the offensive with astounding virility for an army
+pronounced exhausted and emaciated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Letters from the front brought John into close touch
+with realities.  Muriel now wrote less frequently.  Her
+hospital work grew heavier; he could discern the heartache
+underlying some of her words, sometimes an impatient
+note of protest against the politicians gaining
+wordy victories, while wrecked humanity poured into the
+hospitals to be botched up and start out again, until the
+human shuttlecocks fell, never to rise.  Then one day,
+a rare event, a letter from Vernley, a poor writer, yet
+one whose disjointed chronicles were eagerly read.  John
+opened the letter in the messroom where he had been
+talking with the ship's doctor, and read through it slowly;
+then on the fourth page his heart seemed to stop.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"<i>Poor old Marsh!  I suppose we'll all go West sooner or
+later, but somehow Scissors, I can't think of him as dead.
+He was so full of life, such a tireless beggar and such
+a fund of fun in him.  I'm tormenting myself with the
+thought that I once behaved rather silly&mdash;I cut him on a
+platform one day, before he joined up.  I know it
+hurt&mdash;I wanted it to&mdash;he told me so later when I ran across
+him here.  Thank God we put it right.  Still, I hurt
+him, Scissors, and he was too dear a chap for me to
+behave like that, and I'm coming to think he was right,&mdash;the
+more I see of this bloody mess, with no end to it, and
+all of us wondering why we stand it.</i>"
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+John put the letter down, numbed.  He watched a destroyer
+through the porthole, passing on, saw a gull wheel
+and turn, with a silver glint as the sun caught its wings,
+heard the siren of H.M.S. Oak, speeding on its
+message-delivering mission; all these things went on about him,
+yet they were in a picture; only he was the unreal thing.
+Marsh gone!  How could that be with the morning so
+fresh and active, with so much life about?  Surely he
+would walk in here, and with a laugh, clap him on the
+shoulder, with something thoroughly absurd to say.
+Dead?  Why&mdash;fellows like Marsh could not die!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His thoughts flew away to the rambling vicarage.  He
+saw Mrs. Marsh sitting at the piano, under the lamplight;
+saw Mr. Marsh in his study, pipe going, the "<i>Nation</i>" in
+his hands.  Could life go on and Marsh not be part of it?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hours passed before the significance of it became clear
+to him, but a week passed before he was able to take up a
+pen and write to Mrs. Marsh.  That terrible task
+performed, he felt now prepared for anything.  The world
+was falling to bits; nothing could be saved.  The bad
+news from the front affected him little.  He wondered
+at the gloomy faces of the men around him.  Why be
+affected by the inevitable?  It would all be enacted as
+relentlessly as in a Greek play.  Another blow would
+come yet, of that he was sure; life was to be wholly
+disintegrated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the weeks went on and nothing happened.  Letters
+came, curious restrained letters, at longer intervals from
+Muriel.  Vernley, as if conscious of the lessening circle,
+wrote more frequently.  Lindon, in a big boyish left hand
+sent the town gossip; he had found a consolation, he was
+composing, and Tilly was wonderful.  June came, with
+warmer and longer days in those northern waters, and
+with it a hurried note from Muriel saying she would be
+in London in a week; could he meet her, as she wished to
+see him?  Her wish was a command that found him
+eager to obey.  A few wires, an interview, and he was
+released; his leave was overdue and the <i>Daily Post</i>
+offered to send a temporary substitute at once.  John
+waited impatiently four days and almost embraced his
+successor when H.M.S. Oak brought him alongside.
+He wired to Muriel asking when and where they could
+meet.  On Friday night he was back in London, more
+wonderful, more beloved than ever to the exile, and found
+a reply at Mrs. Perdie's bidding him meet her in the
+lounge at Claridge's on Saturday evening at seven.  He
+pictured her, waiting for him there, in a chic nurse's
+uniform, and to be worthy of her and in celebration of
+the great occasion, he put on his best service jacket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was there at five minutes before the hour, and to
+his surprise she was already waiting for him.  He rushed
+towards her with impetuous boyish joy, that raised smiles
+on many observant faces around.  Her greeting was more
+restrained, and her calmness steadied him.  How splendid
+she was and how lovely, he thought.  She had changed,
+of course, but she was the more Muriel for all that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We've a private sitting room&mdash;let us go upstairs," she
+said, when he had let her withdraw her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You're staying here?" he asked, surprised.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes," she answered.  There was nothing said in the
+lift.  He could only look at her, but once the door had
+closed upon them in the small hall opening on the tiny
+sitting room, he put his arms out to take her into them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Darling," he whispered, but she seemed too agitated
+with nervous joy to respond, and led the way into the room,
+where she immediately sat down.  Even then he did not
+see that she was slightly unnatural, as under a strain.
+The first indication was her voice as she pronounced his
+name.  He looked at her more observantly; a dumb pain
+in her eyes, which met his with a quiet strength, caused
+his heart to sink a little.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Muriel&mdash;there's nothing wrong?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked down at her hands a moment, and then up
+at him as he stood over her.  Something in her whole
+attitude struck him as piteous.  He sat down opposite
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John&mdash;dear&mdash;I am going to hurt you terribly.  If you
+cannot forgive me I shall understand.  I am no longer
+Muriel Vernley&mdash;I am Muriel Harvey."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked at her.  What was she saying?  She was
+unnerved, he could see that; this strain had been too much
+for her.  But in that brief silence she saw by the kindness
+in his eyes that he had not understood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I am Mrs. Frank Harvey, John&mdash;I'm married."  And
+to make her words clear, she held out her hand, with its
+ringed finger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even then he just looked at her, and she saw that his
+eyes were those of a troubled child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Muriel&mdash;you can't mean it!&mdash;how can you be married!"
+he cried, in a low voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This time she could not look at him, she did not want
+to see the agony that was coming.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I cannot ask you to forgive me, John&mdash;I know that,
+and if you think hardly, perhaps I deserve it&mdash;but oh, I
+don't want to hurt you&mdash;I don't, John, I&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had risen now and had gone over to the window, his
+face turned from her, looking down into the well of the
+building.  What was he thinking?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's incredible!" he said huskily, after a pause.  "You
+cannot make a fool of me like this, Muriel, you can't&mdash;why,
+it's impossible!" he burst out, turning and spreading his
+hands wide; and then seeing her face clearly for the first
+time, he knew it was true.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was talking now&mdash;words, words, words.  What
+could a woman say worth listening to by a man thrown
+on one side like a discarded doll; and he knew it all.  Of
+course she had met him in hospital, there was no need to
+narrate all that.  He had appealed to her sympathies.
+But he blamed her, not the man, who only pressed his
+opportunity.  He assumed a calm attitude until she had
+finished, as though he had not really heard, for he was
+busy putting on a mask, determined she should not see
+how cruelly hurt he was.  Once out of the room, he
+could face the thing squarely, but here, she must not see.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Of course it has all been very silly&mdash;our boy and girl
+romance," he said, as lightly as he could, and he found
+a slight pleasure in noticing he had hurt her, for she paled
+as she stood up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Silly?&mdash;you cannot think it was that, John&mdash;" she
+pleaded, and his heart smote him, but pride insisted on the
+mask.  He held out his hand formally.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good-bye, Muriel."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Would he go like this, she thought, so blind to her
+terrible trial?  A noise behind made him turn.  A key was
+being fitted in the lock.  She saw his face set, and its
+sudden tension told her more than his voice or words had
+betrayed.  There was the sound of voices.  One he knew
+well, would have rejoiced at on any other occasion but
+this,&mdash;it was Vernley's.  And the other?  John's eyes
+met Muriel's and they felt their hearts throbbing in that
+long moment.  The door swung open and Vernley entered,
+following a young man, an officer, fresh-complexioned
+and of medium height and build.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John!" cried Vernley, holding out an eager hand, but
+John was looking at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Frank," said Muriel quietly, "this&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The man interrupted her eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Muriel&mdash;I'm getting on fine.  I've put the key in
+myself.  Don't move, I know where you are, watch me!
+There's a window on the right, the lounge on the left wall,
+you're standing by it&mdash;and a chair here!" he cried, touching
+it lightly with his fingers as he walked forward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Frank&mdash;this is my friend&mdash;Mr. Dean," she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young officer halted, his hand raised for a moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, sorry," he cried, cheerfully.  "How d'you do?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned and held out his hand, but in front of John,
+a little to the left, as though he might be there, and the
+face turned that way, smiling at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A glance, and John took the misdirected hand and
+looked into sightless blue eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How d'ye do, Mr. Dean?&mdash;Glad to meet any of Muriel's
+friends.  I'm rather sudden on the scene, eh!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He laughed boyishly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And they'll wonder why she's got this blind old war
+horse&mdash;won't they, Muriel?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His laughter would have been infectious at any other
+time, but now it echoed as in an empty room and was
+engulfed in silence.  Vernley watching it all, stood by the
+door.  Muriel was crying now; the blind man stood
+gripping the chair, sensing something unusual.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I must hurry away now," said John.  "Good-bye."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shook the soldier's hand again, then moved towards
+Muriel, and without speaking raised her hand to his lips.
+For a long moment he held it so, while she looked down on
+his bowed head mistily.  A moment later he had closed
+the door behind him and was in the corridor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he was not to go alone.  Vernley hurried after him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors, my dear old Scissors!" he cried, taking John's
+arm as they walked towards the lift.  "It's a mystery, I
+don't understand it, I'm sure she&mdash;she&mdash;oh damn! you
+know what I mean!  Let's go somewhere, I'm all upside
+down!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lift took them out to the world again.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0503"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER III
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were very patient with him at the office of
+the <i>Daily Post</i>.  He delayed his return to the
+Grand Fleet again and again.  Merritt, with an
+observant eye saw that the young man was on the verge
+of a nervous breakdown, but he could not disguise his
+surprise, when, after fourteen days' absence, during which
+they had no word from him, Dean entered his room and
+said he could not go back to Scapa Flow again, and wished
+to resign.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Merritt stared for a moment and poured out a flood of
+reasons against such preposterous folly.  There was his
+duty to the paper, which had given him his chance and
+helped him to fame.  Would he let Walsh down in this
+manner?  What of the public that read his despatches so
+avidly?  It was base ingratitude, sheer folly.  The gods
+had poured all the good gifts into his lap.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John laughed bitterly at this.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's come over you, Dean?  I've never seen you
+like this before; you've been going about with a green hue
+on your face for the last two weeks.  Are you crossed in
+love?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's no business of yours!" flared John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The suddenness and intensity of the reply startled him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Merritt veiled his surprise: he had touched a secret
+spring somewhere.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, I'm sorry, Dean&mdash;but you're getting a little
+difficult to deal with."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm sick of life!" said John, dropping into a chair and
+beating a tattoo upon the table with his hands.  Merritt
+let him brood awhile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's the matter?" he asked, "are you tired of the
+Navy?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;but I want to go away, right away!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well&mdash;go back to France.  I'll speak to Walsh."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No&mdash;that's too near&mdash;right away, if I go anywhere."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Merritt looked at him, but said nothing.  John rose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Come in to-morrow&mdash;Walsh may want to see you."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Right&mdash;and I want to see him.  Merritt, I've decided
+to throw it all up&mdash;this correspondent work&mdash;I'm going to
+join up."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If Merritt felt like falling, he did not show it.  He was
+sure now that the strain had affected the boy's reason.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh&mdash;well, you'll be a quitter if you do."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"How?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"With a pen like yours, you've a duty to perform.
+Haven't you thought of all the people who read newspapers
+for a gleam of comfort?  You've a sympathetic note in
+your work&mdash;and many a worried mother's had a little more
+hope to hold out with, after she's finished your column."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the first time Merritt had praised him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If you want to go&mdash;you'll go, of course, and we can't
+stop you&mdash;but you fall in my estimation.  If it's England
+you want to got out of&mdash;well, we want a man in Mesopotamia."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mesopotamia, the East!  Again and again John's
+thoughts had travelled eastwards.  In the last few weeks a
+deep longing for the skies of his boyhood had possessed
+him; he wanted to throw off all the Western civilisation
+now curbing and fretting him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"If you'll send me there," he replied quietly, "I'll carry
+on&mdash;but I want to get right away."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Merritt had won his point.  John promised to return
+and see Walsh in the afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The subsequent interview was short and satisfactory.
+He was to sail from Plymouth in a fortnight, his ultimate
+destination being Basra.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's strange, Dean, but I didn't care to propose this
+when I first thought of it some time ago," said Walsh, as
+he bade him good-bye.  "I thought you'd dislike being so
+far from your home-base."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Downstairs again, John, with the words "home-base"
+echoing in his ears, laughed to himself.  What home-base
+had he here in England, with friends dying in every trench
+and the world tumbling in ruin about his ears?  The East&mdash;that
+was, after all, his true home-base.  He should never
+have left it.  To this hour it called him; its witchery was
+in his blood; almost he could smell the distinctive odour,
+hear the jingle of camel bells as the caravans wound out
+along the old highways.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then a pang of regret smote him.  He had friends
+here, good friends.  Ever since that terrible night when his
+whole future had collapsed like a pack of cards, Vernley
+had been assiduous in his attention.  They had passed the
+ensuing days together, doing nothing in particular, strolling
+here, eating there, talking of everything but the one
+thing that obsessed them both.  Once only had they faced
+reality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I can't think why she did it, Scissors, I can't really.
+She must have been deranged with all she'd seen, and her
+pity overcame her&mdash;women are at the mercy of moods.
+I've not spoken to her yet about it&mdash;I daren't trust myself
+at present, but when I do, I&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John put a detaining hand on his arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bobbie&mdash;please don't.  It can make no difference now.
+Perhaps we are all wrong&mdash;the whole world's upside down
+somehow.  I don't want to feel bitter&mdash;I'm not going to
+feel anything again, I think, and if she's happy&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She can't be, Scissors!" interrupted Vernley vehemently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then she is suffering too&mdash;don't make it harder."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's her fault&mdash;no, it's his, I think&mdash;he's played upon
+her sympathy&mdash;he caught her with a&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Bobbie&mdash;don't!&mdash;We&mdash;we can't hit him&mdash;now, as he is."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Vernley whisked his stick through the air, as though
+beating his way through a tangle.  They walked on in
+silence.  Suddenly he stopped, and confronted his friend,
+his face quivering, his voice ringing with suppressed
+emotion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Scissors&mdash;you're a wonderful chap to take it like this!
+God! if it had been me&mdash;I'd have&mdash;I'd have&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Faced it, Bobbie," said John simply, "but why talk
+about it any more?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But his calm belied him.  To the wondering Vernley, it
+was marvellous self-control and astounding resignation.
+Even Vernley did not realise that his friend had sunk so
+low in the waters of despair, that a numbness was upon
+him; that light and air were no longer the craving of life.
+He was drowning, and the first fearful struggle had given
+place to a benumbed acquiescence in Fate.  Yes, light and
+air had gone, that was certain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They never mentioned the subject again, not even when
+they shook hands for the last time, before John travelled
+down to the Marshs', prior to sailing.  Vernley wanted to
+take him to "The Croft," but that would have been too
+much for him, and Vernley realised the artificial
+naturalness they would all assume, and dropped the project.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sun had set, and the livid upper sky tinged the
+sullen waters of the Thames, as in the final minutes, they
+paused at the bottom of Mariton Street.  Vernley was
+walking back along the Embankment to the hospital where
+he was still a patient, with a shell-splintered leg now
+healing, two inches permanently short.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He grew philosophical in those speeding minutes, as the
+light died, and the lamps began to glow dimly along the
+curve of the embankment, running from the darkened East
+into the fiery West.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a mess it all is, Scissors&mdash;and some old blighters
+are making speeches about the England that is to be after
+the war, the era of reconstruction, of glory and peace; and
+here we are blasting each other off the earth, many of us
+dead, half of us limping, and none of us quite knowing
+ourselves as we were.  Jove!  Sedley seems like a
+dream&mdash;poor old Marsh and Tod, and&mdash;my God, what a mess, what
+a mess, I'm not sure that I care about seeing the end of it!
+Scissors, it has been wonderful though&mdash;we can't be
+robbed of that by all the damned politicians and the
+butchering generals.  And to have had you for a
+friend&mdash;why it's&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could not finish&mdash;with a silent handshake he suddenly
+turned, and limped away in the gathering darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he had gained his room John sat down and
+thought.  He sat silently there until the last gleam faded
+in the sky, until the room grew totally dark, and outside a
+large moon climbed up from the chimney stacks.  Mrs. Perdie
+found him there when she came in to light the gas,
+preparatory to retiring for the night.  She thought how
+worn he looked, and suggested a cup of cocoa, but he
+declined it with a faint smile of thanks.  On her way to the
+top attic, she reflected that only youth could plumb the full
+misery of these tragic days.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the train to Renstone, John wondered how he would
+find Mr. and Mrs. Marsh.  He had had two letters from
+them since their son's death, letters written by Mrs. Marsh,
+full of quiet grief and patiently uncomplaining.  Somehow
+this journey to Renstone brought Marsh's vivacious
+personality more vividly before him.  Their days together had
+been without an open confession of friendship, but their
+attachment was deep, and Vernley's part in it equal, so
+that the old adage, "two's company, three's none," was
+proved utterly foolish.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the station a trap met him, driven by the old gardener
+at the Vicarage.  The sun beat down fiercely upon them
+on the slow drive along the country road.  The regal
+splendour of June blazed on each side, in the woodlands and on
+the hills.  Then the trap turned in at the familiar gates,
+past the central holly bush in the drive, and halted at the
+door.  It opened as he alighted, and Mrs. Marsh stood
+there, hatless and smiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are just in time for tea," she said, as he moved
+towards her.  So she had remembered his love of the tea
+hour and their talks!  She had not altered in any way, as
+he had feared.  Perhaps her hair was a little greyer, but
+of that he could not be sure; as for signs of the grief
+she had suffered, there was none upon that face of almost
+childlike grace.  Far different with Mr. Marsh, however.
+John met him in the hall, and was shocked at the change in
+him.  His hair was now wholly white, and the characteristic
+rectitude of his bearing had gone.  He stooped slightly,
+and John felt, as he took the welcoming hand, it was
+a little feeble; but the irradiating kindness of his smile was
+there as ever, and the gentle humorous way of talking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They had tea on the lawn, under the copper beech, with
+an arrogant peacock attempting to disguise its interest in
+their proceedings.  The old cat came out from under the
+rose bush where it had slept in the shadow; a few birds
+lazily twittered in the screen of elms at the far end of the
+garden, audibly tremulous in their tops as the wind passed
+through them.  The loudest noise was made by the wasps
+crowding about the jam-dish.  They talked of a dozen
+things, with never a mention of Teddie's name, until after
+half an hour, just before Mr. Marsh went in to his study,
+he said&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'm afraid you'll find it very quiet here, my boy.  You
+see, we've not marked the tennis lawn this summer&mdash;Teddie
+always did that, and there's no young people call now,
+they're all away.  So you'll have to amuse yourself."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went indoors, sadly, thought John.  Mrs. Marsh
+watched him go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Poor father," she said at last.  "It has hurt him
+terribly."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John turned to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And you?" he asked quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She smiled at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Perhaps I am less rebellious, John&mdash;I don't know.  But
+I feel, always I have felt, he has not gone, Teddie's here all
+the time."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Here?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;in this garden.  Sometimes I sit here in the
+afternoon with my sewing and listen to the wind in these
+trees.  Sometimes there's not a murmur of sound, and yet I
+feel that Teddie's here, just behind my chair, or pulling
+the lawn roller down there, or lying in the sun with a
+cushion under his head, 'basking' as he called it.  I'm not
+what you call psychic, John,&mdash;I've never given any thought
+to these things, but I know he is not dead, that he moves
+with us here, perhaps hears all we say.  You know how he
+loved to talk.  This is foolish, perhaps,&mdash;but oh John, I
+am so sure I am right!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He said nothing, but sat beside her.  It was beautiful
+in this old vicarage garden.  Generations of vicars had
+tended it, and June came year by year, with its profusion
+of roses, its climbing honeysuckle and night-scented
+verbena.  Was it too much to believe that any one
+who had loved this spot, whose boyhood had passed in its
+peace, whose love still lingered here, should come back,
+unseen?  This was a thought of faith, of love that would not
+countenance surrender; was it a thought any the less
+reasonable because it sprang from abiding love?  He was a
+child in such experience, it was not for him to judge;
+happy for her if Faith's bright star shone in the darkness
+of these days.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not speak, he could not; any words of his would
+have seemed desecration.  He just sat there by her side, in
+the flower-scented glow of the garden, while the sun
+dropped to the horizon and the shadow of the elms
+lengthened along the lawn.  The birds were now twittering
+before sleep overtook them; the rookery over by the hall
+grew noisy as the sky changed from rose-red to translucent
+green, with an adventurous star here and there in the silver
+grey of the east.  The dinner bell tolled at the Hall.
+Mrs. Marsh broke the silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There, it is time we dressed.  I have given you Teddie's
+room, I thought you would like it," she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Under the pergola they paused and looked back over the
+gardens towards the yew hedge, behind which the fading
+light of the horizon flamed in the heart of the sunset.
+Softly she repeated,
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+  "<i>Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns<br>
+  And the round ocean and the living air.</i>"<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, John, I know I am right&mdash;the living air!  I can't
+think of Teddie as dead, he loved life too much for that; he
+was too joyous to end in mere nothingness."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her eyes shone with love as she spoke, and, that moment,
+her faith became his.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0504"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER IV
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+In those last few days he deliberately kept his thoughts
+away from Muriel.  Not that he was distressed by any
+bitterness; perhaps a little bitterness, a resentment of
+her injustice, would have comforted him.  The inexplicable
+reasons of her action he ceased to ponder, and the
+consequences, he felt, were not his.  Vernley had wanted to talk.
+Curiously, he now saw, Vernley revolted far more than he
+against the accomplished fact of her marriage.  Why did
+she marry him?  Was she in her right senses?  Was she a
+nervous wreck?  Could she possibly love this man?  How
+could she treat her lover so callously?&mdash;all these aspects of
+the enigma worried Vernley in succession, and ceaselessly
+he battered himself, mothwise, against the undiminished,
+glaring fact of Muriel's marriage to a stranger.  All this
+had not helped John, and he had tried to make Vernley see
+it, but the latter fretted ceaselessly against the finality of
+her folly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't understand women&mdash;I don't really.  If ever a
+girl was madly in love, she was with you.  She grew up
+with the idea of marrying you&mdash;and suddenly she turns
+round and bolts without reason."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And John felt also that Vernley could not understand
+his attitude.  Vernley did not realise that henceforth he
+had ceased to feel anything, that he was just numb to life.
+Muriel had written after that dreadful interview.  She
+made no excuses, gave no explanations, only she wanted
+him to know that always he had been first in her thoughts.
+He laughed when he read the letter, and in a vindictive
+moment felt he would like to ask her one question.  "Who
+is first now?"  For he knew that would distress her
+intensely.  She could not possibly love this man, he was sure
+of that.  She had mistaken motherliness and the protective
+instinct for the deeper emotions of love, and in a
+temporary aberration had seen in self-sacrifice something
+greater than a love which had encountered no real obstacles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Had he but known, as he thought this, she was sitting
+in Mrs. Graham's flat seeking confirmation of her act.
+Mrs. Graham listened to her sympathetically, but gave
+her no comfort, for she affected no compromise with the
+hard fact that Muriel had not married the man she loved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Am I to blame, Mrs. Graham?&mdash;oh yes, I am, I am, but
+he must know I am not callous&mdash;that I still&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham smiled gently, and took the nervously
+clasped hands in hers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Muriel&mdash;in all you've said when you have said 'him',
+you have meant John.  Need we disguise that?  You can
+no more explain than I can.  We women will never know
+why we throw away our lives."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that the young wife broke down and wept in the other
+woman's arms.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What can I do, what can I do?" she implored.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Nothing," said Mrs. Graham.  "My dear child you are
+not the first or the last sacrifice to impulse.  You are not
+going to suffer long; your husband needs you so greatly and
+I think we women, if we realize it early enough, are only
+lastingly in love when we are happy in self-sacrifice."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She felt Muriel quiver in her arms and held her a while.
+Half an hour later, composed again, she went, but not before
+she had talked of her husband, of his cheerfulness, his
+eagerness to follow all she did.  He had planned their
+whole life together, and she was not to realise she had a
+blind husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was well she had not stayed to tea, for scarcely an
+hour had elapsed when the bell rang.  Instinctively
+Mrs. Graham knew it was John.  That he would come, she had
+never doubted.  His confidence in her had touched her
+from that moment of boyish ardour in which he had acted
+as self-appointed cavalier on their first meeting at "The
+Croft."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he entered she saw that he had changed.  He had
+put on a mask, of that she was sure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Muriel has just gone," she said straightly, looking at
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh!" he replied, but with no surprise or embarrassment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They sat down to tea.  He talked of the Marshs, of
+their garden, of how Mrs. Marsh bore her loss.  Mrs. Graham
+watched and let him talk of anything but the subject
+on which he really wished to talk.  Then quickly, as he
+leaned over to take a piece of bread.  "How is Muriel?"
+he asked, without a tremour in his voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"She has been here and talked to me, John.  It's no use
+our putting masks on.  You know she loves you still."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat silent for a few moments, then twisted his
+handkerchief in his hands, and looked down into his teacup.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I never thought otherwise," he said at last.  And then,
+dispassionately, he told her his plans.  He was going away,
+he was going to keep away.  He would never forget, of
+course, but she might, and that would be half the battle.
+If they met later and she showed that he had ceased to be
+first in her love, then he would not find it so hard.  To
+go away, to stay away, only that offered hope for them
+both.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Graham smiled in his face as she said&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That is a desperate remedy," and although nothing had
+betrayed him in his voice, his eyes were full of dumb
+pain.  "But John dear, perhaps you will be unable to stay
+away&mdash;had you thought of that?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He laughed now, bitterly, she thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then I must make it impossible for me to return&mdash;but
+no woman can mean all that to a man," he added fiercely.
+"After all, love is the whole of a woman's life, it's only part
+of a man's&mdash;he has other interests."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You don't mean that John, dear," said Mrs. Graham
+quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I do."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You don't!" she reiterated, looking at him steadily.
+For a moment he returned her look boldly, while her hands
+closed over his on the table; suddenly his eyes filled with
+tears and he bowed his head over her hands.  Neither of
+them spoke for what seemed a long time.  She saw he
+could not endure this strain, and came abruptly to earth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"More tea, John?" she asked, withdrawing her hands,
+and smiling at him, as though they had been foolish.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the next hour they were very practical.  He
+explained his plans.  The prospect of his work filled him
+with lively anticipation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You know, I feel as if I were going home&mdash;as if I had
+a home," he said, "and if I hear Turkish spoken, although
+I have forgotten it all, I'm sure I shall lapse into those
+Amasia days again.  I had a great friend there, a fellow
+called Ali&mdash;a Turk.  I often wonder what's happened to
+him&mdash;whether he's been smashed up in it all.  It's a silly
+world.  Here I am, his official enemy&mdash;and we were sworn
+brothers.  Look, I've still got his talisman here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He opened his shirt and pulled out the moonstone with
+the word "Kismet" inscribed upon it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What a beautiful thing!" cried Mrs. Graham.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Would you like it?" he asked, impulsively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No, John&mdash;you must not part with it, after all these
+years&mdash;and he gave it to you to keep."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"But it's only silly sentiment, Mrs. Graham."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sentiment is not always silly, John&mdash;'Kismet' who
+knows?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He laughed out gaily, and she was glad to hear him
+laugh so.  There was the ring of youth in it still.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Very well then&mdash;I'll wear it because of you," he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And Ali?" she added.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"And Ali," he echoed lightly.  "But you shall have one
+gift for remembrance."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I would like something, certainly."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I shall not give it you except in an eventuality."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She laughed at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dear me, how formal and serious we are!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It's a statue&mdash;my nickname too&mdash;'Narcissus listening
+to Echo.'  You know it?  Dear old Marsh gave it to me
+in one of his whimsical moods.  It's damaged, but it's very
+lovely and I have a sentimental attachment to it for his
+sake.  I want you to keep it safely for me&mdash;and if I never
+come to reclaim it," he said quietly, "I want it to become
+yours."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She regarded him a moment, and saw that he was very
+serious, full of the drama of youth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"John dear, you're talking like a novelette; 'if you never
+come back'&mdash;that's always what the rejected hero says in
+the last chapter but one.  You're not made of that kind of
+stuff.  But I'll keep it gladly&mdash;and perhaps, when you
+come to claim it, I shall not be willing to part with it."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rose to go, but she saw that he had still something
+more to say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well?" she asked him, as he stood, hat in hand, after
+making arrangements for her to receive the statue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You are wonderful, Mrs. Graham," he said, frankly.
+"You seem to read my thoughts."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, no, but I see you have some.  Tell me, John."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He hesitated briefly, but her eyes helped him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There are some letters&mdash;Muriel's.  I have them all&mdash;she
+wrote great letters from the Front.  They're all
+numbered in a despatch box.  Will you keep the box for
+me&mdash;and&mdash;" he hesitated again, but she waited, uttering no
+word, "if I don't reclaim the statue&mdash;send them to her?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He saw that she assented, and after that he dare not
+trust himself longer.  Almost abruptly he said good-bye
+and went.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0601"></a></p>
+
+<h2>
+BOOK VI
+<br><br>
+EAST AGAIN
+</h2>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER I
+</h3>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+I
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John and young Sanderson were half asleep in the
+orange grove that sheltered the row of tents from
+the merciless midday sun.  All the afternoon they had
+dozed, just under the oranges that ripened within their
+reach; but about four o'clock, the noise of a Ford car
+coming up the boarded track to the aerodrome, from its journey
+to Jaffa, woke them from their siesta.  A party had been
+down into the port on a day's excursion.  It was their last
+probably, for early at dawn, on the morrow, the great attack
+was to be made and every one of the aeroplanes now
+receiving final touches from the mechanics would be soaring
+in that blue and cloudless heaven whence death would rain
+upon the trenches below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I haven't written those blessed letters after all," said
+Sanderson yawning.  "I must do it to-night."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stood up, a slim graceful youth in his shorts and
+khaki shirt.  The fierce Eastern sun had browned his legs
+and arms, though it had not caught him so fiercely as John.
+He rubbed his fingers through his wavy hair and looked
+down at his companion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Do you know, Dean, I think you must be the re-incarnation
+of an arab sheik&mdash;I never knew a fellow who loved
+the desert heat like you&mdash;you're looking splendidly fit."  He
+laughed and threw an orange at his companion as he lay
+in the shade.  "There's something feline about the way
+you purr in this devilish climate."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John smiled, stood up and collected the letters he had
+written.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Let's hear the news from Jaffa," he said to Sanderson&mdash;and
+strolled across the clearing towards the fringe of tents.
+They had been together since John's arrival two months
+back, and this happy-go-lucky lad of twenty reminded him
+at moments of poor Marsh.  He had the same volatile
+spirits, now very elated or full of apprehension, tireless and
+restless, and very human and often childlike in certain
+moods.  It was to John that he raved about Mary, the
+little English girl in faraway Sussex, and so deep
+became their intimacy that he entrusted her letters to John,
+for him to co-operate in his intense admiration of her
+wonderful epistolary style, her unbounded lovableness.
+John soon knew much about his mother and father, the
+latter a retired naval officer living in a little house on the
+Devon Coast; through Sanderson, he could see the gentle
+little lady who wrote in such a perfect hand with unbroken
+regularity, chronicling the small events of the domestic
+round.  That Sanderson loved her devotedly, John knew
+from the light that came into his eyes when he talked of
+her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You must write those letters, Sandy," said John, as they
+entered the mess-tent.  It was a task Sanderson hated, being
+always unable to find anything to write about.  A letter
+meant much at home, and after to-night they&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I'll do 'em after dinner," promised Sanderson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dinner that evening was a merry affair.  The excitement
+of the morrow was in their blood.  John looked round at
+his comrades, all very young, not one giving any sign of the
+apprehension he might feel.  General Allenby was making
+a great push with his left flank, stretching from the sandy
+coast to the Jordan basin and the rising hills of Judæa.
+The bombing squadron was engaged in the task of cutting
+off the Turkish army on the line of retreat along the
+Ferweh-Balata road.  The Turk was on the run and this
+might be a last great opportunity.  They were to start
+before dawn.  Early in the day, John had sought and
+obtained permission to accompany the squadron.  Sanderson
+was to take him in his Bristol fighter.  The spirit of
+victory was in the air.  That evening Sanderson twanged
+his banjo with great spirit and sang "Glorious Devon" and
+his eyes watered when MacDermott gave "Highland Mary,"
+the heavy sentiment assisted by many highland toasts.
+Scottish or English, it was Mary, and Sanderson almost
+broke down just before they retired to snatch a few hours of
+sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Have you written those letters?" asked John,&mdash;Sanderson
+stood stripped in the moonlight, shaking out his shirt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Then you're not coming into this tent until you have,"
+said John firmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Well, I can't write like this, can I?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John laughed, holding Sanderson's shorts firmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"You promise to write at once?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes&mdash;Lord, I'm cold."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Here you are then, and here's my fountain pen; you can
+see in this moonlight."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sanderson sat down on a box and put a writing pad
+on his knees.  John walked across the clearing for a
+final survey before turning in.  He climbed a ridge behind
+the grove, and above the tree tops a vast panorama swept
+into view.  Away to the left in the grey void, the sea lay,
+the blue Mediterranean sea that glittered by day under
+the changeless canopy of heaven.  In the night air he
+could hear the far-off roar of the surf, fitfully borne on a
+wind blowing up the ravine, laden with aromatic night-scents
+from the orange groves.  A full moon hung in the
+sky, banishing many of the stars.  John stood there, with a
+chill wind intermittently blowing upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>
+There had come to him in these days, here, in the hard
+adventure with kindred spirits, in the intoxication of
+danger and human courage, amid all that was splendid, perhaps
+the more splendid for its pitiful transience, a contentment
+with life.  He was not maimed in the spirit, though
+he had been sorely buffeted.  His greatest ally was with
+him, the Future.  So much subservience to the omnipotent
+hand of Fate had this East wrought in him, he would
+not rebel.  If Mrs. Graham could see him now, see the
+change that had quieted him, instead of recalling the
+tumult of those days when he had turned to her in his
+blind agony, she might wonder at the quality of his love,
+at a love that surrendered and was happy in the act.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Muriel seems very happy," she wrote; "if I did not
+know I should think she loved him deeply; they are never
+apart and she seems unwearied in her service to
+him."  But did she know?  Who knew the heart of any woman
+and who could apportion duty, sympathy and love?  Now
+he looked back, he saw that, tacitly, he and Muriel had
+loved, without obstacles, without trials.  From the first
+dawn of instinct, from that wintry day by the copse, when
+unknown temptings of Nature and boyish impulse had
+made him gather her into his arms, they had followed the
+natural course of their early affection.  For himself, even
+now, he had never doubted but that the fulfilment of that
+first impulse lay in his marriage to Muriel.  Painfully,
+but frankly, he followed the remorseless logic of the facts.
+It had comforted his egotism, the eternal possessive
+instinct of man, to think that she had married in a mood of
+pity; what if she also married for love, suddenly awakened
+and all the stronger and more impetuous now it was really
+awakened?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He saw now, that throughout he had insisted upon the
+requital of his love, and perhaps his dominance had won
+until this stronger instinct awakened in her.  He had
+banished all thought of her unfaithfulness, all reproach
+for the blow he had suffered.  That day, for the first time,
+he had written to her.  It had been a hard thing to do,
+because he realised how kindness, understanding even,
+would hurt her.  But it was not possible to go through life
+with a barrier of silence separating lives that had such
+great memories in common, when the morning hours had
+been so bright for them.  He had even referred to meeting
+again, feeling in his heart there was nothing to forbid it;
+and when he had written to Vernley, he had spoken of a
+"phase."  The very word hurt him as he wrote, but it was
+a surgery he had to perform, and this great distance made
+it easier.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rising, he retraced his steps towards the camp.  He
+had just entered the shade of the grove, when something
+suddenly tensed his whole being into an attitude of
+listening.  His heart beat, and the blood in his veins pulsed
+through a breathless pause.  Yes, he had heard aright.
+Once again on the still night air it swelled and died, the
+old, never-to-be-forgotten, age-enduring drone of the <i>saz</i>,
+beaten in the Turkish trenches.  Listening there, alert, his
+face turned to the moon-bathed valley.  He was a boy
+again, the old impulse upon him.  As a dream, his years
+fell from him.  This was Amasia and the moon peered into
+the gorge, silvering the weirs of the old stream.  Louder
+and louder, changeless and potent as ever, the night air
+pulsated with the immortal music of the East.  He turned
+and went towards it, then halted with a short laugh at the
+strangeness of it all, a medley of thoughts dancing
+through his brain to those exotic strains, thoughts of
+deserted khans, crowded bazaars, a cowering Armenian, the
+tragic dumb eyes of a Turkish boy, and another boy, in a
+book-lined room playing a piano.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then a voice suddenly cut sharply across the whispered
+suggestion of the night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dean!" it rang.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Here&mdash;coming!" answered John, shivering with a
+nervous chill.  He blundered across the stubble, scratching
+his bare knees.  The figure of Sanderson loomed out
+of the darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Good heavens, Dean, I thought you'd been kidnapped&mdash;it's
+twelve o'clock and we're off at four."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sanderson had come up close now, and John's face
+shone clear and blanched in the moonlight.  Its expression
+alarmed the younger man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I say&mdash;what's the matter?&mdash;you look hypnotised!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Rubbish," John laughed uneasily.  "I'm cold, that's all."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They walked back to the tent in silence and turned in.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+II
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It seemed only a few minutes later that the batman
+awakened them in the dark tent.  Outside there was
+a movement of feet and voices coming from the
+darkness.  Hastily John and Sanderson dressed, in warm
+things this time, for the morning air was very cold.  All
+the machines were out of the canvas hangars, lined up for
+the flight.  There were muffled figures and voices.  The
+mechanics stood by; there was an intermittent roar of an
+engine as it started up and died down again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sanderson climbs into his seat, John following.  This
+first five minutes is trying to the nerves, his fingers are
+cold and he shivers slightly.  They have said good-bye
+to the Wing Commander who has wished them good luck.
+Some will not return again, but their thoughts do not
+dwell on the fact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sanderson turns his head and smiles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"All right, Dean?" he calls.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The propeller in front moves round slowly and the engine
+fires and begins with a roaring noise.  Now the propeller
+has vanished as it gathers speed and they can see
+ahead, across the clearing, to the orange groves and the
+blue ridge of moonlit mountains.  The mechanics are
+wheeling the machine round for the run down the field,
+the engine is tested with them hanging on to the wings,
+Sanderson waves his hands, they let go.  They are
+off.  Imperceptibly they lift from the ground up into the
+cold air of the moonlit night.  The grey-blue country
+spreads around them.  The stars have vanished with a
+paling moon; to the east the silver of the dawn creeps over
+a black ridge.  The low flat roofs of Jaffa are dimly
+visible, here and there they catch a glimpse of moonlight
+rippling on the sea.  They are facing the wind, but the
+roar of the engine is no longer audible, lulled by the
+perpetuity of the sound.  The coast line grows more distant
+as their eyes become accustomed to the light.  But dawn
+is breaking rapidly.  They are flying, for the present,
+until the enemy lines are reached, in close formation; to
+the left and right, like grey birds, soar the other
+aeroplanes.  In a few minutes they will cross the enemy's lines,
+over which they will have to deploy and run the gauntlet
+of anti-aircraft fire.  Their crossing is well-timed, for
+dawn is advancing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"We're over&mdash;do you hear?" cried Sanderson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Far below came on the wind a familiar sound.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Ratatatattatatatatat!</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was machine gun fire trying to find them in the
+darkness above.  They were flying down wind now and had
+lost their companions.  The altimeter registered 8,000
+feet.  And then suddenly the world was transformed.
+From a cloud-bank the sun emerged with a triumphant
+blaze of yellow light.  John saw the light, like a live thing,
+go streaming over the hills and valleys below, flooding in
+a thousand hues the objects of day.  Behind them now, to
+the left, Jaffa, with its white houses, sparkled on the edge
+of a blue expanse of sea, wind-furrowed.  Back on the
+left like a dull mirror, lay the ghostly outline of the Dead
+Sea, with the barren hills of Judæa.  The coloured
+contours leapt up below them, the brown face of the grain-land,
+the grey villages, the green patches of woodland.  A
+silver spear shot athwart a green-gold valley, where the
+Jordan twisted southwards to the Dead Sea.  From the
+sand dunes of the coast to the Jordan basin a series of
+brown scars cut the earth's face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's the last enemy line!" called Sanderson, pointing
+down.  "They will be about, somewhere, now," and
+obedient to his wish, the machine lifted her nose and
+climbed to 12,000 feet.  Already the change in temperature
+was noticeable.  John had discarded his hat and
+tunic and sat in shirt sleeves, the wind blowing through
+his hair.  They were traversing the desolate hill-region of
+Lower Samaria with Nazareth, highly situated to the
+West, and were now nearing the wild ravines where they
+would find the Ferweh-Balata road.  John's heart beat
+quicker at the approach of the desperate moment.  Far off,
+to the north, a bright light flashed.  John noticed it twice
+before he called Sanderson's attention to it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What is it?" asked Sanderson.  "A helio?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I don't know."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again it flashed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I've got it!" cried John, putting his finger on the map.
+"It's the Sea of Galilee."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment there floated up to them the sound of
+a dull report.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"That's a bomb&mdash;we've found 'em!  Look out, I'm going
+to sweep&mdash;they're in one of these ravines.  We ought to
+pick up the road here."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The wind sang down the planes as they banked and
+dropped, the country-side slowly revolved as if on a disc.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There!" cried John, pointing to a white, ribbon-like
+road threading a deep gorge.  "Look&mdash;it's choked with
+transport!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An aeroplane ahead hovered like a hawk, then, as if inert,
+fell to within two hundred feet of the road, dropping
+its bombs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Boom!  Boom!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were two clouds of dust high over which the
+swerving aeroplane swept.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Ratatatatatatatatat!</i>&mdash;whirred its machine gun, ere the
+bird of death leapt skywards again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Below on the blocked road, pandemonium broke loose.
+The mules reared amid a debris of destroyed wagons; some
+of the drivers deserted their seats and ran up the steep
+hillsides looking for shelter.  The transport in front backed,
+the transport behind pressed forward, the line swayed,
+bulged and writhed in confusion and noise.  A second
+aeroplane swooped and increased the panic.  The road was
+now heaped with dead and dying men and horses, abandoned
+lorries, guns, carts and motor cars.  There was no
+place of refuge in that pitiless gorge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Are you ready?" called Sanderson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John's hand sought the bomb release lever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next moment they had nose-dived; at the bottom of
+the dive, Sanderson would pull out John waited for the
+moment, his eye on the bomb-sight through which the road
+seemed leaping up to meet them.  Suddenly, the wind
+caught the rigid planes as the machine pulled out of the
+dive.  Now!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+John saw the two bombs go, turn over, fall in the
+distance; then a pause, with the air singing in their ears
+and&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Boom!  Boom!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were now climbing joyously.  Their companion,
+for some strange reason, had turned to the west and was
+circling wide.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"What's he doing?" asked Sanderson, but the question
+was answered a moment later when three enemy aircraft,
+their wings black-crossed, emerged suddenly from a
+cloud-bank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Ratatatatatatatatat! ratatatat! ratatatatat!</i> went
+several machine guns.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sanderson turned and climbed towards the trio swooping
+down upon the lonely prey.  But his man[oe]uvre was seen.
+Two of the enemy planes detached themselves and turned
+to meet the aggressor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Phillips can look after himself," called Sanderson, but
+his optimism changed when a fourth enemy machine came
+out of the clouds.  It was four to two now.  Still
+Sanderson climbed.  His machine was faster than theirs.  John
+saw his intention&mdash;to make an Immelmann turn and get
+underneath the enemy and rake him with machine gun fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the top of the climb there was a sudden <i>ratatata!</i>
+which sounded in their ears, ominously near.  It came
+from above them, a fifth machine emerging from a cloud-bank,
+at a distance of eighty yards.  John felt a sudden
+buffet, as though the wind had struck him, Sanderson's
+hand shot out to his gun, and there was an answering burst
+of firing, full into the belly of the machine above.  It fell
+swiftly out of control with a wounded or dead pilot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, good!  Good!" yelled John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sanderson turned with a swift smile of triumph, ere
+tackling the machine below, but his smile changed to a look
+of concern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Dean&mdash;you're hit!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Hit?" echoed John, and looked down.  His shirt was
+wet with blood.  He plunged his hand into the open neck.
+A thin stream welled out from the left breast.  Yet he
+had felt nothing.  He was about to reassure Sanderson,
+when a sudden burst of firing broke on his ears.  The next
+moment, with a fearful roar, a machine swept over them,
+the sparks from the exhaust trailing behind like a comet's
+tail.  They swerved, climbed, and then fell.  Down they
+went, leaving the enemy above; down, with an increasing
+roar of the wind, as they gathered momentum.  Ten
+thousand, nine thousand, eight thousand, louder roared the
+wind, and John caught a glimpse of the country below as
+it leapt to meet them.  It seemed incredible that the
+planes could stand this strain.  Every moment he expected
+the machine to open up, but Sanderson knew his work; he
+was safe in his hands.  They were falling still.  Surely
+only three thousand feet now?  Wasn't Sanderson cutting
+it rather fine.  He could see his head in front, familiar and
+reassuring.  Two thousand!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sanderson!" John called.  He had no right to, of
+course, but something impelled him.  The roar of the wind
+carried his voice away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sanderson!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Loud, this time, yet the head of the pilot did not move.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sanderson!" screamed John.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A sudden swerve, and the machine shuddered from wing
+tip to tail.  He Was pulling out at last.  No! they
+falling again.  John stretched forward, dizzy now with
+loss of blood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Sander&mdash;"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cry was unfinished.  Sanderson lay with his head
+inert on the side of the fuselage.  They were out of
+control!  Faint, John fell back; the wind screamed in his
+ears as they swept to earth.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p><a id="chap0602"></a></p>
+
+<h3>
+CHAPTER II
+</h3>
+
+<p>
+An hour before sunset, a group of Arab horsemen
+came over the scrubby hillocks, following the
+indistinct route worn by mules, which led, five miles
+to the north, to the main route to Damascus.  Their horses
+were tired, for they had been hard pressed, and on the faces
+of the riders something of the panic of the early morning
+was still visible.  They were alive, indeed, and fortunate in
+the fact, for hundreds had fallen in that dreadful massacre
+in the gorge.  Picturesque they were, in an assorted fashion,
+but as soldiers they were not impressive, dressed in ragged
+gowns and dirty head-dresses, their beards untrimmed.
+More like a band of brigands, than a part of the routed 7th
+Turkish Army, they rode in disorder.  The level sunlight
+flashed on the strange weapons stuck in their belts,
+ivory-handled knives, murderously long, revolvers of an obsolete
+fashion and pistols with heavy ebony handles.  The young
+officer in command of them could ill-conceal his contempt
+of this rabble, and watched them with a cautious eye, knowing
+that they would as readily plunge their knives into him
+as into that of any luckless traveller.  Accompanied by
+four juniors he rode behind, saddle-sore and depressed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A cry at his side made him look up.  His sergeant was
+pointing to something in the ravine below.  Half a dozen
+Arabs had broken away from the column and were racing
+down the rocky steep to reach the plunder.  The officer
+shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun.  The stark outline
+of a shattered fuselage reared up on end from a twisted
+mass of machinery.  A broken wing lay twenty yards apart,
+It was no unfamiliar sight, this, of a crashed aeroplane.
+He made no effort to recall the Arabs, for his command
+would be ignored.  The possibility of plunder shattered
+all discipline.  Contemptuously he reined up his horse on
+the hillock and waited.  The transport halted behind
+them; even in retreat they disliked hurry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"There's nothing left, I'm sure&mdash;it's a bad crash," said
+the officer, surveying the twisted frame-work through his
+glasses.  "The engine's half buried&mdash;poor devil!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Arabs had soon finished their inspection, and with
+disappointment were riding back, all but two, who
+suddenly turned aside and dismounted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Why don't they come?" asked the young Turk, turning
+to his sergeant.  "Go&mdash;hurry them up&mdash;I will not wait."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sergeant detached himself, his horse carefully testing
+its way down the steep.  The officer gave the command
+to march, the column jogged forward in disorderly fashion,
+the transport drivers behind cracked their whips and swore
+at the jaded mules, the cloud of dust rose again on their
+trail along the barren hills.  They had not gone a mile
+ahead when the sergeant overtook the commandant again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"It was a body&mdash;they'd stripped him, but I made them
+give up these papers in his pocket, and this."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He handed a pocket book, some envelopes and a thin
+chain to the officer.  On the end of the chain a pendant
+swung and glinted in the sunset.  The officer examined
+it before looking at the papers.  A thin strand of hair,
+brown hair, was tied round the link that held the frame
+in which an oval moonstone was set.  On one side there
+was a minute engraving of an eye, on the other, one word,
+in Turkish, "Kismet."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a long moment, the young officer spoke no word as
+he held the stone in his hand.  The sergeant waited.  As
+they stood, the transport column filed past them, lorries
+and guns, and all the impedimenta of an army in retreat.
+The men were badly shod, their uniforms ragged.  They
+were ill-fed and half rebellious, but the enemy were
+sweeping up behind and safety lay ahead; only the impulse for
+safety spurred their flagging spirits.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Where was the body?" asked the Turk, without apparent
+interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"About twenty yards from the aeroplane, sir."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"The other&mdash;there were two?"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, sir, the pilot probably&mdash;the machine fired and
+there's little left."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The end of the column was in sight now.  The sergeant
+turned his horse as if to join the line, but his officer did
+not move.  The last lorry lumbered by in a cloud of dust.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"I will have a look at this machine, it may tell us
+something," said the officer, turning his horse.  The sergeant
+followed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"No," he said, sharply.  "You go on&mdash;I will overtake
+you in a few minutes."
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Yes, sir."  The man saluted and rode off after the
+cloud of dust.  The lonely horseman waited.  Quiet was
+settling down in the hills again.  The next transport
+column would be an hour's march away yet; it would be dusk
+ere they arrived.  Spurring his horse, he went back along
+the rutted road until the ravine with the crashed aeroplane
+at the bottom came into sight.  Dismounting, he tethered
+his horse by the path and made his way slowly down
+the slope, still holding in his right hand the talisman taken
+from the dead Englishman.  If what he feared was true
+it was a strange meeting after these many years.  Kismet
+indeed!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had reached the bottom of the slope now, dusty and
+shaken by his swift descent.  It was dusk already in the
+ravine and the level rays of the sunset were gilding the
+ridges of the hills above.  He shivered in the cool shade,
+and the silence grew oppressive.  The call of a jackal came
+from a thicket near by, a horrible, blood-chilling whine.
+He stumbled.  The light would be gone if he did not hurry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could see the object he sought, a small patch on the
+ground ahead; breaking into a run, he approached the
+naked body of the dead man.  Those bandits had stripped
+him, and he lay stretched out, his set face turned to the
+sky.  Two birds took sudden flight at the approach of the
+man, and rose with a whirr of large black wings, sinister
+and sickening to the sight in their repulsive portent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Flinging himself to his knees, he bent over the slim
+body lying so inert.  For a few moments he had no courage
+to look into the face.  Beautiful, he lay in death, like a
+perfect figure of marble,&mdash;the whiteness only broken on the
+left breast, bloody and scarred.  Had the miscreants
+murdered him in their plundering?  No, for this thin stream
+of blood from the wound had dried long ago.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bending forward, the living face looked on the dead,
+and in that moment of recognition a sharp cry of pain
+broke on the desert hush.  Gathering him up in his arms,
+he pressed the lifeless body to his breast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"Oh, John effendi!  Oh, John effendi!" he sobbed,
+brushing back the hair from the brow of the dead man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"See, I have our token and thou wast faithful, John
+effendi!  Great brother of my heart, what woe is come
+upon us!  Dost thou not hear me?  'Tis I, Ali, thy friend
+of boyhood's days.  O thou unfortunate one!  Unhappy
+the servant of Allah, that these eyes thus behold thee, most
+beloved brother of my soul, John effendi!  Oh, John
+effendi!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bent over the lifeless form, peering into the
+unclosed eyes of the dead man as if he would read therein
+some words of recognition, of greeting.  He had not
+changed, this friend of happy days by Yeshil Irmak's
+singing waters.  The face that had faded in distance from
+the fountain at Amasia was this face of death found in
+the desert, and the years had scarcely touched it, perhaps
+only to make it sterner, more handsome.  Great was the
+will of Allah to bring them together again across the ways
+of the world.  Thus had he beheld him on the hill
+on that last day of parting when the night crept over the
+gorge at Amasia; night crept on now, night with its
+stillness and its stars, and he could not go hence again.
+Brothers in life they were, were they not brothers in death;
+were not their feet wedded to the same great adventure?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With his handkerchief he wiped the sand and blood from
+the face of the dead man, smoothed the bruised brow.
+Beautiful he was, in this hour of meeting.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+"O John effendi," he cried, pressing his mouth to the
+cold brow.  "Our footsteps have gone out upon the dusty
+way and we are met again.  Allah in his greatness willed
+it so!"
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The darkness of night gathered about the living and
+the dead.  Above, the brazen dome held the last flush of
+day.  In the cool east a few stars came on the flood of
+darkness.  From hill-top to hill-top the greyness crept
+and the valleys filled with shadow.  The moon, low on
+the dark horizon, brightened; the timorous stars spangled
+the heavenly way with bright battalions.  The hill ridges,
+black in the sunset, softened and sank in the encroaching
+tide of night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Such silence, such peace, such coolness after the noisy,
+parching day!  Foolish man, fretful with his bewildering
+schemes, his fears and frenzy, his comings and goings
+over the face of the indifferent earth&mdash;all, all engulfed in
+the enduring silence.  And for the end of all&mdash;this
+beneficent peace.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But no, even now, the hush is broken.  Out of the darkness
+it comes, mysterious, stirring, portentous,&mdash;the sound
+of a thousand years, the low insistent droning of a drum.
+Listening, the living hears its mournful, suggestive music,
+even as he heard it in the khans at Amasia.  It rises, it
+falls, undulating.  And if the dead hear, then is the call
+familiar,&mdash;the call of a far-off night, when, under almond
+blossom, a little white figure, dream-impelled, stepped
+towards the moonlit stream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nearer it comes, nearer, nearer.  The night winds bear
+it afar down the ravine; it is the music of war, the music
+of a thousand conquerors marching in brief glory out to
+the silence of death.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Gently the living man lowers the dead from his arms.
+He rises to his feet, solitary and minute under the
+inquisition of the stars.  The tethered horse on the highway
+stirs and whinnies.  The transport column comes winding
+along the road of retreat.  Nearer now, sound the drums;
+soon the riderless horse will be found.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, shattering the night, a shot rings out, doing
+violence to the quiet of the valley.  The echo ricochets
+from hill-top to hill-top and faintly dies in the distance.
+The deep hush flows again, the eddies of sound fade out
+on the pool of silence.  Over the grey crest of the eastern
+hills the moon climbs, pouring its light into the ravine.  A
+jackal cries and slinks away among the scrub; and again,
+the insistent calling of a drum.
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+THE END
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br><br></p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75969 ***</div>
+</body>
+
+</html>
+
+
diff --git a/75969-h/images/img-cover.jpg b/75969-h/images/img-cover.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a321a0e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75969-h/images/img-cover.jpg
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b5dba15
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this book outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f8d79a9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+book #75969 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75969)