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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—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. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know Asia Minor?" asked the stranger. "I am +going to Amasia." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I have business in Amasia." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—if I can have this," she answered +roguishly. He nearly kissed her in boyish ecstasy. +"Done!" he cried—"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—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— +</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—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—the boy?" asked Sir Henry, unable to make +himself pronounce the ridiculous name. +</p> + +<p> +"He is going with us." +</p> + +<p> +"What—all over the Continent!" cried the astounded +baronet. "You can't take a boy there—why not send him +to school?" +</p> + +<p> +"He's too young—we want him—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—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?" +</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—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. +</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—"When did the +last occur?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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— +</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—she has only—" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! please go on!" cried Mrs. Dean, "—there's no +safety in ignorance." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"We have been there two months," answered Dean. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>caiques</i>, 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." +</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—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—" +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— +</p> + +<p> +"A nightmare, old son, eh?—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—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—er—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—the excitement; +children are easy victims of nightmare." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—do you think it was nightmare?" asked Dean. +His tone plainly conveyed the belief that he thought +otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +"Of course!—why not?—the child has no reason for +going down the garden." +</p> + +<p> +"Where does the path lead?" +</p> + +<p> +"To the river—there's a footway into the town—it cuts +off the bend in the road." +</p> + +<p> +"To the town?—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—it is perhaps better. You've guessed what drew the boy +out of his bed?" +</p> + +<p> +"The drum?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"You noticed it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I did—but I can't account for his expression." +</p> + +<p> +"His half-dazed look?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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>—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." +</p> + +<p> +"But the victims—you say they are allured—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—why are they drawn by the sound?" +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +The change in the conversation was clumsy, and it did +not deceive Dean. +</p> + +<p> +"You're keeping something back, Price—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,—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—death?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"Violent—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—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—full moon, those damned drums droning away—when +my <i>kavass</i>—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." +</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—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—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?—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,—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. +</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—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,—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—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—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—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—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—- +</p> + +<p> +"John, you are not listening—are you sleepy?" said +his father. +</p> + +<p> +"No, Daddy—I was only wondering—" +</p> + +<p> +"What?" +</p> + +<p> +"If only I could go to a big school like that, and have +friends and—" +</p> + +<p> +"Well, you will one day." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh! In England?" asked John, his eyes dancing with +excitement. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—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—'J. N. Dean' in great black letters?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Anna will pack it full with your clothes." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, how glorious—and you will come too?" +</p> + +<p> +Dean laughed, and pinched his son's leg. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—if you want him." +</p> + +<p> +"I shall always want you. There's—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—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—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?—it must be nearly two o'clock, they would have +a … +</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—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—you mustn't go on like this,—what is the +matter?" +</p> + +<p> +"You are going away, John effendi." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but I shall come back,—besides why do you worry +so?" +</p> + +<p> +"You are my friend, John effendi—I would never leave +you—you are more to me than a brother." +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks, Ali—we—we've been great friends, and when +I come back—" +</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—thought so much—of me, All." +</p> + +<p> +"Have I not always followed you, effendi? You are +English, I am a Turk—but we are brothers—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!—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—I'll write to you often. We'll meet in +two years." +</p> + +<p> +"Insh' Allah—God willing," said Ali gravely. "I will +make you a gift, John effendi, will you give me a promise?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Ali—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—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—anything the matter?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, father—I was only thinking." +</p> + +<p> +"What of?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—of England, and leaving here, and—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?—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—"Kismet!" +</p> + +<p> +"Ali gave it to me for a keepsake—what does Kismet +mean, father?" +</p> + +<p> +"Destiny—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— +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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. +</p> + +<p> +"Narcissus! Good Lord, you will get ragged!" +</p> + +<p> +"Ragged—what's that?" he had asked. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—knocked about—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—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—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— +</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,—yours has +been put next to mine—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—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." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, you look so splendidly fit—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—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. +</p> + +<p> +"John Narcissus—" +</p> + +<p> +"Narcissus!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—it's Greek too," John smiled, and Vernley +laughed. John noticed that he had teeth like an +animal's—white and strong. +</p> + +<p> +"Well—they'll call you 'Cissy' for short." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, please don't tell them—I hate it," he said, looking +at Vernley imploringly. +</p> + +<p> +"Very well—then it'll be Scissors—that's more cutting!" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't mind that—what's your name?" +</p> + +<p> +"What do you think—there's only one name for all persons +like myself—Tubby—isn't it a libel?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—you're not too fat. I think you're—" John hesitated, +</p> + +<p> +"Well, what—let's hear." +</p> + +<p> +"You're quite—splendid." +</p> + +<p> +Vernley laughed again in his fascinating way. +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks—I can return that compliment." +</p> + +<p> +John flushed. He was glad Vernley had laughed like +that. +</p> + +<p> +"That's strange, you know—saying that," added Vernley. +</p> + +<p> +"Why?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Why?—does he swear?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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—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. +</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!—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—I forgot to fill +Lindon's kettle," said John. +</p> + +<p> +"Hang Lindon—he's always running you about. I knew +he would. He doesn't like your being here." +</p> + +<p> +"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— +</p> + +<p> +"I say, Verny—don't be jealous—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—what's the reason?" +</p> + +<p> +"Well—it's because you're such a kid, Scissors." +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks, you're a year older—but that's no reason." +</p> + +<p> +"P'raps not—but I knew Lindon would go for you—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?—he's watched you like a cat for a week. You +don't know Lindon—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—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." +</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—try again." +</p> + +<p> +John flushed deeply—"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—I don't—and I don't understand,—and I don't +want to understand." +</p> + +<p> +"But, Scissors, if—in the past," added Vernley. He +looked anxiously at John, who had picked up Punch and +was looking through it. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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—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—the drum +seemed nearer now, it was soothing, he would know nothing +soon, already feeling had left him, he— +</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—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—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—I'm awfully sorry," replied John. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't worry, my boy—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—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—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." +</p> + +<p> +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?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, he doesn't," said John shortly, "and you shouldn't +ask me—I'm his friend." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose you've seen how I watched you," said John, +"—I simply couldn't hide it—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—can you make one?" +</p> + +<p> +"No—I'm not very handy with a pocket knife." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "<i>On pipes of sycamore they play<br> + The fragments of a Christmas hymn,—</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,—"do tell me about him." +</p> + +<p> +"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— +</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—but there's +much better stuff than that. Wordsworth was a philosopher, +he wrote splendid things like— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + <i>Love had he known in huts where poor men lie;<br> + His daily teachers had been woods and rills,<br> + The silence that is in the starry sky,<br> + 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—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." +</p> + +<p> +"But you're a poet yourself, Mr. Steer—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—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— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + <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—</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"That's beautiful, it's—" exclaimed John. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"But that isn't what he meant—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,—that's fatal." +</p> + +<p> +Vernley stared at John curiously for a moment, amazed +at his friend's enthusiasm, then— +</p> + +<p> +"You are a rum beggar, Scissors; I believe you'd like +to write stuff like that yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps he will—alas," sighed Steer. +</p> + +<p> +"Why do you say 'alas'?" asked John. "You're not at +all sad, you're quite jolly and—" +</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— +</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—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—but isn't it ripping— +</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 class="noindent"> +—it's like eating caramels." +</p> + +<p> +"If you say it again, I will scrag you!" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Whose dwelling is the light—</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—" 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!—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—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." +</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—" +</p> + +<p> +"<i>Whose dwelling—</i>" began John derisively. +</p> + +<p> +"Shut up!—do you want to smash the looking +glass next? Get your collar on—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—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'—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—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,—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." +</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—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!—you don't mean to tell me—" +</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—what a nuisance! I don't know who he +is." +</p> + +<p> +"What's his name?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—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!—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,—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—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— +</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—"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—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." +</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—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—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!—get out!" +</p> + +<p> +"I say, Lindon, do be reasonable!" +</p> + +<p> +"I have been—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—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." +</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—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—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." +</p> + +<p> +"But what does your governor say?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing—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—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—what would your father say if he +knew you called him a red-haired curate—his hair was +golden then." +</p> + +<p> +"That's the usual story—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—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—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. +</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?—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! +</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—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—when you turned just now you'd got the +East in your eyes." +</p> + +<p> +"The East—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—" John gulped at the name—"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>—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—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—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—he was a tramp too— +</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—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." +</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—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—how are you?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</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—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!—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. +</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—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—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—I—I'm awfully sorry I was such a cad +to you—and will you forgive me? I—I—" +</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—-I go on Tuesday—" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—give me +that, I'll carry it." +</p> + +<p> +"How's the great Marsh?" asked Vernley. "As +supercilious as ever?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—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—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." +</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!—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—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?" +</p> + +<p> +"—proud conqueror," added John. "She is a lovely +thing—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—we are so glad to see you, John." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you—it's good to be here, Mrs. Vernley." The +dogs, as if welcoming an old friend, bounded forwards. +</p> + +<p> +"Down, Tiger—down, Ruff—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—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.—"Doesn't half work 'em, makes +the 'gods' boil over!" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—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—so you'll have to drive the +buggy." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, bother—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—being here, you know—and +in this room again—and the—photograph—thanks +awfully, old man." +</p> + +<p> +"Thought you were a bit keen, you know—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—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—what on earth are you reading that piffle +for—what's the book?" +</p> + +<p> +"Unto This Last." +</p> + +<p> +"Holy Moses—you're the queerest mixture I've ever +known. Last hols it was "Whose dwelling is—" +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + —"<i>The light of setting suns</i>"—began John—<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—</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—"last time it was the wash +basin." +</p> + +<p> +"It's that infernal Wordsworth—there'll be nothing left +now Ruskin's on the scene too." +</p> + +<p> +"Well—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—Mr. Ribble says—" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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!—Just look at this—wherever—" 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—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—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—a topping girl." +</p> + +<p> +"I hope not—I don't want any one monopolising +Muriel," said John boldly. +</p> + +<p> +"That's all right—I shall look after her friend—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,—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—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—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?—-well I suppose +you've hardly noticed her yet," he added satirically—"it +was so jolly dark—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—the dressing bell +went half an hour ago!" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Who's that?" +</p> + +<p> +"Tod," said Vernley. "Personally I fear nothing from +him—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—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—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— +</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—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—" +</p> + +<p> +"But surely Mr. Vernley—" 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—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—kedgeree!" added Vernley. +</p> + +<p> +"Saturday—grilled ham!" supplemented Muriel. +</p> + +<p> +"Sunday—two eggs," contributed Alice. +</p> + +<p> +"Monday—" 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,—it's your turn," cried Vernley. "Monday—?" +</p> + +<p> +"Monday—liver and bacon!" +</p> + +<p> +"Really," commented Mrs. Vernley, "if cook heard the +way you make fun of her infinite variety—" +</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—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—don't look so glum, Scissors—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?—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—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—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." +</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—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— +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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. +</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—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—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." +</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—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—the car's waiting now. Are you coming, Mr. Ribble?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—" 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—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—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—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—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—" 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—" +</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?"—and turning—"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—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—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—" +</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—" +</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—I'm—" 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—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—no, thanks Tod, I don't want any." +</p> + +<p> +"None of us do—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—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—but I could murder some +one! Come on, boys—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—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—" began John. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But that reveals our sporting instinct." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"What, politics?" +</p> + +<p> +"No—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—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. +</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—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—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?—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—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—when the next holidays +come—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—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—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,—you're almost a man now." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—" 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— +</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—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—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—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. +</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—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?—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—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. +</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—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—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." +</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—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. +</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—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—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—you know you can play it." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Marsh jumped up. "I believe he can do lots of +things—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,"—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—</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—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— +</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—-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—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> + It is a bird that hath no feet for earth:<br> + Strange wings, strange eyes, go seek another sky,<br> + And find thy fellows of an equal birth.</i>"<br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +—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. +</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—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—" 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—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." +</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—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." +</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—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?—you are a strange boy," Veronica said. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not a boy—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—-I've never read her books—are you fond of reading?" +</p> + +<p> +"Awfully." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you like? Have you read Conrad?" +</p> + +<p> +"No." +</p> + +<p> +"Wells—or Bennett?" he added. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—one of Bennett's—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—" +</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—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—she's so crude." +</p> + +<p> +"Who—Veronica—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—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—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,—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—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—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—and now that they were together, so closely +together, it seemed as if they had never been apart. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—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—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. +</p> + +<p> +"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? +</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—" +</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—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. +</p> + +<p> +"Dead!" said John,—"not—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,—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—there seems no hope, sir—the company has +none," he said in an expressionless voice. +</p> + +<p> +"No, Dean, I fear not—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—died fighting," said John, jerkily. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +Then, folding up the letter, "Thank you, sir. I will go +now," he said. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Dean—if you would like to stay here—we can—" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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 & 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—"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—-there were ninety of 'em. I hate +thinking about death." +</p> + +<p> +"And just now—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—how do you mean?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Well—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—supposing there is no money?" +</p> + +<p> +Vernley had never supposed such a thing. He was +silent a moment, thinking. +</p> + +<p> +"You mean—he must go to Cambridge with us?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of course—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—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—and that's +college expenses only. It'll mean a thousand all told." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"And there's my governor—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—there's Scissors." +</p> + +<p> +"Well?" +</p> + +<p> +"You can take a mule to the water, but you can't make +him drink—suppose he wouldn't be helped?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +"He wanted to work for his Exhibition." +</p> + +<p> +"It wasn't that—really—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—and old Scissors wanted it awfully." +</p> + +<p> +"I never knew that—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—" +</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—only a letter from the firm—about a job," said +John. +</p> + +<p> +"A job?" queried Vernley. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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,—I may not be able. I don't know yet how I'm—" +</p> + +<p> +"If it's a matter of—" began Marsh, when a warning +look from Vernley cut him short. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—anyhow, I could eat something," said John, +putting the letter in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"He won't—at least he'll spend part with me," +corrected Marsh. +</p> + +<p> +"Thanks—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—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—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—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—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—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. +</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—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." +</p> + +<p> +"No, but you are wasting a year." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—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—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!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—" +</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—"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—my dear fellow—you must not go on like +this—you'll make yourself ill." +</p> + +<p> +He heard John clear his voice. +</p> + +<p> +"I know—I'm a fool—I'm horribly ashamed of +myself—but—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—I'll behave—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—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—"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: +</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—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—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 —— 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 —— 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—" 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—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. +</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—you can't return +like that." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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—" 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!" +</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—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—"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. +</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—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—" +</p> + +<p> +"But?" +</p> + +<p> +"It is so new, such an adventure." +</p> + +<p> +"That thrills me—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—the original of the plaster statue on the shelf over +the aspidistra—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—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—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." +</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—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—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—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—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—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—I have just left school—it is difficult there." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—and are you starting business; I suppose you're +quite thrilled!" She laughed again and John responded. +</p> + +<p> +"I have not started yet—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—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—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—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"—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—"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—my grandfather was a Courtrai de Courtrai." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—I'm afraid I haven't a card yet—my name's +Dean." +</p> + +<p> +"Have you come to business?" +</p> + +<p> +"No—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,—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?" +</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—I arrived to-day—but I shall like it." +</p> + +<p> +De Courtrai blew more smoke into the air. +</p> + +<p> +"You must get some cards—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—it must be very interesting work, acting." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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— +</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?—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—we're at the top. You're getting your knick-knacks +about, I see." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—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—that's Lindon, the Captain." +</p> + +<p> +"What a wonderful figure!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—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—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—we're in the way—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— +</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—damn it. Glad to +know you, sir!" he stammered, then bowed low. +</p> + +<p> +Embarrassed, John bowed also. +</p> + +<p> +"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 <i>were</i> 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— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + <i>Take a pair of sparklin' eyes<br> + an' a—</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—what a—I'm a +connoisseur too, in my day, Dandy Fisher they call me. +China Station twelve years, twelve years Malta, Gold +Coast—" +</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—John Dean." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Is he—is he dead, sir?" asked John. +</p> + +<p> +The old man straightened himself proudly. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"Not to-night, sir, thank you, it's late." +</p> + +<p> +"So 'tis—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,—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—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— +</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—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—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—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—?" 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—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—thanks, not to-night—I don't—I—" but he could +not say it. She divined it, however. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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,"—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—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—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—in a +choir," he said with a wry smile, pouring out a whiskey +and soda. +</p> + +<p> +"Lor—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—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—" began de Courtrai. +</p> + +<p> +"Dean's my name." +</p> + +<p> +De Courtrai gaped. +</p> + +<p> +"Really if you resent our—" 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—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. +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</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—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—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— +</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—</i><br> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +I can tell him at once—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—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—I've—" +</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—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—" +</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—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—how old are you?—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—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—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?—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—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—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—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—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?" +</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—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—" +</p> + +<p> +"He is very busy to-day ." +</p> + +<p> +"Surely he knew that before?" +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps—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—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—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—" began John. +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps so—but he must know. You want to write +for the paper I suppose?" +</p> + +<p> +"You've guessed it, sir,—but do let me see him," John +pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +"He's engaged with the chief reporter at present—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—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—for emergencies +and for weeding out. You have no experience?" +</p> + +<p> +"No sir, but I—" +</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—" +</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>—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—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—that's Lewis—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—" +</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—but surely," said John, "the newspapers don't +send people like these—what about their dignity?" +</p> + +<p> +"Dignity! There's no such thing in journalism. That +belongs to the leader-writer—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—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." +</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—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——"Who +is she?" +</p> + +<p> +"The Chelsea Poppy—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—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—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—that's Adams of the <i>Argus</i>—clever chap, but thinks +untidiness is a sign of intellect." +</p> + +<p> +"I see he knows the model—he's a Bohemian?" +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But he looks interesting," urged John. +</p> + +<p> +"So he is—you want to meet him?" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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— +</p> + +<p> +"You're new to London?" she said coldly. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, but who told you?" answered John. +</p> + +<p> +"No one,—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—I hope I don't appear—" he stammered. +</p> + +<p> +"It doesn't matter—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—I don't smoke. I can get some." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"You are an art student?" she asked, with a faint +smirk. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh no—I'm on a paper—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—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—" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, drop that, I'm Tilly to every one." +</p> + +<p> +"Tilly then,—you see I haven't left school long." +</p> + +<p> +"I can see that—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—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—and she doesn't pay compliments—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—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—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—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. +</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—am I giving satisfaction, Mr. Merritt?" +</p> + +<p> +The chief reporter looked over the top of his glasses— +</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—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.—"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—we're having a romp." +</p> + +<p> +"But I can't go—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—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. +</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—I don't want to dance any +more—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—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>—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— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + "<i>While shepherds watched their flocks by night<br> + All seated on the—</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'—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—I haven't seen him all the evening." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"Is she staying with you?" asked John. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"But—you're married!" said John, surprised. +</p> + +<p> +She stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +"Married—whatever makes you think that?" +</p> + +<p> +"I thought Mr. Adams—" +</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—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—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?—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—"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—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. +</p> + +<p> +"Lor—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—I've overslept!" +</p> + +<p> +"I should think y'ave, Mr. Dean—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—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—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 <i>her</i>, 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 <i>would</i> meet her +again. There was a dance at the Studio next Friday. +No,—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—I've not laughed so much for +years—you've got the real touch—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—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. +</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—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—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. +</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—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." +</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—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—Mr. Walsh's just going—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?—can you be understood and understand?" +</p> + +<p> +"I—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—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—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." +</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—"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. +</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—how +strange to think he is now a big fellow—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—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." +</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—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—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—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." +</p> + +<p> +"Rot!—Scissors. Let's have the light on, it's getting +creepy." +</p> + +<p> +"No—I want you to play—" +</p> + +<p> +"What, in the dark?" +</p> + +<p> +"Please—play that Brahms again—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—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. +</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,—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. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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"—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. +</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—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. +</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— +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—suppose +we talk of this in a year?" He looked at the intense +young face before him. +</p> + +<p> +"Then you—you don't forbid me, sir—I mean I may +hope—" 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—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—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." +</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—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—" +</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—" 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—it's cracked over the +thigh—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—I like the lad better for his imperfections—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—"when I was quite a girl, and Lieutenant +Ranson, a charming young gentleman, was going to buy me a +copy, but—" +</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—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—and I +can't go on—we can't go on—it's hell!" +</p> + +<p> +"We?—is Tilly unwilling to wait?" +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</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—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—" +</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—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. +</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—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. +</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—I could see you liked me very much, and I was +afraid of you—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—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—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—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—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—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—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—with our navy?" +</p> + +<p> +Vernley got up and shook the sand off his legs. +</p> + +<p> +"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!" +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"And Christianity," added Mrs. Vernley. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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—why it's incredible!" +</p> + +<p> +"But if our honour—" 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—" he began to say. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—you're—you're impossible," muttered Tod. +</p> + +<p> +"You're—you're a professional soldier," retorted Marsh, +and the moment he uttered it, turned white in the face. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"It's all right, Teddie—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—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—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—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. +</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—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—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—I've got to see a few friends." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh—you'll be coming back before I go?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes—" +</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—" +</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—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—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—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—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—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—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— +</p> + +<p> +"Special out—Germany's at war with France—threatening +Luxembourg!" +</p> + +<p> +A minute later, panting, he reached the gate, where +they ran to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +"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?" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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—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—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—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—it's a matter of +honour," asserted Lindon. +</p> + +<p> +"Honour!" cried Marsh. "Honour—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—it—it means war for us?" asked Mrs. Vernley. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes." +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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—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. +</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—well—we've had a good time—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—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—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,—"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—"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. +</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—walking on torn flesh all the way,"—and had +passed on into Belgium. +</p> + +<p> +"God—how I hate it—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—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." +</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—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. +</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—Hotel de la Poste—until +to-night," he replied. +</p> + +<p> +Her face shadowed. +</p> + +<p> +"I have just been fetched. Tod—he is here—dying." +</p> + +<p> +"Tod!" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes—he came out with the Antwerp expedition—I +am just going in to him—come!" +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +"Ah!—his sister?—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—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—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—promise you will take care, I shall be +anxious for you." +</p> + +<p> +"And you—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—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—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." +</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,—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—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. +</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—" 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— +</p> + +<p> +"This lady is—is—" +</p> + +<p> +"That's all right, Marsh—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—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—— 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—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—kid, thanks, I guess I'll pick up a boy." +</p> + +<p> +John put his hand in hers. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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.—for France." +</p> + +<p> +John started. +</p> + +<p> +"But you—you were—" 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—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—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—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—" +</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—" started Marsh, bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</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—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!" +</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—I know it must have been awful—you +needn't tell me." +</p> + +<p> +Marsh lifted his head again, and blew his nose very +hard. +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +Marsh's knuckles whitened as he gripped his handkerchief. +</p> + +<p> +"Scissors, he cut me dead—he didn't even acknowledge +that he heard me—but he <i>saw</i> 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." +</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—the strongest +wins!—but it doesn't follow the strongest is right!" +</p> + +<p> +His eyes softened. +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</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—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—" +</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—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. +</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—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." +</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—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." +</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—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. +</p> + +<p> +"He's—he's not killed?" whispered John hoarsely, +apprehensive of the common answer of these days. +</p> + +<p> +"No—no," she replied, in a quiet nerveless voice— +</p> + +<p> +"worse." +</p> + +<p> +"Worse?" he queried. +</p> + +<p> +"He was wounded four months ago—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—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—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. +</p> + +<p> +"Tilly—you have been married a month—then his—" +</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—and it makes no difference +to me; at least I have him safe now. But for him—" +</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—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—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—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—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—</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—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.</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!—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— +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +"<i>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.</i>" +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p> +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. +</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—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—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." +</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—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.</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—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—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—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—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." +</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—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—you can't mean it!—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—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—" +</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—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—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—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?—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. +</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,—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—" +</p> + +<p> +The man interrupted her eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +"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. +</p> + +<p> +"Frank—this is my friend—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?—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—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—she—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—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—but I want to go away, right away!" +</p> + +<p> +"Well—go back to France. I'll speak to Walsh." +</p> + +<p> +"No—that's too near—right away, if I go anywhere." +</p> + +<p> +Merritt looked at him, but said nothing. John rose. +</p> + +<p> +"Come in to-morrow—Walsh may want to see you." +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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—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—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—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." +</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—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—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—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—" +</p> + +<p> +John put a detaining hand on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +"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—" +</p> + +<p> +"She can't be, Scissors!" interrupted Vernley vehemently. +</p> + +<p> +"Then she is suffering too—don't make it harder." +</p> + +<p> +"It's her fault—no, it's his, I think—he's played upon +her sympathy—he caught her with a—" +</p> + +<p> +"Bobbie—don't!—We—we can't hit him—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—you're a wonderful chap to take it like this! +God! if it had been me—I'd have—I'd have—" +</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—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—" +</p> + +<p> +He could not finish—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— +</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—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—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—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!" +</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—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?—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—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." +</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?—oh yes, I am, I am, but +he must know I am not callous—that I still—" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Graham smiled gently, and took the nervously +clasped hands in hers. +</p> + +<p> +"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." +</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— +</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—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—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." +</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—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." +</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—you must not part with it, after all these +years—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—'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—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—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." +</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'—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." +</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—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?" +</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—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." +</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—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— +</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,—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—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—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—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—what's the matter?—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—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—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." +</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—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>—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— +</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—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—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—" +</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—it's a bad crash," said +the officer, surveying the twisted frame-work through his +glasses. "The engine's half buried—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—hurry them up—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—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—there were two?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir, the pilot probably—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—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,—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—all, all engulfed in +the enduring silence. And for the end of all—this +beneficent peace. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</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> + + |