A Diversity of Creatures (2024)

E-text prepared by Charles Aldarondo, Charlie Kirschner,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team

By Rudyard Kipling

1917

PREFACE

With two exceptions, the dates at the head of thesestories show when they were published in magazine form. 'TheVillage that Voted the Earth was Flat,' and 'My Son's Wife' carrythe dates when they were written.

RUDYARD KIPLING.

CONTENTS

A DIVERSITY OF CREATURES

As Easy as A.B.C.

(1912)

The A.B.C., that semi-elected, semi-nominated bodyof a few score persons, controls the Planet. Transportation isCivilisation, our motto runs. Theoretically we do what we please,so long as we do not interfere with the traffic and all itimplies. Practically, the A.B.C. confirms or annuls allinternational arrangements, and, to judge from its last report,finds our tolerant, humorous, lazy little Planet only too ready toshift the whole burden of public administration on itsshoulders.

'With the Night Mail[1].'

[1]Actions and Reactions.

Isn't it almost time that our Planet took some interest in theproceedings of the Aërial Board of Control? One knows thateasy communications nowadays, and lack of privacy in the past, havekilled all curiosity among mankind, but as the Board's OfficialReporter I am bound to tell my tale.

At 9.30 A.M., August 26, A.D. 2065, the Board, sitting inLondon, was informed by De Forest that the District of NorthernIllinois had riotously cut itself out of all systems and wouldremain disconnected till the Board should take over and administerit direct.

Every Northern Illinois freight and passenger tower was, hereported, out of action; all District main, local, and guidinglights had been extinguished; all General Communications were dumb,and through traffic had been diverted. No reason had been given,but he gathered unofficially from the Mayor of Chicago that theDistrict complained of 'crowd-making and invasion of privacy.'

As a matter of fact, it is of no importance whether NorthernIllinois stay in or out of planetary circuit; as a matter ofpolicy, any complaint of invasion of privacy needs immediateinvestigation, lest worse follow.

By 9-45 A.M. De Forest, Dragomiroff (Russia), Takahira (Japan),and Pirolo (Italy) were empowered to visit Illinois and 'to takesuch steps as might be necessary for the resumption of traffic andall that that implies.' By 10 A.M. the Hall was empty, andthe four Members and I were aboard what Pirolo insisted on calling'my leetle godchild'--that is to say, the new Victor Pirolo.Our Planet prefers to know Victor Pirolo as a gentle, grey-hairedenthusiast who spends his time near Foggia, inventing or creatingnew breeds of Spanish-Italian olive-trees; but there is anotherside to his nature--the manufacture of quaint inventions, of whichthe Victor Pirolo is, perhaps, not the least surprising. Sheand a few score sister-craft of the same type embody his latestideas. But she is not comfortable. An A.B.C. boat does not take theair with the level-keeled lift of a liner, but shoots uprocket-fashion like the 'aeroplane' of our ancestors, and makes herheight at top-speed from the first. That is why I found myselfsitting suddenly on the large lap of Eustace Arnott, who commandsthe A.B.C. Fleet. One knows vaguely that there is such a thing as aFleet somewhere on the Planet, and that, theoretically, it existsfor the purposes of what used to be known as 'war.' Only a weekbefore, while visiting a glacier sanatorium behind Gothaven, I hadseen some squadrons making false auroras far to the north whilethey manoeuvred round the Pole; but, naturally, it had neveroccurred to me that the things could be used in earnest.

Said Arnott to De Forest as I staggered to a seat on thechart-room divan: 'We're tremendously grateful to 'em in Illinois.We've never had a chance of exercising all the Fleet together. I'veturned in a General Call, and I expect we'll have at least twohundred keels aloft this evening.'

'Well aloft?' De Forest asked.

'Of course, sir. Out of sight till they're called for.'

Arnott laughed as he lolled over the transparent chart-tablewhere the map of the summer-blue Atlantic slid along, degree bydegree, in exact answer to our progress. Our dial already showed320 m.p.h. and we were two thousand feet above the uppermosttraffic lines.

'Now, where is this Illinois District of yours?' saidDragomiroff. 'One travels so much, one sees so little. Oh, Iremember! It is in North America.'

De Forest, whose business it is to know the out districts, toldus that it lay at the foot of Lake Michigan, on a road to nowherein particular, was about half an hour's run from end to end, and,except in one corner, as flat as the sea. Like most flat countriesnowadays, it was heavily guarded against invasion of privacy byforced timber--fifty-foot spruce and tamarack, grown in five years.The population was close on two millions, largely migratory betweenFlorida and California, with a backbone of small farms (they call athousand acres a farm in Illinois) whose owners come into Chicagofor amusem*nts and society during the winter. They were, he said,noticeably kind, quiet folk, but a little exacting, as all flatcountries must be, in their notions of privacy. There had, forinstance, been no printed news-sheet in Illinois for twenty-sevenyears. Chicago argued that engines for printed news sooner or laterdeveloped into engines for invasion of privacy, which in turn mightbring the old terror of Crowds and blackmail back to the Planet. Sonews-sheets were not.

'And that's Illinois,' De Forest concluded. 'You see, in the OldDays, she was in the forefront of what they used to call"progress," and Chicago--'

'Chicago?' said Takahira. 'That's the little place where thereis Salati's Statue of the nigg*r in Flames? A fine bit of oldwork.'

'When did you see it?' asked De Forest quickly. 'They onlyunveil it once a year.'

'I know. At Thanksgiving. It was then,' said Takahira, with ashudder. 'And they sang MacDonough's Song, too.'

'Whew!' De Forest whistled. 'I did not know that! I wish you'dtold me before. MacDonough's Song may have had its uses when it wascomposed, but it was an infernal legacy for any man to leavebehind.'

'It's protective instinct, my dear fellows,' said Pirolo,rolling a cigarette. 'The Planet, she has had her dose of populargovernment. She suffers from inherited agoraphobia. She hasno--ah--use for Crowds.'

Dragomiroff leaned forward to give him a light. 'Certainly,'said the white-bearded Russian, 'the Planet has taken allprecautions against Crowds for the past hundred years. What is ourtotal population to-day? Six hundred million, we hope; fivehundred, we think; but--but if next year's census shows more thanfour hundred and fifty, I myself will eat all the extra littlebabies. We have cut the birth-rate out--right out! For a long timewe have said to Almighty God, "Thank You, Sir, but we do not muchlike Your game of life, so we will not play."'

'Anyhow,' said Arnott defiantly, 'men live a century apiece onthe average now.'

'Oh, that is quite well! I am rich--you are rich--we are allrich and happy because we are so few and we live so long. OnlyI think Almighty God He will remember what the Planet waslike in the time of Crowds and the Plague. Perhaps He will send usnerves. Eh, Pirolo?'

The Italian blinked into space. 'Perhaps,' he said, 'He has sentthem already. Anyhow, you cannot argue with the Planet. She doesnot forget the Old Days, and--what can you do?'

'For sure we can't remake the world.' De Forest glanced at themap flowing smoothly across the table from west to east. 'We oughtto be over our ground by nine to-night. There won't be much sleepafterwards.'

On which hint we dispersed, and I slept till Takahira waked mefor dinner. Our ancestors thought nine hours' sleep ample for theirlittle lives. We, living thirty years longer, feel ourselvesdefrauded with less than eleven out of the twenty-four.

By ten o'clock we were over Lake Michigan. The west shore waslightless, except for a dull ground-glare at Chicago, and a singletraffic-directing light--its leading beam pointing north--atWaukegan on our starboard bow. None of the Lake villages gave anysign of life; and inland, westward, so far as we could see,blackness lay unbroken on the level earth. We swooped down andskimmed low across the dark, throwing calls county by county. Nowand again we picked up the faint glimmer of a house-light, or heardthe rasp and rend of a cultivator being played across the fields,but Northern Illinois as a whole was one inky, apparentlyuninhabited, waste of high, forced woods. Only our illuminated map,with its little pointer switching from county to county as wewheeled and twisted, gave us any idea of our position. Our calls,urgent, pleading, coaxing or commanding, through the GeneralCommunicator brought no answer. Illinois strictly maintained herown privacy in the timber which she grew for that purpose.

'Oh, this is absurd!' said De Forest. 'We're like an owl tryingto work a wheat-field. Is this Bureau Creek? Let's land, Arnott,and get hold of some one.'

We brushed over a belt of forced woodland--fifteen-year-oldmaple sixty feet high--grounded on a private meadow-dock, none toobig, where we moored to our own grapnels, and hurried out throughthe warm dark night towards a light in a verandah. As we neared thegarden gate I could have sworn we had stepped knee-deep inquicksand, for we could scarcely drag our feet against theprickling currents that clogged them. After five paces we stopped,wiping our foreheads, as hopelessly stuck on dry smooth turf as somany cows in a bog.

'Pest!' cried Pirolo angrily. 'We are ground-circuited. And itis my own system of ground-circuits too! I know the pull.'

'Good evening,' said a girl's voice from the verandah. 'Oh, I'msorry! We've locked up. Wait a minute.'

We heard the click of a switch, and almost fell forward as thecurrents round our knees were withdrawn.

The girl laughed, and laid aside her knitting. An old-fashionedController stood at her elbow, which she reversed from time totime, and we could hear the snort and clank of the obedientcultivator half a mile away, behind the guardian woods.

'Come in and sit down,' she said. 'I'm only playing a plough.Dad's gone to Chicago to--Ah! Then it was your call I heardjust now!'

She had caught sight of Arnott's Board uniform, leaped to theswitch, and turned it full on.

We were checked, gasping, waist-deep in current this time, threeyards from the verandah.

'We only want to know what's the matter with Illinois,' said DeForest placidly.

'Then hadn't you better go to Chicago and find out?' sheanswered. 'There's nothing wrong here. We own ourselves.'

'How can we go anywhere if you won't loose us?' De Forest wenton, while Arnott scowled. Admirals of Fleets are still quite humanwhen their dignity is touched.

'Stop a minute--you don't know how funny you look!' She put herhands on her hips and laughed mercilessly.

'Don't worry about that,' said Arnott, and whistled. A voiceanswered from the Victor Pirolo in the meadow.

'Only a single-fuse ground-circuit!' Arnott called. 'Sort it outgently, please.'

We heard the ping of a breaking lamp; a fuse blew out somewherein the verandah roof, frightening a nestful of birds. Theground-circuit was open. We stooped and rubbed our tinglingankles.

'How rude--how very rude of you!' the maiden cried.

''Sorry, but we haven't time to look funny,' said Arnott. 'We'vegot to go to Chicago; and if I were you, young lady, I'd go intothe cellars for the next two hours, and take mother with me.'

Off he strode, with us at his heels, muttering indignantly, tillthe humour of the thing struck and doubled him up with laughter atthe foot of the gang-way ladder.

'The Board hasn't shown what you might call a fat spark on thisoccasion,' said De Forest, wiping his eyes. 'I hope I didn't lookas big a fool as you did, Arnott! Hullo! What on earth is that? Dadcoming home from Chicago?'

There was a rattle and a rush, and a five-plough cultivator,blades in air like so many teeth, trundled itself at us round theedge of the timber, fuming and sparking furiously.

'Jump!' said Arnott, as we bundled ourselves through thenone-too-wide door. 'Never mind about shutting it. Up!'

The Victor Pirolo lifted like a bubble, and the viciousmachine shot just underneath us, clawing high as it passed.

'There's a nice little spit-kitten for you!' said Arnott,dusting his knees. 'We ask her a civil question. First she circuitsus and then she plays a cultivator at us!'

'And then we fly,' said Dragomiroff. 'If I were forty years moreyoung, I would go back and kiss her. Ho! Ho!'

'I,' said Pirolo, 'would smack her! My pet ship has been chasedby a dirty plough; a--how do you say?--agricultural implement.'

'Oh, that is Illinois all over,' said De Forest. 'They don'tcontent themselves with talking about privacy. They arrange to haveit. And now, where's your alleged fleet, Arnott? We must assertourselves against this wench.'

Arnott pointed to the black heavens.

'Waiting on--up there,' said he. 'Shall I give them the wholeinstallation, sir?'

'Oh, I don't think the young lady is quite worth that,' said DeForest. 'Get over Chicago, and perhaps we'll see something.'

In a few minutes we were hanging at two thousand feet over anoblong block of incandescence in the centre of the little town.

'That looks like the old City Hall. Yes, there's Salati's Statuein front of it,' said Takahira. 'But what on earth are they doingto the place? I thought they used it for a market nowadays! Drop alittle, please.'

We could hear the sputter and crackle of road-surfacingmachines--the cheap Western type which fuse stone and rubbish intolava-like ribbed glass for their rough country roads. Three or foursurfacers worked on each side of a square of ruins. The brick andstone wreckage crumbled, slid forward, and presently spread outinto white-hot pools of sticky slag, which the levelling-rodssmoothed more or less flat. Already a third of the big block hadbeen so treated, and was cooling to dull red before our astonishedeyes.

'It is the Old Market,' said De Forest. 'Well, there's nothingto prevent Illinois from making a road through a market. It doesn'tinterfere with traffic, that I can see.'

'Hsh!' said Arnott, gripping me by the shoulder. 'Listen!They're singing. Why on the earth are they singing?'

We dropped again till we could see the black fringe of people atthe edge of that glowing square.

At first they only roared against the roar of the surfacers andlevellers. Then the words came up clearly--the words of theForbidden Song that all men knew, and none let pass theirlips--poor Pat MacDonough's Song, made in the days of the Crowdsand the Plague--every silly word of it loaded to sparking-pointwith the Planet's inherited memories of horror, panic, fear andcruelty. And Chicago--innocent, contented little Chicago--wassinging it aloud to the infernal tune that carried riot, pestilenceand lunacy round our Planet a few generations ago!

'Once there was The People--Terror gave it birth;
Once there was The People, and it made a hell ofearth!'

(Then the stamp and pause):

'Earth arose and crushed it. Listen, oh, ye slain!
Once there was The People--it shall never be again!'

The levellers thrust in savagely against the ruins as the songrenewed itself again, again and again, louder than the crash of themelting walls.

De Forest frowned.

'I don't like that,' he said. 'They've broken back to the OldDays! They'll be killing somebody soon. I think we'd better divert'em, Arnott.'

'Ay, ay, sir.' Arnott's hand went to his cap, and we heard thehull of the Victor Pirolo ring to the command: 'Lamps! Bothwatches stand by! Lamps! Lamps! Lamps!'

'Keep still!' Takahira whispered to me. 'Blinkers, please,quartermaster.'

'It's all right--all right!' said Pirolo from behind, and to myhorror slipped over my head some sort of rubber helmet that lockedwith a snap. I could feel thick colloid bosses before my eyes, butI stood in absolute darkness.

'To save the sight,' he explained, and pushed me on to thechart-room divan. 'You will see in a minute.'

As he spoke I became aware of a thin thread of almostintolerable light, let down from heaven at an immense distance--onevertical hairsbreadth of frozen lightning.

'Those are our flanking ships,' said Arnott at my elbow. 'Thatone is over Galena. Look south--that other one's over Keithburg.Vincennes is behind us, and north yonder is Winthrop Woods. TheFleet's in position, sir'--this to De Forest. 'As soon as you givethe word.'

'Ah no! No!' cried Dragomiroff at my side. I could feel the oldman tremble. 'I do not know all that you can do, but be kind! I askyou to be a little kind to them below! This ishorrible--horrible!'

'When a Woman kills a Chicken,
Dynasties and Empires sicken,'

Takahira quoted. 'It is too late to be gentle now.'

'Then take off my helmet! Take off my helmet!' Dragomiroff beganhysterically.

Pirolo must have put his arm round him.

'Hush,' he said, 'I am here. It is all right, Ivan, my dearfellow.'

'I'll just send our little girl in Bureau County a warning,'said Arnott. 'She don't deserve it, but we'll allow her a minute ortwo to take mamma to the cellar.'

In the utter hush that followed the growling spark after Arnotthad linked up his Service Communicator with the invisible Fleet, weheard MacDonough's Song from the city beneath us grow fainter as werose to position. Then I clapped my hand before my mask lenses, forit was as though the floor of Heaven had been riddled and all theinconceivable blaze of suns in the making was poured through themanholes.

'You needn't count,' said Arnott. I had had no thought of such athing. 'There are two hundred and fifty keels up there, five milesapart. Full power, please, for another twelve seconds.'

The firmament, as far as eye could reach, stood on pillars ofwhite fire. One fell on the glowing square at Chicago, and turnedit black.

'Oh! Oh! Oh! Can men be allowed to do such things?' Dragomiroffcried, and fell across our knees.

'Glass of water, please,' said Takahira to a helmeted shape thatleaped forward. 'He is a little faint.'

The lights switched off, and the darkness stunned like anavalanche. We could hear Dragomiroff's teeth on the glass edge.

Pirolo was comforting him.

'All right, all ra-ight,' he repeated. 'Come and lie down. Comebelow and take off your mask. I give you my word, old friend, it isall right. They are my siege-lights. Little Victor Pirolo's leetlelights. You know me! I do not hurt people.'

'Pardon!' Dragomiroff moaned. 'I have never seen Death. I havenever seen the Board take action. Shall we go down and burn themalive, or is that already done?'

'Oh, hush,' said Pirolo, and I think he rocked him in hisarms.

'Do we repeat, sir?' Arnott asked De Forest.

'Give 'em a minute's break,' De Forest replied. 'They may needit.'

We waited a minute, and then MacDonough's Song, broken butdefiant, rose from undefeated Chicago.

'They seem fond of that tune,' said De Forest. 'I should let 'emhave it, Arnott.'

'Very good, sir,' said Arnott, and felt his way to theCommunicator keys.

No lights broke forth, but the hollow of the skies made herselfthe mouth for one note that touched the raw fibre of the brain. Menhear such sounds in delirium, advancing like tides from horizonsbeyond the ruled foreshores of space.

'That's our pitch-pipe,' said Arnott. 'We may be a bit ragged.I've never conducted two hundred and fifty performers before.' Hepulled out the couplers, and struck a full chord on the ServiceCommunicators.

The beams of light leaped down again, and danced, solemnly andawfully, a stilt-dance, sweeping thirty or forty miles left andright at each stiff-legged kick, while the darkness delivereditself--there is no scale to measure against that utterance--of thetune to which they kept time. Certain notes--one learnt to expectthem with terror--cut through one's marrow, but, after threeminutes, thought and emotion passed in indescribable agony.

We saw, we heard, but I think we were in some sort swooning. Thetwo hundred and fifty beams shifted, re-formed, straddled andsplit, narrowed, widened, rippled in ribbons, broke into a thousandwhite-hot parallel lines, melted and revolved in interwoven ringslike old-fashioned engine-turning, flung up to the zenith, made asif to descend and renew the torment, halted at the last instant,twizzled insanely round the horizon, and vanished, to bring backfor the hundredth time darkness more shattering than theirinstantly renewed light over all Illinois. Then the tune and lightsceased together, and we heard one single devastating wail thatshook all the horizon as a rubbed wet finger shakes the rim of abowl.

'Ah, that is my new siren,' said Pirolo. 'You can break aniceberg in half, if you find the proper pitch. They will whistle bysquadrons now. It is the wind through pierced shutters in thebows.'

I had collapsed beside Dragomiroff, broken and snivellingfeebly, because I had been delivered before my time to all theterrors of Judgment Day, and the Archangels of the Resurrectionwere hailing me naked across the Universe to the sound of the musicof the spheres.

Then I saw De Forest smacking Arnott's helmet with his openhand. The wailing died down in a long shriek as a black shadowswooped past us, and returned to her place above the lowerclouds.

'I hate to interrupt a specialist when he's enjoying himself,'said De Forest. 'But, as a matter of fact, all Illinois has beenasking us to stop for these last fifteen seconds.'

'What a pity.' Arnott slipped off his mask. 'I wanted you tohear us really hum. Our lower C can lift street-paving.'

'It is Hell--Hell!' cried Dragomiroff, and sobbed aloud.

Arnott looked away as he answered:

'It's a few thousand volts ahead of the oldshoot-'em-and-sink-'em game, but I should scarcely call itthat. What shall I tell the Fleet, sir?'

'Tell 'em we're very pleased and impressed. I don't think theyneed wait on any longer. There isn't a spark left down there.' DeForest pointed. 'They'll be deaf and blind.'

'Oh, I think not, sir. The demonstration lasted less than tenminutes.'

'Marvellous!' Takahira sighed. 'I should have said it was half anight. Now, shall we go down and pick up the pieces?'

'But first a small drink,' said Pirolo. 'The Board must notarrive weeping at its own works.'

'I am an old fool--an old fool!' Dragomiroff began piteously. 'Idid not know what would happen. It is all new to me. We reason withthem in Little Russia.'

Chicago North landing-tower was unlighted, and Arnott worked hisship into the clips by her own lights. As soon as these broke outwe heard groanings of horror and appeal from many people below.

'All right,' shouted Arnott into the darkness. 'We aren'tbeginning again!' We descended by the stairs, to find ourselvesknee-deep in a grovelling crowd, some crying that they were blind,others beseeching us not to make any more noises, but the greaterpart writhing face downward, their hands or their caps before theireyes.

It was Pirolo who came to our rescue. He climbed the side of asurfacing-machine, and there, gesticulating as though they couldsee, made oration to those afflicted people of Illinois.

'You stchewpids!' he began. 'There is nothing to fuss for. Ofcourse, your eyes will smart and be red to-morrow. You will look asif you and your wives had drunk too much, but in a little while youwill see again as well as before. I tell you this, and I--I amPirolo. Victor Pirolo!'

The crowd with one accord shuddered, for many legends attach toVictor Pirolo of Foggia, deep in the secrets of God.

'Pirolo?' An unsteady voice lifted itself. 'Then tell us wasthere anything except light in those lights of yours just now?'

The question was repeated from every corner of the darkness.

Pirolo laughed.

'No!' he thundered. (Why have small men such large voices?) 'Igive you my word and the Board's word that there was nothing exceptlight--just light! You stchewpids! Your birth-rate is too lowalready as it is. Some day I must invent something to send it up,but send it down--never!'

'Is that true?--We thought--somebody said--'

One could feel the tension relax all round.

'You too big fools,' Pirolo cried. 'You could have sent us acall and we would have told you.'

'Send you a call!' a deep voice shouted. 'I wish you had been atour end of the wire.'

'I'm glad I wasn't,' said De Forest. 'It was bad enough frombehind the lamps. Never mind! It's over now. Is there any one hereI can talk business with? I'm De Forest--for the Board.'

'You might begin with me, for one--I'm Mayor,' the bass voicereplied.

A big man rose unsteadily from the street, and staggered towardsus where we sat on the broad turf-edging, in front of the gardenfences.

'I ought to be the first on my feet. Am I?' said he.

'Yes,' said De Forest, and steadied him as he dropped downbeside us.

'Hello, Andy. Is that you?' a voice called.

'Excuse me,' said the Mayor; 'that sounds like my Chief ofPolice, Bluthner!'

'Bluthner it is; and here's Mulligan and Keefe--on theirfeet.'

'Bring 'em up please, Blut. We're supposed to be the Four incharge of this hamlet. What we says, goes. And, De Forest, what doyou say?'

'Nothing--yet,' De Forest answered, as we made room for thepanting, reeling men. 'You've cut out of system. Well?'

'Tell the steward to send down drinks, please,' Arnott whisperedto an orderly at his side.

'Good!' said the Mayor, smacking his dry lips. 'Now I suppose wecan take it, De Forest, that henceforward the Board will administerus direct?'

'Not if the Board can avoid it,' De Forest laughed. 'The A.B.C.is responsible for the planetary traffic only.'

'And all that that implies.' The big Four who ran Chicagochanted their Magna Charta like children at school.

'Well, get on,' said De Forest wearily. 'What is your sillytrouble anyway?'

'Too much dam' Democracy,' said the Mayor, laying his hand on DeForest's knee.

'So? I thought Illinois had had her dose of that.'

'She has. That's why. Blut, what did you do with our prisonerslast night?'

'Locked 'em in the water-tower to prevent the women killing'em,' the Chief of Police replied. 'I'm too blind to move just yet,but--'

'Arnott, send some of your people, please, and fetch 'em along,'said De Forest.

'They're triple-circuited,' the Mayor called. 'You'll have toblow out three fuses.' He turned to De Forest, his large outlinejust visible in the paling darkness. 'I hate to throw any more workon the Board. I'm an administrator myself, but we've had a littlefuss with our Serviles. What? In a big city there's bound to be afew men and women who can't live without listening to themselves,and who prefer drinking out of pipes they don't own both ends of.They inhabit flats and hotels all the year round. They say it saves'em trouble. Anyway, it gives 'em more time to make trouble fortheir neighbours. We call 'em Serviles locally. And they are apt tobe tuberculous.'

'Just so!' said the man called Mulligan. Transportation isCivilisation. Democracy is Disease. I've proved it by theblood-test, every time.'

'Mulligan's our Health Officer, and a one-idea man,' said theMayor, laughing. 'But it's true that most Serviles haven't muchcontrol. They will talk; and when people take to talking asa business, anything may arrive--mayn't it, De Forest?'

'Anything--except the facts of the case,' said De Forest,laughing.

'I'll give you those in a minute,' said the Mayor. 'Our Servilesgot to talking--first in their houses and then on the streets,telling men and women how to manage their own affairs. (You can'tteach a Servile not to finger his neighbour's soul.) That'sinvasion of privacy, of course, but in Chicago we'll sufferanything sooner than make Crowds. Nobody took much notice, and so Ilet 'em alone. My fault! I was warned there would be trouble, butthere hasn't been a Crowd or murder in Illinois for nineteenyears.'

'Twenty-two,' said his Chief of Police.

'Likely. Anyway, we'd forgot such things. So, from talking inthe houses and on the streets, our Serviles go to calling a meetingat the Old Market yonder.' He nodded across the square where thewrecked buildings heaved up grey in the dawn-glimmer behind thesquare-cased statue of The Negro in Flames. 'There's nothing toprevent any one calling meetings except that it's against humannature to stand in a Crowd, besides being bad for the health. Iought to have known by the way our men and women attended thatfirst meeting that trouble was brewing. There were as many as athousand in the market-place, touching each other. Touching! Thenthe Serviles turned in all tongue-switches and talked, andwe--'

'What did they talk about?' said Takahira.

'First, how badly things were managed in the city. That pleasedus Four--we were on the platform--because we hoped to catch one ortwo good men for City work. You know how rare executive capacityis. Even if we didn't it's--it's refreshing to find any oneinterested enough in our job to damn our eyes. You don't know whatit means to work, year in, year out, without a spark of differencewith a living soul.'

'Oh, don't we!' said De Forest. 'There are times on the Boardwhen we'd give our positions if any one would kick us out and takehold of things themselves.'

'But they won't,' said the Mayor ruefully. 'I assure you, sir,we Four have done things in Chicago, in the hope of rousing people,that would have discredited Nero. But what do they say? "Very good,Andy. Have it your own way. Anything's better than a Crowd. I'll goback to my land." You can't do anything with folk who can gowhere they please, and don't want anything on God's earth excepttheir own way. There isn't a kick or a kicker left on thePlanet.'

'Then I suppose that little shed yonder fell down by itself?'said De Forest. We could see the bare and still smoking ruins, andhear the slag-pools crackle as they hardened and set.

'Oh, that's only amusem*nt. 'Tell you later. As I was saying,our Serviles held the meeting, and pretty soon we had toground-circuit the platform to save 'em from being killed. And thatdidn't make our people any more pacific.'

'How d'you mean?' I ventured to ask.

'If you've ever been ground-circuited,' said the Mayor, 'you'llknow it don't improve any man's temper to be held up strainingagainst nothing. No, sir! Eight or nine hundred folk kept pawingand buzzing like flies in treacle for two hours, while a pack ofperfectly safe Serviles invades their mental and spiritual privacy,may be amusing to watch, but they are not pleasant to handleafterwards.'

Pirolo chuckled.

'Our folk own themselves. They were of opinion things were goingtoo far and too fiery. I warned the Serviles; but they're bornhouse-dwellers. Unless a fact hits 'em on the head they cannot seeit. Would you believe me, they went on to talk of what they called"popular government"? They did! They wanted us to go back to theold Voodoo-business of voting with papers and wooden boxes, andword-drunk people and printed formulas, and news-sheets! They saidthey practised it among themselves about what they'd have to eat intheir flats and hotels. Yes, sir! They stood up behind Bluthner'sdoubled ground-circuits, and they said that, in this present yearof grace, to self-owning men and women, on that veryspot! Then they finished'--he lowered his voice cautiously--'bytalking about "The People." And then Bluthner he had to sit up allnight in charge of the circuits because he couldn't trust his mento keep 'em shut.'

'It was trying 'em too high,' the Chief of Police broke in. 'Butwe couldn't hold the Crowd ground-circuited for ever. I gathered inall the Serviles on charge of Crowd-making, and put 'em in thewater-tower, and then I let things cut loose. I had to! TheDistrict lit like a sparked gas-tank!'

'The news was out over seven degrees of country,' the Mayorcontinued; 'and when once it's a question of invasion of privacy,good-bye to right and reason in Illinois! They began turning outtraffic-lights and locking up landing-towers on Thursday night.Friday, they stopped all traffic and asked for the Board to takeover. Then they wanted to clean Chicago off the side of the Lakeand rebuild elsewhere--just for a souvenir of "The People" that theServiles talked about. I suggested that they should slag the OldMarket where the meeting was held, while I turned in a call to youall on the Board. That kept 'em quiet till you came along. And--andnow you can take hold of the situation.'

'Any chance of their quieting down?' De Forest asked.

'You can try,' said the Mayor.

De Forest raised his voice in the face of the reviving Crowdthat had edged in towards us. Day was come.

'Don't you think this business can be arranged?' he began. Butthere was a roar of angry voices:

'We've finished with Crowds! We aren't going back to the OldDays! Take us over! Take the Serviles away! Administer direct orwe'll kill 'em! Down with The People!'

An attempt was made to begin MacDonough's Song. It got nofurther than the first line, for the Victor Pirolo sent downa warning drone on one stopped horn. A wrecked side-wall of the OldMarket tottered and fell inwards on the slag-pools. None spoke ormoved till the last of the dust had settled down again, turning thesteel case of Salati's Statue ashy grey.

'You see you'll just have to take us over,' the Mayorwhispered.

De Forest shrugged his shoulders.

'You talk as if executive capacity could be snatched out of theair like so much horse-power. Can't you manage yourselves on anyterms?' he said.

'We can, if you say so. It will only cost those few lives tobegin with,'

The Mayor pointed across the square, where Arnott's men guided astumbling group of ten or twelve men and women to the lake frontand halted them under the Statue.

'Now I think,' said Takahira under his breath, 'there will betrouble.'

The mass in front of us growled like beasts.

At that moment the sun rose clear, and revealed the blinkingassembly to itself. As soon as it realized that it was a crowd wesaw the shiver of horror and mutual repulsion shoot across itprecisely as the steely flaws shot across the lake outside. Nothingwas said, and, being half blind, of course it moved slowly. Yet inless than fifteen minutes most of that vast multitude--threethousand at the lowest count--melted away like frost on southeaves. The remnant stretched themselves on the grass, where a crowdfeels and looks less like a crowd.

'These mean business,' the Mayor whispered to Takahira. 'Thereare a goodish few women there who've borne children. I don't likeit.'

The morning draught off the lake stirred the trees round us withpromise of a hot day; the sun reflected itself dazzlingly on thecanister-shaped covering of Salati's Statue; co*cks crew in thegardens, and we could hear gate-latches clicking in the distance aspeople stumblingly resought their homes.

'I'm afraid there won't be any morning deliveries,' said DeForest. 'We rather upset things in the country last night.'

'That makes no odds,' the Mayor returned. 'We're all provisionedfor six months. We take no chances.'

Nor, when you come to think of it, does any one else. It must bethree-quarters of a generation since any house or city faced a foodshortage. Yet is there house or city on the Planet to-day that hasnot half a year's provisions laid in? We are like the shipwreckedseamen in the old books, who, having once nearly starved to death,ever afterwards hide away bits of food and biscuit. Truly we trustno Crowds, nor system based on Crowds!

De Forest waited till the last footstep had died away. Meantimethe prisoners at the base of the Statue shuffled, posed, andfidgeted, with the shamelessness of quite little children. None ofthem were more than six feet high, and many of them were asgrey-haired as the ravaged, harassed heads of old pictures. Theyhuddled together in actual touch, while the crowd, spaced at largeintervals, looked at them with congested eyes.

Suddenly a man among them began to talk. The Mayor had not inthe least exaggerated. It appeared that our Planet lay sunk inslavery beneath the heel of the Aërial Board of Control. Theorator urged us to arise in our might, burst our prison doors andbreak our fetters (all his metaphors, by the way, were of the mostmediæval). Next he demanded that every matter of daily life,including most of the physical functions, should be submitted fordecision at any time of the week, month, or year to, I gathered,anybody who happened to be passing by or residing within a certainradius, and that everybody should forthwith abandon his concerns tosettle the matter, first by crowd-making, next by talking to thecrowds made, and lastly by describing crosses on pieces of paper,which rubbish should later be counted with certain mysticceremonies and oaths. Out of this amazing play, he assured us,would automatically arise a higher, nobler, and kinder world,based--he demonstrated this with the awful lucidity of theinsane--based on the sanctity of the Crowd and the villainy of thesingle person. In conclusion, he called loudly upon God to testifyto his personal merits and integrity. When the flow ceased, Iturned bewildered to Takahira, who was nodding solemnly.

'Quite correct,' said he. 'It is all in the old books. He hasleft nothing out, not even the war-talk.'

'But I don't see how this stuff can upset a child, much less adistrict,' I replied.

'Ah, you are too young,' said Dragomiroff. 'For another thing,you are not a mamma. Please look at the mammas.'

Ten or fifteen women who remained had separated themselves fromthe silent men, and were drawing in towards the prisoners. Itreminded one of the stealthy encircling, before the rush in at thequarry, of wolves round musk-oxen in the North. The prisoners saw,and drew together more closely. The Mayor covered his face with hishands for an instant. De Forest, bareheaded, stepped forwardbetween the prisoners, and the slowly, stiffly moving line.

'That's all very interesting,' he said to the dry-lipped orator.'But the point seems that you've been making crowds and invadingprivacy.'

A woman stepped forward, and would have spoken, but there was aquick assenting murmur from the men, who realised that De Forestwas trying to pull the situation down to ground-line.

'Yes! Yes!' they cried. 'We cut out because they made crowds andinvaded privacy! Stick to that! Keep on that switch! Lift theServiles out of this! The Board's in charge! Hsh!'

'Yes, the Board's in charge,' said De Forest. 'I'll take formalevidence of crowd-making if you like, but the Members of the Boardcan testify to it. Will that do?'

The women had closed in another pace, with hands that clenchedand unclenched at their sides.

'Good! Good enough!' the men cried. 'We're content. Only takethem away quickly.'

'Come along up!' said De Forest to the captives, 'Breakfast isquite ready.'

It appeared, however, that they did not wish to go. Theyintended to remain in Chicago and make crowds. They pointed outthat De Forest's proposal was gross invasion of privacy.

'My dear fellow,' said Pirolo to the most voluble of theleaders, 'you hurry, or your crowd that can't be wrong will killyou!'

'But that would be murder,' answered the believer in crowds; andthere was a roar of laughter from all sides that seemed to show thecrisis had broken.

A woman stepped forward from the line of women, laughing, Iprotest, as merrily as any of the company. One hand, of course,shaded her eyes, the other was at her throat.

'Oh, they needn't be afraid of being killed!' she called.

'Not in the least,' said De Forest. 'But don't you think that,now the Board's in charge, you might go home while we get thesepeople away?'

'I shall be home long before that. It--it has been rather atrying day.'

She stood up to her full height, dwarfing even De Forest'ssix-foot-eight, and smiled, with eyes closed against the fiercelight.

'Yes, rather,' said De Forest. 'I'm afraid you feel the glare alittle. We'll have the ship down.'

He motioned to the Pirolo to drop between us and the sun,and at the same time to loop-circuit the prisoners, who were atrifle unsteady. We saw them stiffen to the current where theystood. The woman's voice went on, sweet and deep and unshaken:

'I don't suppose you men realise how much this--this sort ofthing means to a woman. I've borne three. We women don't want ourchildren given to Crowds. It must be an inherited instinct. Crowdsmake trouble. They bring back the Old Days. Hate, fear, blackmail,publicity, "The People"--That! That! That!' She pointed tothe Statue, and the crowd growled once more.

'Yes, if they are allowed to go on,' said De Forest. 'But thislittle affair--'

'It means so much to us women that this--this little affairshould never happen again. Of course, never's a big word, but onefeels so strongly that it is important to stop crowds at the verybeginning. Those creatures'--she pointed with her left hand at theprisoners swaying like seaweed in a tideway as the circuit pulledthem--'those people have friends and wives and children in the cityand elsewhere. One doesn't want anything done to them, youknow. It's terrible to force a human being out of fifty or sixtyyears of good life. I'm only forty myself. I know. But, atthe same time, one feels that an example should be made, because noprice is too heavy to pay if--if these people and all that theyimply can be put an end to. Do you quite understand, or wouldyou be kind enough to tell your men to take the casing off theStatue? It's worth looking at.'

'I understand perfectly. But I don't think anybody here wants tosee the Statue on an empty stomach. Excuse me one moment.' DeForest called up to the ship, 'A flying loop ready on the portside, if you please.' Then to the woman he said with somecrispness, 'You might leave us a little discretion in thematter.'

'Oh, of course. Thank you for being so patient. I know myarguments are silly, but--' She half turned away and went on in achanged voice, 'Perhaps this will help you to decide.'

She threw out her right arm with a knife in it. Before the bladecould be returned to her throat or her bosom it was twitched fromher grip, sparked as it flew out of the shadow of the ship above,and fell flashing in the sunshine at the foot of the Statue fiftyyards away. The outflung arm was arrested, rigid as a bar for aninstant, till the releasing circuit permitted her to bring itslowly to her side. The other women shrank back silent among themen.

Pirolo rubbed his hands, and Takahira nodded.

'That was clever of you, De Forest,' said he.

'What a glorious pose!' Dragomiroff murmured, for the frightenedwoman was on the edge of tears.

'Why did you stop me? I would have done it!' she cried.

'I have no doubt you would,' said De Forest. 'But we can't wastea life like yours on these people. I hope the arrest didn't sprainyour wrist; it's so hard to regulate a flying loop. But I think youare quite right about those persons' women and children. We'll takethem all away with us if you promise not to do anything stupid toyourself.'

'I promise--I promise.' She controlled herself with an effort.'But it is so important to us women. We know what it means; and Ithought if you saw I was in earnest--'

'I saw you were, and you've gained your point. I shall take allyour Serviles away with me at once. The Mayor will make lists oftheir friends and families in the city and the district, and he'llship them after us this afternoon.'

'Sure,' said the Mayor, rising to his feet. 'Keefe, if you cansee, hadn't you better finish levelling off the Old Market? Itdon't look sightly the way it is now, and we shan't use it forcrowds any more.'

'I think you had better wipe out that Statue as well, Mr.Mayor,' said De Forest. 'I don't question its merits as a work ofart, but I believe it's a shade morbid.'

'Certainly, sir. Oh, Keefe! Slag the nigg*r before you go on tofuse the Market. I'll get to the Communicators and tell theDistrict that the Board is in charge. Are you making any specialappointments, sir?'

'None. We haven't men to waste on these back-woods. Carry on asbefore, but under the Board. Arnott, run your Serviles aboard,please. Ground ship and pass them through the bilge-doors. We'llwait till we've finished with this work of art.'

The prisoners trailed past him, talking fluently, but unable togesticulate in the drag of the current. Then the surfacers rolledup, two on each side of the Statue. With one accord the spectatorslooked elsewhere, but there was no need. Keefe turned on fullpower, and the thing simply melted within its case. All I saw was asurge of white-hot metal pouring over the plinth, a glimpse ofSalati's inscription, 'To the Eternal Memory of the Justice of thePeople,' ere the stone base itself cracked and powdered into finestlime. The crowd cheered.

'Thank you,' said De Forest; 'but we want our break-fasts, and Iexpect you do too. Good-bye, Mr. Mayor! Delighted to see you at anytime, but I hope I shan't have to, officially, for the next thirtyyears. Good-bye, madam. Yes. We're all given to nerves nowadays. Isuffer from them myself. Good-bye, gentlemen all! You're under thetyrannous heel of the Board from this moment, but if ever you feellike breaking your fetters you've only to let us know. This is notreat to us. Good luck!'

We embarked amid shouts, and did not check our lift till theyhad dwindled into whispers. Then De Forest flung himself on thechart-room divan and mopped his forehead.

'I don't mind men,' he panted, 'but women are the devil!'

'Still the devil,' said Pirolo cheerfully. 'That one would havesuicided.'

'I know it. That was why I signalled for the flying loop to beclapped on her. I owe you an apology for that, Arnott. I hadn'ttime to catch your eye, and you were busy with our caitiffs. By theway, who actually answered my signal? It was a smart piece ofwork.'

'Ilroy,' said Arnott; 'but he overloaded the wave. It may bepretty gallery-work to knock a knife out of a lady's hand, butdidn't you notice how she rubbed 'em? He scorched her fingers.Slovenly, I call it.'

'Far be it from me to interfere with Fleet discipline, but don'tbe too hard on the boy. If that woman had killed herself they wouldhave killed every Servile and everything related to a Servilethroughout the district by nightfall.'

'That was what she was playing for,' Takahira said. 'And withour Fleet gone we could have done nothing to hold them.'

'I may be ass enough to walk into a ground-circuit,' saidArnott, 'but I don't dismiss my Fleet till I'm reasonably sure thattrouble is over. They're in position still, and I intend to keep'em there till the Serviles are shipped out of the district. Thatlast little crowd meant murder, my friends.'

'Nerves! All nerves!' said Pirolo. 'You cannot argue withagoraphobia.'

'And it is not as if they had seen much dead--or is it?'said Takahira.

'In all my ninety years I have never seen Death.' Dragomiroffspoke as one who would excuse himself. 'Perhaps that was why--lastnight--'

Then it came out as we sat over breakfast, that, with theexception of Arnott and Pirolo, none of us had ever seen a corpse,or knew in what manner the spirit passes.

'We're a nice lot to flap about governing the Planet,' De Forestlaughed. 'I confess, now it's all over, that my main fear was Imightn't be able to pull it off without losing a life.'

'I thought of that too,' said Arnott; 'but there's no deathreported, and I've inquired everywhere. What are we supposed to dowith our passengers? I've fed 'em.'

'We're between two switches,' De Forest drawled. 'If we dropthem in any place that isn't under the Board the natives will maketheir presence an excuse for cutting out, same as Illinois did, andforcing the Board to take over. If we drop them in any place underthe Board's control they'll be killed as soon as our backs areturned.'

'If you say so,' said Pirolo thoughtfully, 'I can guarantee thatthey will become extinct in process of time, quite happily. What istheir birth-rate now?'

'Go down and ask 'em,' said De Forest.

'I think they might become nervous and tear me to bits,' thephilosopher of Foggia replied.

'Not really? Well?'

'Open the bilge-doors,' said Takahira with a downward jerk ofthe thumb.

'Scarcely--after all the trouble we've taken to save 'em,' saidDe Forest.

'Try London,' Arnott suggested. 'You could turn Satan himselfloose there, and they'd only ask him to dinner.'

'Good man! You've given me an idea. Vincent! Oh, Vincent!' Hethrew the General Communicator open so that we could all hear, andin a few minutes the chart-room filled with the rich, fruity voiceof Leopold Vincent, who has purveyed all London her choicestamusem*nts for the last thirty years. We answered with expectantgrins, as though we were actually in the stalls of, say, theCombination on a first night.

'We've picked up something in your line,' De Forest began.

'That's good, dear man. If it's old enough. There's nothing tobeat the old things for business purposes. Have you seen London,Chatham, and Dover at Earl's Court? No? I thought I missed youthere. Immense! I've had the real steam locomotive engines builtfrom the old designs and the iron rails cast specially by hand.Cloth cushions in the carriages, too! Immense! And paper railwaytickets. And Polly Milton.'

'Polly Milton back again!' said Arnott rapturously. 'Book me twostalls for to-morrow night. What's she singing now, bless her?'

'The old songs. Nothing comes up to the old touch. Listen tothis, dear men.' Vincent carolled with flourishes:

Oh, cruel lamps of London,
If tears your light could drown,
Your victims' eyes would weep them,
Oh, lights of London Town!

'Then they weep.'

'You see?' Pirolo waved his hands at us. 'The old world alwaysweeped when it saw crowds together. It did not know why, but itweeped. We know why, but we do not weep, except when we pay to bemade to by fat, wicked old Vincent.'

'Old, yourself!' Vincent laughed. 'I'm a public benefactor, Ikeep the world soft and united.'

'And I'm De Forest of the Board,' said De Forest acidly, 'tryingto get a little business done. As I was saying, I've picked up afew people in Chicago.'

'I cut out. Chicago is--'

'Do listen! They're perfectly unique.'

'Do they build houses of baked mudblocks while you wait--eh?That's an old contact.'

'They're an untouched primitive community, with all the oldideas.'

'Sewing-machines and maypole-dances? Cooking on coal-gas stoves,lighting pipes with matches, and driving horses? Gerolstein triedthat last year. An absolute blow-out!'

De Forest plugged him wrathfully, and poured out the story ofour doings for the last twenty-four hours on the top-note.

'And they do it all in public,' he concluded. 'You can'tstop 'em. The more public, the better they are pleased. They'lltalk for hours--like you! Now you can come in again!'

'Do you really mean they know how to vote?' said Vincent. 'Canthey act it?'

'Act? It's their life to 'em! And you never saw such faces!Scarred like volcanoes. Envy, hatred, and malice in plain sight.Wonderfully flexible voices. They weep, too.'

'Aloud? In public?'

'I guarantee. Not a spark of shame or reticence in the entireinstallation. It's the chance of your career.'

'D'you say you've brought their voting props along--those papersand ballot-box things?'

'No, confound you! I'm not a luggage-lifter. Apply direct to theMayor of Chicago. He'll forward you everything. Well?'

'Wait a minute. Did Chicago want to kill 'em? That 'ud look wellon the Communicators.'

'Yes! They were only rescued with difficulty from a howlingmob--if you know what that is.'

'But I don't,' answered the Great Vincent simply.

'Well then, they'll tell you themselves. They can make speecheshours long.'

'How many are there?'

'By the time we ship 'em all over they'll be perhaps a hundred,counting children. An old world in miniature. Can't you seeit?'

'M-yes; but I've got to pay for it if it's a blow-out, dearman.'

'They can sing the old war songs in the streets. They can getword-drunk, and make crowds, and invade privacy in the genuineold-fashioned way; and they'll do the voting trick as often as youask 'em a question.'

'Too good!' said Vincent.

'You unbelieving Jew! I've got a dozen head aboard here. I'llput you through direct. Sample 'em yourself.'

He lifted the switch and we listened. Our passengers on thelower deck at once, but not less than five at a time, explainedthemselves to Vincent. They had been taken from the bosom of theirfamilies, stripped of their possessions, given food withoutfinger-bowls, and cast into captivity in a noisome dungeon.

'But look here,' said Arnott aghast; 'they're saying what isn'ttrue. My lower deck isn't noisome, and I saw to the finger-bowlsmyself.'

'My people talk like that sometimes in Little Russia,' saidDragomiroff. 'We reason with them. We never kill. No!'

'But it's not true,' Arnott insisted. 'What can you do withpeople who don't tell facts? They're mad!'

'Hsh!' said Pirolo, his hand to his ear. 'It is such a littletime since all the Planet told lies.'

We heard Vincent silkily sympathetic. Would they, he asked,repeat their assertions in public--before a vast public? Only letVincent give them a chance, and the Planet, they vowed, should ringwith their wrongs. Their aim in life--two women and a man explainedit together--was to reform the world. Oddly enough, this also hadbeen Vincent's life-dream. He offered them an arena in which toexplain, and by their living example to raise the Planet to loftierlevels. He was eloquent on the moral uplift of a simple, old-worldlife presented in its entirety to a deboshed civilisation.

Could they--would they--for three months certain, devotethemselves under his auspices, as missionaries, to the elevation ofmankind at a place called Earl's Court, which he said, with sometruth, was one of the intellectual centres of the Planet? Theythanked him, and demanded (we could hear his chuckle of delight)time to discuss and to vote on the matter. The vote, solemnlymanaged by counting heads--one head, one vote--was favourable. Hisoffer, therefore, was accepted, and they moved a vote of thanks tohim in two speeches--one by what they called the 'proposer' and theother by the 'seconder.'

Vincent threw over to us, his voice shaking with gratitude:

'I've got 'em! Did you hear those speeches? That's Nature, dearmen. Art can't teach that. And they voted as easily aslying. I've never had a troupe of natural liars before. Bless you,dear men! Remember, you're on my free lists for ever, anywhere--allof you. Oh, Gerolstein will be sick--sick!'

'Then you think they'll do?' said De Forest.

'Do? The Little Village'll go crazy! I'll knock up a series ofold-world plays for 'em. Their voices will make you laugh and cry.My God, dear men, where do you suppose they picked up alltheir misery from, on this sweet earth? I'll have a pageant of theworld's beginnings, and Mosenthal shall do the music. I'll--'

'Go and knock up a village for 'em by to-night. We'll meet youat No. 15 West Landing Tower,' said De Forest. 'Remember the restwill be coming along to-morrow.'

'Let 'em all come!' said Vincent. 'You don't know how hard it isnowadays even for me, to find something that really gets under thepublic's damned iridium-plated hide. But I've got it at last.Good-bye!'

'Well,' said De Forest when we had finished laughing, 'if anyone understood corruption in London I might have played off Vincentagainst Gerolstein, and sold my captives at enormous prices. As itis, I shall have to be their legal adviser to-night when thecontracts are signed. And they won't exactly press any commissionon me, either.'

'Meantime,' said Takahira, 'we cannot, of course, confinemembers of Leopold Vincent's last-engaged company. Chairs for theladies, please, Arnott.'

'Then I go to bed,' said De Forest. 'I can't face any morewomen!' And he vanished.

When our passengers were released and given another meal(finger-bowls came first this time) they told us what they thoughtof us and the Board; and, like Vincent, we all marvelled how theyhad contrived to extract and secrete so much bitter poison andunrest out of the good life God gives us. They raged, they stormed,they palpitated, flushed and exhausted their poor, torn nerves,panted themselves into silence, and renewed the senseless,shameless attacks.

'But can't you understand,' said Pirolo pathetically to ashrieking woman, 'that if we'd left you in Chicago you'd have beenkilled?'

'No, we shouldn't. You were bound to save us from beingmurdered.'

'Then we should have had to kill a lot of other people.'

'That doesn't matter. We were preaching the Truth. You can'tstop us. We shall go on preaching in London; and then you'llsee!'

'You can see now,' said Pirolo, and opened a lower shutter.

We were closing on the Little Village, with her three millionpeople spread out at ease inside her ring of girdling Main-Trafficlights--those eight fixed beams at Chatham, Tonbridge, Redhill,Dorking, Woking, St. Albans, Chipping Ongar, and Southend.

Leopold Vincent's new company looked, with small pale faces, atthe silence, the size, and the separated houses.

Then some began to weep aloud, shamelessly--always withoutshame.

Friendly Brook

(March 1914)

The valley was so choked with fog that one could scarcely see acow's length across a field. Every blade, twig, bracken-frond, andhoof-print carried water, and the air was filled with the noise ofrushing ditches and field-drains, all delivering to the brookbelow. A week's November rain on water-logged land had gorged herto full flood, and she proclaimed it aloud.

Two men in sackcloth aprons were considering an untrimmed hedgethat ran down the hillside and disappeared into mist beside thoseroarings. They stood back and took stock of the neglected growth,tapped an elbow of hedge-oak here, a mossed beech-stub there,swayed a stooled ash back and forth, and looked at each other.

'I reckon she's about two rod thick,' said Jabez the younger,'an' she hasn't felt iron since--when has she, Jesse?'

'Call it twenty-five year, Jabez, an' you won't be far out.'

'Umm!' Jabez rubbed his wet handbill on his wetter coat-sleeve.'She ain't a hedge. She's all manner o' trees. We'll just abouthave to--' He paused, as professional etiquette required.

'Just about have to side her up an' see what she'll bear. Buthadn't we best--?' Jesse paused in his turn, both men being artistsand equals.

'Get some kind o' line to go by.' Jabez ranged up and down tillhe found a thinner place, and with clean snicks of the handbillrevealed the original face of the fence. Jesse took over thedripping stuff as it fell forward, and, with a grasp and a kick,made it to lie orderly on the bank till it should be fa*ggoted.

By noon a length of unclean jungle had turned itself into acattle-proof barrier, tufted here and there with little plumes ofthe sacred holly which no woodman touches without orders.

'Now we've a witness-board to go by!' said Jesse at last.

'She won't be as easy as this all along,' Jabez answered.'She'll need plenty stakes and binders when we come to thebrook.'

'Well, ain't we plenty?' Jesse pointed to the ragged perspectiveahead of them that plunged downhill into the fog. 'I lay there's acord an' a half o' firewood, let alone fa*ggots, 'fore we getanywheres anigh the brook.'

'The brook's got up a piece since morning,' said Jabez. 'Soundslike's if she was over Wickenden's door-stones.'

Jesse listened, too. There was a growl in the brook's roar asthough she worried something hard.

'Yes. She's over Wickenden's door-stones,' he replied. 'Nowshe'll flood acrost Alder Bay an' that'll ease her.'

'She won't ease Jim Wickenden's hay none if she do,' Jabezgrunted. 'I told Jim he'd set that liddle hay-stack o' his too lowdown in the medder. I told him so when he was drawin' thebottom for it.'

'I told him so, too,' said Jesse. 'I told him 'fore ever youdid. I told him when the County Council tarred the roads up along.'He pointed uphill, where unseen automobiles and road-engines dronedpast continually. 'A tarred road, she shoots every drop o' waterinto a valley same's a slate roof. 'Tisn't as 'twas in the olddays, when the waters soaked in and soaked out in the way o'nature. It rooshes off they tarred roads all of a lump, andnaturally every drop is bound to descend into the valley. Andthere's tar roads both two sides this valley for ten mile. That'swhat I told Jim Wickenden when they tarred the roads last year. Buthe's a valley-man. He don't hardly ever journey uphill.'

'What did he say when you told him that?' Jabez demanded, with alittle change of voice.

'Why? What did he say to you when you told him?' was theanswer.

'What he said to you, I reckon, Jesse.'

'Then, you don't need me to say it over again, Jabez.'

'Well, let be how 'twill, what was he gettin' after whenhe said what he said to me?' Jabez insisted.

'I dunno; unless you tell me what manner o' words he said toyou.'

Jabez drew back from the hedge--all hedges are nests oftreachery and eavesdropping--and moved to an open cattle-lodge inthe centre of the field.

'No need to go ferretin' around,' said Jesse. 'None can't see ushere 'fore we see them.'

'What was Jim Wickenden gettin' at when I said he'd set hisstack too near anigh the brook?' Jabez dropped his voice. 'He wasin his mind.'

'He ain't never been out of it yet to my knowledge,' Jessedrawled, and uncorked his tea-bottle.

'But then Jim says: "I ain't goin' to shift my stack a yard," hesays. "The Brook's been good friends to me, and if she be minded,"he says, "to take a snatch at my hay, I ain't settin' out towithstand her." That's what Jim Wickenden says to me last--lastJune-end 'twas,' said Jabez.

'Nor he hasn't shifted his stack, neither,' Jesse replied. 'An'if there's more rain, the brook she'll shift it for him.'

'No need tell me! But I want to know what Jim was gettin'at?'

Jabez opened his clasp-knife very deliberately; Jesse ascarefully opened his. They unfolded the newspapers that wrappedtheir dinners, coiled away and pocketed the string that bound thepackages, and sat down on the edge of the lodge manger. The rainbegan to fall again through the fog, and the brook's voicerose.

'But I always allowed Mary was his lawful child, like,' saidJabez, after Jesse had spoken for a while.

''Tain't so.... Jim Wickenden's woman she never made nothing.She come out o' Lewes with her stockin's round her heels, an' shenever made nor mended aught till she died. He had to lightfire an' get breakfast every mornin' except Sundays, while shesowed it abed. Then she took an' died, sixteen, seventeen, yearback; but she never had no childern.'

'They was valley-folk,' said Jabez apologetically. 'I'd no callto go in among 'em, but I always allowed Mary--'

'No. Mary come out o' one o' those Lunnon Childern Societies.After his woman died, Jim got his mother back from his sister overto Peasmarsh, which she'd gone to house with when Jim married. Hismother kept house for Jim after his woman died. They do say 'twashis mother led him on toward adoptin' of Mary--to furnish out thehouse with a child, like, and to keep him off of gettin' a noowoman. He mostly done what his mother contrived. 'Cardenly, twixt'em, they asked for a child from one o' those Lunnonsocieties--same as it might ha' been these Barnardo children--an'Mary was sent down to 'em, in a candle-box, I've heard.'

'Then Mary is chance-born. I never knowed that,' said Jabez.'Yet I must ha' heard it some time or other ...'

'No. She ain't. 'Twould ha' been better for some folk if she hadbeen. She come to Jim in a candle-box with all the properpapers--lawful child o' some couple in Lunnon somewheres--motherdead, father drinkin'. And there was that Lunnon society'sfive shillin's a week for her. Jim's mother she wouldn't despiseweek-end money, but I never heard Jim was much of a muck-grubber.Let be how 'twill, they two mothered up Mary no bounds, till itlooked at last like they'd forgot she wasn't their own flesh an'blood. Yes, I reckon they forgot Mary wasn't their'n byrights.'

'That's no new thing,' said Jabez. 'There's more'n one or two inthis parish wouldn't surrender back their Bernarders. You ask MarkCopley an' his woman an' that Bernarder cripple-babe o'theirs.'

'Maybe they need the five shillin',' Jesse suggested.

'It's handy,' said Jabez. 'But the child's more. "Dada" he says,an' "Mumma" he says, with his great rollin' head-piece all hurdledup in that iron collar. He won't live long--his backbone'srotten, like. But they Copleys do just about set store by him--fivebob or no five bob.'

'Same way with Jim an' his mother,' Jesse went on. 'There wastalk betwixt 'em after a few years o' not takin' any more week-endmoney for Mary; but let alone she never passed a farden inthe mire 'thout longin's, Jim didn't care, like, to push himselfforward into the Society's remembrance. So naun came of it. Theweek-end money would ha' made no odds to Jim--not after his unclewilled him they four cottages at Eastbourne an' money in thebank.'

'That was true, too, then? I heard something in a scadderin'word-o'-mouth way,' said Jabez.

'I'll answer for the house property, because Jim he requested mysigned name at the foot o' some papers concernin' it. Regardin' themoney in the bank, he nature-ally wouldn't like such things talkedabout all round the parish, so he took strangers forwitnesses.'

'Then 'twill make Mary worth seekin' after?'

'She'll need it. Her Maker ain't done much for her outside noryet in.'

'That ain't no odds.' Jabez shook his head till the watershowered off his hat-brim. 'If Mary has money, she'll be wed beforeany likely pore maid. She's cause to be grateful to Jim.'

'She hides it middlin' close, then,' said Jesse. 'It don'tsometimes look to me as if Mary has her natural rightful feelin's.She don't put on an apron o' Mondays 'thout being druv to it--inthe kitchen or the hen-house. She's studyin' to be aschool-teacher. She'll make a beauty! I never knowed her show anysort o' kindness to nobody--not even when Jim's mother was tookdumb. No! 'Twadn't no stroke. It stifled the old lady in the throathere. First she couldn't shape her words no shape; then sheclucked, like, an' lastly she couldn't more than suck downspoon-meat an' hold her peace. Jim took her to Doctor Harding, an'Harding he bundled her off to Brighton Hospital on a ticket, butthey couldn't make no stay to her afflictions there; and she wasbundled off to Lunnon, an' they lit a great old lamp inside her,and Jim told me they couldn't make out nothing in no sort there;and, along o' one thing an' another, an' all their spyin's andpryin's, she come back a hem sight worse than when she started. Jimsaid he'd have no more hospitalizin', so he give her a slate, whichshe tied to her waist-string, and what she was minded to say shewrit on it.'

'Now, I never knowed that! But they're valley-folk,' Jabezrepeated.

''Twadn't particular noticeable, for she wasn't a talkin' womanany time o' her days. Mary had all three's tongue.... Well, then,two years this summer, come what I'm tellin' you. Mary's Lunnonfather, which they'd put clean out o' their minds, arrived downfrom Lunnon with the law on his side, sayin' he'd take his daughterback to Lunnon, after all. I was working for Mus' Dockett at PoundsFarm that summer, but I was obligin' Jim that evenin' muckin' outhis pig-pen. I seed a stranger come traipsin' over the bridge agin'Wickenden's door-stones. 'Twadn't the new County Council bridgewith the handrail. They hadn't given it in for a public right o'way then. 'Twas just a bit o' lathy old plank which Jim had throwedacrost the brook for his own conveniences. The man wasn'tdrunk--only a little concerned in liquor, like--an' his back was amask where he'd slipped in the muck comin' along. He went up thebricks past Jim's mother, which was feedin' the ducks, an' sethimself down at the table inside--Jim was just changin' hissocks--an' the man let Jim know all his rights and aims regardin'Mary. Then there just about was a hurly-bulloo? Jim's fustmind was to pitch him forth, but he'd done that once in his youngdays, and got six months up to Lewes jail along o' the man fallin'on his head. So he swallowed his spittle an' let him talk. The lawabout Mary was on the man's side from fust to last, for heshowed us all the papers. Then Mary come downstairs--she'd beenstudyin' for an examination--an' the man tells her who he was, an'she says he had ought to have took proper care of his own flesh andblood while he had it by him, an' not to think he could ree-claimit when it suited. He says somethin' or other, but she looks him upan' down, front an' backwent, an' she just tongues him scadderin'out o' doors, and he went away stuffin' all the papers back intohis hat, talkin' most abusefully. Then she come back an' freed hermind against Jim an' his mother for not havin' warned her of herupbringin's, which it come out she hadn't ever been told. Theydidn't say naun to her. They never did. I'd ha' packed heroff with any man that would ha' took her--an' God's pity onhim!'

'Umm!' said Jabez, and sucked his pipe.

'So then, that was the beginnin.' The man come back again nextweek or so, an' he catched Jim alone, 'thout his mother this time,an' he fair beazled him with his papers an' his talk--for the lawwas on his side--till Jim went down into his money-purse an'give him ten shillings hush-money--he told me--to withdraw away fora bit an' leave Mary with 'em.'

'But that's no way to get rid o' man or woman,' Jabez said.

'No more 'tis. I told Jim so. "What can I do?" Jim says. "Thelaw's with the man. I walk about daytimes thinkin' o' ittill I sweats my underclothes wringin', an' I lie abed nightsthinkin' o' it till I sweats my sheets all of a sop. 'Tisn't as ifI was a young man," he says, "nor yet as if I was a pore man. Maybehe'll drink hisself to death." I e'en a'most told him outright whatfoolishness he was enterin' into, but he knowed it--he knowedit--because he said next time the man come 'twould be fifteenshillin's. An' next time 'twas. Just fifteen shillin's!'

'An' was the man her father?' asked Jabez.

'He had the proofs an' the papers. Jim showed me what thatLunnon Childern's Society had answered when Mary writ up to 'em an'taxed 'em with it. I lay she hadn't been proper polite in herletters to 'em, for they answered middlin' short. They said thematter was out o' their hands, but--let's see if I remember--oh,yes,--they ree-gretted there had been an oversight. I reckon theyhad sent Mary out in the candle-box as a orphan instead o' havin' afather. Terrible awkward! Then, when he'd drinked up the money, theman come again--in his usuals--an' he kept hammerin' on andhammerin' on about his duty to his pore dear wife, an' what he'd dofor his dear daughter in Lunnon, till the tears runned down his twodirty cheeks an' he come away with more money. Jim used to slip itinto his hand behind the door; but his mother she heard the chink.She didn't hold with hush-money. She'd write out all her feelin'son the slate, an' Jim 'ud be settin' up half the night answerin'back an' showing that the man had the law with him.'

'Hadn't that man no trade nor business, then?'

'He told me he was a printer. I reckon, though, he lived on therates like the rest of 'em up there in Lunnon.'

'An' how did Mary take it?'

'She said she'd sooner go into service than go with the man. Ireckon a mistress 'ud be middlin' put to it for a maid 'fore sheput Mary into cap an' gown. She was studyin' to be aschoo-ool-teacher. A beauty she'll make!... Well, that was howthings went that fall. Mary's Lunnon father kep' comin' an' comin''carden as he'd drinked out the money Jim gave him; an' each timehe'd put-up his price for not takin' Mary away. Jim's mother, shedidn't like partin' with no money, an' bein' obliged to write herfeelin's on the slate instead o' givin' 'em vent by mouth, she wasjust about mad. Just about she was mad!

'Come November, I lodged with Jim in the outside room over'gainst his hen-house. I paid her my rent. I was workin' forDockett at Pounds--gettin' chestnut-bats out o' Perry Shaw. Justsuch weather as this be--rain atop o' rain after a wet October.(An' I remember it ended in dry frostes right away up toChristmas.) Dockett he'd sent up to Perry Shaw for me--no, he comespuffin' up to me himself--because a big corner-piece o' the bankhad slipped into the brook where she makes that elber at the bottomo' the Seventeen Acre, an' all the rubbishy alders an' sallieswhich he ought to have cut out when he took the farm, they'dslipped with the slip, an' the brook was comin' rooshin' down atopof 'em, an' they'd just about back an' spill the waters over hiswinter wheat. The water was lyin' in the flats already. "Gora-mighty, Jesse!" he bellers out at me, "get that rubbish away allmanners you can. Don't stop for no fa*gottin', but give the brookplay or my wheat's past salvation. I can't lend you no help," hesays, "but work an' I'll pay ye."'

'You had him there,' Jabez chuckled.

'Yes. I reckon I had ought to have drove my bargain, but thebrook was backin' up on good bread-corn. So 'cardenly, I laid intothe mess of it, workin' off the bank where the trees was drownin'themselves head-down in the roosh--just such weather as this--an'the brook creepin' up on me all the time. 'Long toward noon, Jimcomes mowchin' along with his toppin' axe over his shoulder.

'"Be you minded for an extra hand at your job?" he says.

'"Be you minded to turn to?" I ses, an'--no more talk to it--Jimlaid in alongside o' me. He's no hunger with a toppin' axe.'

'Maybe, but I've seed him at a job o' throwin' in the woods, an'he didn't seem to make out no shape,' said Jabez. 'He haven't gotthe shoulders, nor yet the judgment--my opinion--when he'sdealin' with full-girt timber. He don't rightly make up his mindwhere he's goin' to throw her.'

'We wasn't throwin' nothin'. We was cuttin' out they softalders, an' haulin' 'em up the bank 'fore they could back thewaters on the wheat. Jim didn't say much, 'less it was that he'dhad a postcard from Mary's Lunnon father, night before, sayin' hewas comin' down that mornin'. Jim, he'd sweated all night, an' hedidn't reckon hisself equal to the talkin' an' the swearin' an' thecryin', an' his mother blamin' him afterwards on the slate. "Itspiled my day to think of it," he ses, when we was eatin' ourpieces. "So I've fair cried dunghill an' run. Mother'll have totackle him by herself. I lay she won't give him nohush-money," he ses. "I lay he'll be surprised by the time he'sdone with her," he ses. An' that was e'en a'most all thetalk we had concernin' it. But he's no hunger with the toppin'axe.

'The brook she'd crep' up an' up on us, an' she kep' creepin'upon us till we was workin' knee-deep in the shallers, cuttin' an'pookin' an' pullin' what we could get to o' the rubbish. There wasa middlin' lot comin' down-stream, too--cattle-bars, an' hop-polesand odds-ends bats, all poltin' down together; but they rooshedround the elber good shape by the time we'd backed out they drownedtrees. Come four o'clock we reckoned we'd done a proper day's work,an' she'd take no harm if we left her. We couldn't puddle aboutthere in the dark an' wet to no more advantage. Jim he was pourin'the water out of his boots--no, I was doin' that. Jim was kneelin'to unlace his'n. "Damn it all, Jesse," he ses, standin' up; "theflood must be over my doorsteps at home, for here comes my oldwhite-top bee-skep!"'

'Yes. I allus heard he paints his bee-skeps,' Jabez put in. 'Idunno paint don't tarrify bees more'n it keeps em' dry.'

'"I'll have a pook at it," he ses, an' he pooks at it as itcomes round the elber. The roosh nigh jerked the pooker out of hishand-grips, an' he calls to me, an' I come runnin' barefoot. Thenwe pulled on the pooker, an' it reared up on eend in the roosh, an'we guessed what 'twas. 'Cardenly we pulled it in into a shaller,an' it rolled a piece, an' a great old stiff man's arm nigh hit mein the face. Then we was sure. "'Tis a man," ses Jim. But the facewas all a mask. "I reckon it's Mary's Lunnon father," he sespresently. "Lend me a match and I'll make sure." He never usedbaccy. We lit three matches one by another, well's we could in therain, an' he cleaned off some o' the slob with a tussick o' grass."Yes," he ses. "It's Mary's Lunnon father. He won't tarrify us nomore. D'you want him, Jesse?" he ses.

'"No," I ses. "If this was Eastbourne beach like, he'd behalf-a-crown apiece to us 'fore the coroner; but now we'd only losea day havin' to 'tend the inquest. I lay he fell into thebrook."

'"I lay he did," ses Jim. "I wonder if he saw mother." He turnshim over, an' opens his coat and puts his fingers in the waistcoatpocket an' starts laughin'. "He's seen mother, right enough," heses. "An' he's got the best of her, too. She won't be ableto crow no more over me 'bout givin' him money. Inever give him more than a sovereign. She's give him two!" an' hetrousers 'em, laughin' all the time. "An' now we'll pook him backagain, for I've done with him," he ses.

'So we pooked him back into the middle of the brook, an' we sawhe went round the elber 'thout balkin', an' we walked quite a piecebeside of him to set him on his ways. When we couldn't see no more,we went home by the high road, because we knowed the brook 'u'd beout acrost the medders, an' we wasn't goin' to hunt for Jim'slittle rotten old bridge in that dark--an' rainin' Heavens' hard,too. I was middlin' pleased to see light an' vittles again when wegot home. Jim he pressed me to come insides for a drink. He don'tdrink in a generality, but he was rid of all his troubles thatevenin', d'ye see? "Mother," he ses so soon as the door ope'd,"have you seen him?" She whips out her slate an' writes down--"No.""Oh, no," ses Jim. "You don't get out of it that way, mother. I layyou have seen him, an' I lay he's bested you for all yourtalk, same as he bested me. Make a clean breast of it, mother," heses. "He got round you too." She was goin' for the slate again, buthe stops her. "It's all right, mother," he ses. "I've seen himsense you have, an' he won't trouble us no more." The old ladylooks up quick as a robin, an' she writes, "Did he say so?" "No,"ses Jim, laughin'. "He didn't say so. That's how I know. But hebested you, mother. You can't have it in at me forbein' soft-hearted. You're twice as tender-hearted as what I be.Look!" he ses, an' he shows her the two sovereigns. "Put 'em awaywhere they belong," he ses. "He won't never come for no more; an'now we'll have our drink," he ses, "for we've earned it."

'Nature-ally they weren't goin' to let me see where they kep'their monies. She went upstairs with it--for the whisky.'

'I never knowed Jim was a drinkin' man--in his own house, like,'said Jabez.

'No more he isn't; but what he takes he likes good. He won'ttech no publican's hogwash acrost the bar. Four shillin's he paidfor that bottle o' whisky. I know, because when the old ladybrought it down there wasn't more'n jest a liddle few dreenin's an'dregs in it. Nothin' to set before neighbours, I do assureyou.'

'"Why, 'twas half full last week, mother," he ses. "You don'tmean," he ses, "you've given him all that as well? It's twoshillin's worth," he ses. (That's how I knowed he paid four.)"Well, well, mother, you be too tender-'carted to live. But I don'tgrudge it to him," he ses. "I don't grudge him nothin' he cankeep." So, 'cardenly, we drinked up what little sup was left.'

'An' what come to Mary's Lunnon father?' said Jabez after a fullminute's silence.

'I be too tired to go readin' papers of evenin's; but Dockett hetold me, that very week, I think, that they'd inquested on a mandown at Robertsbridge which had poked and poked up agin' so manybridges an' banks, like, they couldn't make naun out of him.'

'An' what did Mary say to all these doin's?'

'The old lady bundled her off to the village 'fore her Lunnonfather come, to buy week-end stuff (an' she forgot the half o' it).When we come in she was upstairs studyin' to be a school-teacher.None told her naun about it. 'Twadn't girls' affairs.'

'Reckon she knowed?' Jabez went on.

'She? She must have guessed it middlin' close when she saw hermoney come back. But she never mentioned it in writing so far's Iknow. She were more worritted that night on account of two-threeher chickens bein' drowned, for the flood had skewed their oldhen-house round on her postes. I cobbled her up next mornin' whenthe brook shrinked.'

'An' where did you find the bridge? Some fur down-stream, didn'tye?'

'Just where she allus was. She hadn't shifted but very little.The brook had gulled out the bank a piece under one eend o' theplank, so's she was liable to tilt ye sideways if you wasn'tcareful. But I pooked three-four bricks under her, an' she was allplumb again.'

'Well, I dunno how it looks like, but let be how 'twill,'said Jabez, 'he hadn't no business to come down from Lunnontarrifyin' people, an' threatenin' to take away children whichthey'd hobbed up for their lawful own--even if 'twas MaryWickenden.'

'He had the business right enough, an' he had the law withhim--no gettin' over that,' said Jesse. 'But he had the drink withhim, too, an' that was where he failed, like.'

'Well, well! Let be how 'twill, the brook was a good friend toJim. I see it now. I allus did wonder what he was gettin' atwhen he said that, when I talked to him about shiftin' the stack."You dunno everythin'," he ses. "The Brook's been a good friend tome," he ses, "an' if she's minded to have a snatch at my hay,I ain't settin' out to withstand her."'

'I reckon she's about shifted it, too, by now,' Jesse chuckled.'Hark! That ain't any slip off the bank which she's got holdof.'

The Brook had changed her note again. It sounded as though shewere mumbling something soft.

In the Same Boat

(1911)

'A throbbing vein,' said Dr. Gilbert soothingly, 'is the motherof delusion.'

'Then how do you account for my knowing when the thing is due?'Conroy's voice rose almost to a break.

'Of course, but you should have consulted a doctor beforeusing--palliatives.'

'It was driving me mad. And now I can't give them up.'

''Not so bad as that! One doesn't form fatal habits attwenty-five. Think again. Were you ever frightened as a child?'

'I don't remember. It began when I was a boy.'

'With or without the spasm? By the way, do you mind describingthe spasm again?'

'Well,' said Conroy, twisting in the chair, 'I'm no musician,but suppose you were a violin-string--vibrating--and some one puthis finger on you? As if a finger were put on the naked soul!Awful!'

'So's indigestion--so's nightmare--while it lasts.'

'But the horror afterwards knocks me out for days. And thewaiting for it ... and then this drug habit! It can't go on!' Heshook as he spoke, and the chair creaked.

'My dear fellow,' said the doctor, 'when you're older you'llknow what burdens the best of us carry. A fox to everySpartan.'

'That doesn't help me. I can't! I can't!' cried Conroy,and burst into tears.

'Don't apologise,' said Gilbert, when the paroxysm ended. 'I'mused to people coming a little--unstuck in this room.'

'It's those tabloids!' Conroy stamped his foot feebly as he blewhis nose. 'They've knocked me out. I used to be fit once. Oh, I'vetried exercise and everything. But--if one sits down for a minutewhen it's due--even at four in the morning--it runs up behindone.'

'Ye-es. Many things come in the quiet of the morning. You alwaysknow when the visitation is due?'

'What would I give not to be sure!' he sobbed.

'We'll put that aside for the moment. I'm thinking of a casewhere what we'll call anæmia of the brain was masked (I don'tsay cured) by vibration. He couldn't sleep, or thought he couldn't,but a steamer voyage and the thump of the screw--'

'A steamer? After what I've told you!' Conroy almost shrieked.'I'd sooner ...'

'Of course not a steamer in your case, but a long railwayjourney the next time you think it will trouble you. It soundsabsurd, but--'

'I'd try anything. I nearly have,' Conroy sighed.

'Nonsense! I've given you a tonic that will clear thatnotion from your head. Give the train a chance, and don't begin thejourney by bucking yourself up with tabloids. Take them along, buthold them in reserve--in reserve.'

'D'you think I've self-control enough, after what you've heard?'said Conroy.

Dr. Gilbert smiled. 'Yes. After what I've seen,' he glancedround the room, 'I have no hesitation in saying you have quite asmuch self-control as many other people. I'll write you later aboutyour journey. Meantime, the tonic,' and he gave some generaldirections before Conroy left.

An hour later Dr. Gilbert hurried to the links, where the othersof his regular week-end game awaited him. It was a rigid round,played as usual at the trot, for the tension of the week lay asheavy on the two King's Counsels and Sir John Chartres as onGilbert. The lawyers were old enemies of the Admiralty Court, andSir John of the frosty eyebrows and Abernethy manner was bracketedwith, but before, Rutherford Gilbert among nerve-specialists.

At the Club-house afterwards the lawyers renewed their squabbleover a tangled collision case, and the doctors as naturallycompared professional matters.

'Lies--all lies,' said Sir John, when Gilbert had told himConroy's trouble. 'Post hoc, propter hoc. The man or womanwho drugs is ipso facto a liar. You've no imagination.'

''Pity you haven't a little--occasionally.'

'I have believed a certain type of patient in my time. It'salways the same. For reasons not given in the consulting-room theytake to the drug. Certain symptoms follow. They will swear to you,and believe it, that they took the drug to mask the symptoms. Whatdoes your man use? Najdolene? I thought so. I had practically theduplicate of your case last Thursday. Same old Najdolene--same oldlie.'

'Tell me the symptoms, and I'll draw my own inferences,Johnnie.'

'Symptoms! The girl was rank poisoned with Najdolene. Ramping,stamping possession. Gad, I thought she'd have the chandelierdown.'

'Mine came unstuck too, and he has the physique of a bull,' saidGilbert. 'What delusions had yours?'

'Faces--faces with mildew on them. In any other walk of lifewe'd call it the Horrors. She told me, of course, she took thedrugs to mask the faces. Post hoc, propter hoc again. Allliars!'

'What's that?' said the senior K.C. quickly. 'Soundsprofessional.'

'Go away! Not for you, Sandy.' Sir John turned a shoulderagainst him and walked with Gilbert in the chill evening.

To Conroy in his chambers came, one week later, this letter:

DEAR MR. CONROY--If your plan of a night's trip on the17th still holds good, and you have no particular destination inview, you could do me a kindness. A Miss Henschil, in whom I aminterested, goes down to the West by the 10.8 from Waterloo (Number3 platform) on that night. She is not exactly an invalid, but, likeso many of us, a little shaken in her nerves. Her maid, of course,accompanies her, but if I knew you were in the same train it wouldbe an additional source of strength. Will you please write and letme know whether the 10.8 from Waterloo, Number 3 platform, on the17th, suits you, and I will meet you there? Don't forget mycaution, and keep up the tonic.--Yours sincerely,

L. RUTHERFORD GILBERT.

'He knows I'm scarcely fit to look after myself,' was Conroy'sthought. 'And he wants me to look after a woman!'

Yet, at the end of half an hour's irresolution, he accepted.

Now Conroy's trouble, which had lasted for years, was this:

On a certain night, while he lay between sleep and wake, hewould be overtaken by a long shuddering sigh, which he learned toknow was the sign that his brain had once more conceived itshorror, and in time--in due time--would bring it forth.

Drugs could so well veil that horror that it shuffled along noworse than as a freezing dream in a procession of disorderlydreams; but over the return of the event drugs had no control. Oncethat sigh had passed his lips the thing was inevitable, and throughthe days granted before its rebirth he walked in torment. For thefirst two years he had striven to fend it off by distractions, butneither exercise nor drink availed. Then he had come to thetabloids of the excellent M. Najdol. These guarantee, on the label,'Refreshing and absolutely natural sleep to the soul-weary.' Theyare carried in a case with a spring which presses one scentedtabloid to the end of the tube, whence it can be lipped off instroking the moustache or adjusting the veil.

Three years of M. Najdol's preparations do not fit a man formany careers. His friends, who knew he did not drink, assumed thatConroy had strained his heart through valiant outdoor exercises,and Conroy had with some care invented an imaginary doctor,symptoms, and regimen, which he discussed with them and with hismother in Hereford. She maintained that he would grow out of it,and recommended nux vomica.

When at last Conroy faced a real doctor, it was, he hoped, to besaved from suicide by a strait-waistcoat. Yet Dr. Gilbert had butgiven him more drugs--a tonic, for instance, that would couplerailway carnages--and had advised a night in the train. Not alonethe horrors of a railway journey (for which a man who dare keep noservant must e'en pack, label, and address his own bag), but thenecessity for holding himself in hand before a stranger 'a littleshaken in her nerves.'

He spent a long forenoon packing, because when he assembled andcounted things his mind slid off to the hours that remained of theday before his night, and he found himself counting minutes aloud.At such times the injustice of his fate would drive him to revoltswhich no servant should witness, but on this evening Dr. Gilbert'stonic held him fairly calm while he put up his patent razors.

Waterloo Station shook him into real life. The change for histicket needed concentration, if only to prevent shillings and penceturning into minutes at the booking-office; and he spoke quickly toa porter about the disposition of his bag. The old 10.8 fromWaterloo to the West was an all-night caravan that halted, in theinterests of the milk traffic, at almost every station.

Dr. Gilbert stood by the door of the one compositecorridor-coach; an older and stouter man behind him. 'So gladyou're here!' he cried. 'Let me get your ticket.'

'Certainly not,' Conroy answered. 'I got it myself--long ago. Mybag's in too,' he added proudly.

'I beg your pardon. Miss Henschil's here. I'll introduceyou.'

'But--but,' he stammered--'think of the state I'm in. Ifanything happens I shall collapse.'

'Not you. You'd rise to the occasion like a bird. And as for theself-control you were talking of the other day'--Gilbert swung himround--'look!'

A young man in an ulster over a silk-faced frock-coat stood bythe carriage window, weeping shamelessly.

'Oh, but that's only drink,' Conroy said. 'I haven't had one ofmy--my things since lunch.'

'Excellent!' said Gilbert. 'I knew I could depend on you. Comealong. Wait for a minute, Chartres.'

A tall woman, veiled, sat by the far window. She bowed her headas the doctor murmured Conroy knew not what. Then he disappearedand the inspector came for tickets.

'My maid--next compartment,' she said slowly.

Conroy showed his ticket, but in returning it to thesleeve-pocket of his ulster the little silver Najdolene caseslipped from his glove and fell to the floor. He snatched it up asthe moving train flung him into his seat.

'How nice!' said the woman. She leisurely lifted her veil,unbottoned the first button of her left glove, and pressed out fromits palm a Najdolene-case.

'Don't!' said Conroy, not realising he had spoken.

'I beg your pardon.' The deep voice was measured, even, and low.Conroy knew what made it so.

'I said "don't"! He wouldn't like you to do it!'

'No, he would not.' She held the tube with its ever-presentedtabloid between finger and thumb. 'But aren't you one ofthe--ah--"soul-weary" too?'

'That's why. Oh, please don't! Not at first. I--I haven't hadone since morning. You--you'll set me off!'

'You? Are you so far gone as that?'

He nodded, pressing his palms together. The train jolted throughVauxhall points, and was welcomed with the clang of empty milk-cansfor the West.

After long silence she lifted her great eyes, and, with aninnocence that would have deceived any sound man, asked Conroy tocall her maid to bring her a forgotten book.

Conroy shook his head. 'No. Our sort can't read. Don't!'

'Were you sent to watch me?' The voice never changed.

'Me? I need a keeper myself much more--this night ofall!'

'This night? Have you a night, then? They disbelieved mewhen I told them of mine.' She leaned back and laughed, alwaysslowly. 'Aren't doctors stu-upid? They don't know.'

She leaned her elbow on her knee, lifted her veil that hadfallen, and, chin in hand, stared at him. He looked at her--tillhis eyes were blurred with tears.

'Have I been there, think you?' she said.

'Surely--surely,' Conroy answered, for he had well seen the fearand the horror that lived behind the heavy-lidded eyes, the finetracing on the broad forehead, and the guard set about thedesirable mouth.

'Then--suppose we have one--just one apiece? I've gone withoutsince this afternoon.'

He put up his hand, and would have shouted, but his voicebroke.

'Don't! Can't you see that it helps me to help you to keep itoff? Don't let's both go down together.'

'But I want one. It's a poor heart that never rejoices. Justone. It's my night.'

'It's mine--too. My sixty-fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh.' Heshut his lips firmly against the tide of visualised numbers thatthreatened to carry him along.

'Ah, it's only my thirty-ninth.' She paused as he had done. 'Iwonder if I shall last into the sixties.... Talk to me or I shallgo crazy. You're a man. You're the stronger vessel. Tell me whenyou went to pieces.'

'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven--eight--I beg yourpardon.'

'Not in the least. I always pretend I've dropped a stitch of myknitting. I count the days till the last day, then the hours, thenthe minutes. Do you?'

'I don't think I've done very much else for the last--' saidConroy, shivering, for the night was cold, with a chill herecognised.

'Oh, how comforting to find some one who can talk sense! It'snot always the same date, is it?'

'What difference would that make?' He unbuttoned his ulster witha jerk. 'You're a sane woman. Can't you see thewicked--wicked--wicked' (dust flew from the padded arm-rest as hestruck it) unfairness of it? What have I done?'

She laid her large hand on his shoulder very firmly.

'If you begin to think over that,' she said, 'you'll go topieces and be ashamed. Tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine. Onlybe quiet--be quiet, lad, or you'll set me off!' She made shift tosoothe him, though her chin trembled.

'Well,' said he at last, picking at the arm-rest between them,'mine's nothing much, of course.'

'Don't be a fool! That's for doctors--and mothers.'

'It's Hell,' Conroy muttered. 'It begins on a steamer--on astifling hot night. I come out of my cabin. I pass through thesaloon where the stewards have rolled up the carpets, and theboards are bare and hot and soapy.'

'I've travelled too,' she said.

'Ah! I come on deck. I walk down a covered alleyway. Butcher'smeat, bananas, oil, that sort of smell.'

Again she nodded.

'It's a lead-coloured steamer, and the sea's lead-coloured.Perfectly smooth sea--perfectly still ship, except for the enginesrunning, and her waves going off in lines and lines and lines--dullgrey. All this time I know something's going to happen.'

'I know. Something going to happen,' she whispered.

'Then I hear a thud in the engine-room. Then the noise ofmachinery falling down--like fire-irons--and then two most awfulyells. They're more like hoots, and I know--I know while Ilisten--that it means that two men have died as they hooted. It wastheir last breath hooting out of them--in most awful pain. Do youunderstand?'

'I ought to. Go on.'

'That's the first part. Then I hear bare feet running along thealleyway. One of the scalded men comes up behind me and says quitedistinctly, "My friend! All is lost!" Then he taps me on theshoulder and I hear him drop down dead.' He panted and wiped hisforehead.

'So that is your night?' she said.

'That is my night. It comes every few weeks--so many days afterI get what I call sentence. Then I begin to count.'

'Get sentence? D'you mean this?' She half closed hereyes, drew a deep breath, and shuddered. '"Notice" I call it. SirJohn thought it was all lies.'

She had unpinned her hat and thrown it on the seat opposite,showing the immense mass of her black hair, rolled low in the napeof the columnar neck and looped over the left ear. But Conroy hadno eyes except for her grave eyes.

'Listen now!' said she. 'I walk down a road, a white sandy roadnear the sea. There are broken fences on either side, and Men comeand look at me over them.'

'Just men? Do they speak?'

'They try to. Their faces are all mildewy--eaten away,' and shehid her face for an instant with her left hand. 'It's theFaces--the Faces!'

'Yes. Like my two hoots. I know.'

'Ah! But the place itself--the bareness--and the glitter and thesalt smells, and the wind blowing the sand! The Men run after meand I run.... I know what's coming too. One of them touchesme.'

'Yes! What comes then? We've both shirked that.'

'One awful shock--not palpitation, but shock, shock, shock!'

'As though your soul were being stopped--as you'd stop afinger-bowl humming?' he said.

'Just that,' she answered. 'One's very soul--the soul that onelives by--stopped. So!'

She drove her thumb deep into the arm-rest. 'And now,' shewhined to him, 'now that we've stirred each other up this way,mightn't we have just one?'

'No,' said Conroy, shaking. 'Let's hold on. We're past'--hepeered out of the black windows--'Woking. There's the Necropolis.How long till dawn?'

'Oh, cruel long yet. If one dozes for a minute, it catchesone.'

'And how d'you find that this'--he tapped the palm of hisglove--'helps you?'

'It covers up the thing from being too real--if one takesenough--you know. Only--only--one loses everything else. I've beenno more than a bogie-girl for two years. What would you give to bereal again? This lying's such a nuisance.'

'One must protect oneself--and there's one's mother to thinkof,' he answered.

'True. I hope allowances are made for us somewhere. Ourburden--can you hear?--our burden is heavy enough.'

She rose, towering into the roof of the carriage. Conroy'sungentle grip pulled her back.

'Now you are foolish. Sit down,' said he.

'But the cruelty of it! Can't you see it? Don't you feel it?Let's take one now--before I--'

'Sit down!' cried Conroy, and the sweat stood again on hisforehead. He had fought through a few nights, and had been defeatedon more, and he knew the rebellion that flares beyond control toexhaustion.

She smoothed her hair and dropped back, but for a while her headand throat moved with the sickening motion of a capturedwry-neck.

'Once,' she said, spreading out her hands, 'I ripped mycounterpane from end to end. That takes strength. I had it then.I've little now. "All dorn," as my little niece says. And you,lad?'

'"All dorn"! Let me keep your case for you till themorning.'

'But the cold feeling is beginning.'

'Lend it me, then.'

'And the drag down my right side. I shan't be able to move in aminute.'

'I can scarcely lift my arm myself,' said Conroy. 'We're in forit.'

'Then why are you so foolish? You know it'll be easier if wehave only one--only one apiece.'

She was lifting the case to her mouth. With tremendous effortConroy caught it. The two moved like jointed dolls, and when theirhands met it was as wood on wood.

'You must--not!' said Conroy. His jaws stiffened, and the coldclimbed from his feet up.

'Why--must--I--not?' She repeated the words idiotically.

Conroy could only shake his head, while he bore down on the handand the case in it.

Her speech went from her altogether. The wonderful lips restedhalf over the even teeth, the breath was in the nostrils only, theeyes dulled, the face set grey, and through the glove the handstruck like ice.

Presently her soul came back and stood behind her eyes--onlything that had life in all that place--stood and looked forConroy's soul. He too was fettered in every limb, but somewhere atan immense distance he heard his heart going about its work as theengine-room carries on through and beneath the all but overwhelmingwave. His one hope, he knew, was not to lose the eyes that clung tohis, because there was an Evil abroad which would possess him if helooked aside by a hair-breadth.

The rest was darkness through which some distant planet spunwhile cymbals clashed. (Beyond Farnborough the 10.8 rolls out manyempty milk-cans at every halt.) Then a body came to life withintolerable pricklings. Limb by limb, after agonies of terror, thatbody returned to him, steeped in most perfect physical wearinesssuch as follows a long day's rowing. He saw the heavy lids droopover her eyes--the watcher behind them departed--and, his soulsinking into assured peace, Conroy slept.

Light on his eyes and a salt breath roused him without shock.Her hand still held his. She slept, forehead down upon it, but themovement of his waking waked her too, and she sneezed like achild.

'I--I think it's morning,' said Conroy.

'And nothing has happened! Did you see your Men? I didn't see myFaces. Does it mean we've escaped? Did--did you take any after Iwent to sleep? I'll swear I didn't,' she stammered.

'No, there wasn't any need. We've slept through it.'

'No need! Thank God! There was no need! Oh, look!'

The train was running under red cliffs along a sea-wall washedby waves that were colourless in the early light. Southward the sunrose mistily upon the Channel.

She leaned out of the window and breathed to the bottom of herlungs, while the wind wrenched down her dishevelled hair and blewit below her waist.

'Well!' she said with splendid eyes. 'Aren't you still waitingfor something to happen?'

'No. Not till next time. We've been let off,' Conroy answered,breathing as deeply as she.

'Then we ought to say our prayers.'

'What nonsense! Some one will see us.'

'We needn't kneel. Stand up and say "Our Father." Wemust!'

It was the first time since childhood that Conroy had prayed.They laughed hysterically when a curve threw them against anarm-rest.

'Now for breakfast!' she cried. 'My maid--Nurse Blaber--has thebasket and things. It'll be ready in twenty minutes. Oh! Look at myhair!' and she went out laughing.

Conroy's first discovery, made without fumbling or countingletters on taps, was that the London and South Western's allowanceof washing-water is inadequate. He used every drop, rioting in thecold tingle on neck and arms. To shave in a moving train balkedhim, but the next halt gave him a chance, which, to his ownsurprise, he took. As he stared at himself in the mirror he smiledand nodded. There were points about this person with the clear, ifsunken, eye and the almost uncompressed mouth. But when he bore hisbag back to his compartment, the weight of it on a limp arm humbledthat new pride.

'My friend,' he said, half aloud, 'you go into training. You'reputty.'

She met him in the spare compartment, where her maid had laidbreakfast.

'By Jove!' he said, halting at the doorway, 'I hadn't realisedhow beautiful you were!'

'The same to you, lad. Sit down. I could eat a horse.'

'I shouldn't,' said the maid quietly. 'The less you eat thebetter.' She was a small, freckled woman, with light fluffy hairand pale-blue eyes that looked through all veils.

'This is Miss Blaber,' said Miss Henschil. 'He's one of thesoul-weary too, Nursey.'

'I know it. But when one has just given it up a full mealdoesn't agree. That's why I've only brought you bread andbutter.'

She went out quietly, and Conroy reddened.

'We're still children, you see,' said Miss Henschil. 'But I'mwell enough to feel some shame of it. D'you take sugar?'

They starved together heroically, and Nurse Blaber was goodenough to signify approval when she came to clear away.

'Nursey?' Miss Henschil insinuated, and flushed.

'Do you smoke?' said the nurse coolly to Conroy.

'I haven't in years. Now you mention it, I think I'd like acigarette--or something.'

'I used to. D'you think it would keep me quiet?' Miss Henschilsaid.

'Perhaps. Try these.' The nurse handed them hercigarette-case.

'Don't take anything else,' she commanded, and went away withthe tea-basket.

'Good!' grunted Conroy, between mouthfuls of tobacco.

'Better than nothing,' said Miss Henschil; but for a while theyfelt ashamed, yet with the comfort of children punishedtogether.

'Now,' she whispered, 'who were you when you were a man?'

Conroy told her, and in return she gave him her history. Itdelighted them both to deal once more in worldlyconcerns--families, names, places, and dates--with a person ofunderstanding.

She came, she said, of Lancashire folk--wealthy cotton-spinners,who still kept the broadened a and slurred aspirate of theold stock. She lived with an old masterful mother in an opulentworld north of Lancaster Gate, where people in Society gave partiesat a Mecca called the Langham Hotel.

She herself had been launched into Society there, and theflowers at the ball had cost eighty-seven pounds; but, beingreckoned peculiar, she had made few friends among her own sex. Shehad attracted many men, for she was a beauty--the beauty, infact, of Society, she said.

She spoke utterly without shame or reticence, as a life-prisonertells his past to a fellow-prisoner; and Conroy nodded across thesmoke-rings.

'Do you remember when you got into the carriage?' she asked.'(Oh, I wish I had some knitting!) Did you notice aught, lad?'

Conroy thought back. It was ages since. 'Wasn't there some oneoutside the door--crying?' he asked.

'He's--he's the little man I was engaged to,' she said. 'But Imade him break it off. I told him 'twas no good. But he won't, yo'see.'

'That fellow? Why, he doesn't come up to yourshoulder.'

'That's naught to do with it. I think all the world of him. I'ma foolish wench'--her speech wandered as she settled herselfcosily, one elbow on the arm-rest. 'We'd been engaged--I couldn'thelp that--and he worships the ground I tread on. But it's no use.I'm not responsible, you see. His two sisters are against it,though I've the money. They're right, but they think it's thedri-ink,' she drawled. 'They're Methody--the Skinners. You see,their grandfather that started the Patton Mills, he died o' thedri-ink.'

'I see,' said Conroy. The grave face before him under the liftedveil was troubled.

'George Skinner.' She breathed it softly. 'I'd make him a goodwife, by God's gra-ace--if I could. But it's no use. I'm notresponsible. But he'll not take "No" for an answer. I used to callhim "Toots." He's of no consequence, yo' see.'

'That's in Dickens,' said Conroy, quite quickly. 'I haven'tthought of Toots for years. He was at Doctor Blimber's.'

'And so--that's my trouble,' she concluded, ever so slightlywringing her hands. 'But I--don't you think--there's hope now?'

'Eh?' said Conroy. 'Oh yes! This is the first time I've turnedmy corner without help. With your help, I should say.'

'It'll come back, though.'

'Then shall we meet it in the same way? Here's my card. Write meyour train, and we'll go together.'

'Yes. We must do that. But between times--when we want--' Shelooked at her palm, the four fingers working on it. 'It's hard togive 'em up.'

'But think what we have gained already, and let me have the caseto keep.'

She shook her head, and threw her cigarette out of the window.'Not yet.'

'Then let's lend our cases to Nurse, and we'll get throughto-day on cigarettes. I'll call her while we feel strong.'

She hesitated, but yielded at last, and Nurse accepted theofferings with a smile.

'You'll be all right,' she said to Miss Henschil. 'But ifI were you'--to Conroy--'I'd take strong exercise.'

When they reached their destination Conroy set himself to obeyNurse Blaber. He had no remembrance of that day, except one streakof blue sea to his left, gorse-bushes to his right, and, beforehim, a coast-guard's track marked with white-washed stones that hecounted up to the far thousands. As he returned to the little townhe saw Miss Henschil on the beach below the cliffs. She kneeled atNurse Blaber's feet, weeping and pleading.

Twenty-five days later a telegram came to Conroy's rooms:'Notice given. Waterloo again. Twenty-fourth.' That sameevening he was wakened by the shudder and the sigh that told himhis sentence had gone forth. Yet he reflected on his pillow that hehad, in spite of lapses, snatched something like three weeks oflife, which included several rides on a horse before breakfast--thehour one most craves Najdolene; five consecutive evenings on theriver at Hammersmith in a tub where he had well stretched the whitearms that passing crews mocked at; a game of rackets at his club;three dinners, one small dance, and one human flirtation with ahuman woman. More notable still, he had settled his month'saccounts, only once confusing petty cash with the days of graceallowed him. Next morning he rode his hired beast in the parkvictoriously. He saw Miss Henschil on horse-back near LancasterGate, talking to a young man at the railings.

She wheeled and cantered toward him.

'By Jove! How well you look!' he cried, without salutation. 'Ididn't know you rode.'

'I used to once,' she replied. 'I'm all soft now.'

They swept off together down the ride.

'Your beast pulls,' he said.

'Wa-ant him to. Gi-gives me something to think of. How've youbeen?' she panted. 'I wish chemists' shops hadn't red lights.'

'Have you slipped out and bought some, then?'

'You don't know Nursey. Eh, but it's good to be on a horseagain! This chap cost me two hundred.'

'Then you've been swindled,' said Conroy.

'I know it, but it's no odds. I must go back to Toots and sendhim away. He's neglecting his work for me.'

She swung her heavy-topped animal on his none too sound hocks.''Sentence come, lad?'

'Yes. But I'm not minding it so much this time.'

'Waterloo, then--and God help us!' She thundered back to thelittle frock-coated figure that waited faithfully near thegate.

Conroy felt the spring sun on his shoulders and trotted home.That evening he went out with a man in a pair oar, and was rowed toa standstill. But the other man owned he could not have kept thepace five minutes longer.

He carried his bag all down Number 3 platform at Waterloo, andhove it with one hand into the rack.

'Well done!' said Nurse Blaber, in the corridor. 'We've improvedtoo.'

Dr. Gilbert and an older man came out of the nextcompartment.

'Hallo!' said Gilbert. 'Why haven't you been to see me, Mr.Conroy? Come under the lamp. Take off your hat. No--no. Sit, youyoung giant. Ve-ry good. Look here a minute, Johnnie.'

A little, round-bellied, hawk-faced person glared at him.

'Gilbert was right about the beauty of the beast,' he muttered.'D'you keep it in your glove now?' he went on, and punched Conroyin the short ribs.

'No,' said Conroy meekly, but without coughing. 'Nowhere--on myhonour! I've chucked it for good.'

'Wait till you are a sound man before you say that, Mr.Conroy.' Sir John Chartres stumped out, saying to Gilbert in thecorridor, 'It's all very fine, but the question is shall I or we"Sir Pandarus of Troy become," eh? We're bound to think of thechildren.'

'Have you been vetted?' said Miss Henschil, a few minutes afterthe train started. 'May I sit with you? I--I don't trust myselfyet. I can't give up as easily as you can, seemingly.'

'Can't you? I never saw any one so improved in a month.'

'Look here!' She reached across to the rack, single-handedlifted Conroy's bag, and held it at arm's length. 'I counted tenslowly. And I didn't think of hours or minutes,' she boasted.

'Don't remind me,' he cried.

'Ah! Now I've reminded myself. I wish I hadn't. Do you thinkit'll be easier for us to-night?'

'Oh, don't.' The smell of the carriage had brought back all hislast trip to him, and Conroy moved uneasily.

'I'm sorry. I've brought some games,' she went on. 'Draughts andcards--but they all mean counting. I wish I'd brought chess, but Ican't play chess. What can we do? Talk about something.'

'Well, how's Toots, to begin with?' said Conroy.

'Why? Did you see him on the platform?'

'No. Was he there? I didn't notice.'

'Oh yes. He doesn't understand. He's desperately jealous. I toldhim it doesn't matter. Will you please let me hold your hand? Ibelieve I'm beginning to get the chill.'

'Toots ought to envy me,' said Conroy.

'He does. He paid you a high compliment the other night. He'staken to calling again--in spite of all they say.'

Conroy inclined his head. He felt cold, and knew surely he wouldbe colder.

'He said,' she yawned. '(Beg your pardon.) He said he couldn'tsee how I could help falling in love with a man like you; and hecalled himself a damned little rat, and he beat his head on thepiano last night.'

'The piano? You play, then?'

'Only to him. He thinks the world of my accomplishments. Then Itold him I wouldn't have you if you were the last man on earthinstead of only the best-looking--not with a million in eachstocking.'

'No, not with a million in each stocking,' said Conroyvehemently. 'Isn't that odd?'

'I suppose so--to any one who doesn't know. Well, where was I?Oh, George as good as told me I was deceiving him, and he wanted togo away without saying good-night. He hates standing a-tiptoe, buthe must if I won't sit down.'

Conroy would have smiled, but the chill that foreran the comingof the Lier-in-Wait was upon him, and his hand closed warningly onhers.

'And--and so--' she was trying to say, when her hour alsoovertook her, leaving alive only the fear-dilated eyes that turnedto Conroy. Hand froze on hand and the body with it as they waitedfor the horror in the blackness that heralded it. Yet through theworst Conroy saw, at an uncountable distance, one minute glint oflight in his night. Thither would he go and escape his fear; andbehold, that light was the light in the watch-tower of her eyes,where her locked soul signalled to his soul: 'Look at me!'

In time, from him and from her, the Thing sheered aside, thateach soul might step down and resume its own concerns. He thoughtconfusedly of people on the skirts of a thunderstorm, withdrawingfrom windows where the torn night is, to their known and furnishedbeds. Then he dozed, till in some drowsy turn his hand fell fromher warmed hand.

'That's all. The Faces haven't come,' he heard her say.'All--thank God! I don't feel even I need what Nursey promised me.Do you?'

'No.' He rubbed his eyes. 'But don't make too sure.'

'Certainly not. We shall have to try again next month. I'mafraid it will be an awful nuisance for you.'

'Not to me, I assure you,' said Conroy, and they leaned back andlaughed at the flatness of the words, after the hells through whichthey had just risen.

'And now,' she said, strict eyes on Conroy, 'why wouldn'tyou take me--not with a million in each stocking?'

'I don't know. That's what I've been puzzling over.'

'So have I. We're as handsome a couple as I've ever seen. Areyou well off, lad?'

'They call me so,' said Conroy, smiling.

'That's North country.' She laughed again. Setting aside my goodlooks and yours, I've four thousand a year of my own, and the rentsshould make it six. That's a match some old cats would lap tea allnight to fettle up.'

'It is. Lucky Toots!' said Conroy.

'Ay,' she answered, 'he'll be the luckiest lad in London if Iwin through. Who's yours?'

'No--no one, dear. I've been in Hell for years. I only want toget out and be alive and--so on. Isn't that reason enough?'

'Maybe, for a man. But I never minded things much till Georgecame. I was all stu-upid like.'

'So was I, but now I think I can live. It ought to be less nextmonth, oughtn't it?' he said.

'I hope so. Ye-es. There's nothing much for a maid except to bemarried, and I ask no more. Whoever yours is, when you've foundher, she shall have a wedding present from Mrs. George Skinnerthat--'

'But she wouldn't understand it any more than Toots.'

'He doesn't matter--except to me. I can't keep my eyes open,thank God! Good-night, lad.'

Conroy followed her with his eyes. Beauty there was, grace therewas, strength, and enough of the rest to drive better men thanGeorge Skinner to beat their heads on piano-tops--but for thenew-found life of him Conroy could not feel one flutter of instinctor emotion that turned to herward. He put up his feet and fellasleep, dreaming of a joyous, normal world recovered--with intereston arrears. There were many things in it, but no one face of anyone woman.

Thrice afterward they took the same train, and each time theirtrouble shrank and weakened. Miss Henschil talked of Toots, hismultiplied calls, the things he had said to his sisters, the muchworse things his sisters had replied; of the late (he seemed verydead to them) M. Najdol's gifts for the soul-weary; of shopping, ofhouse rents, and the cost of really artistic furniture andlinen.

Conroy explained the exercises in which he delighted--mightylabours of play undertaken against other mighty men, till hesweated and, having bathed, slept. He had visited his mother, too,in Hereford, and he talked something of her and of the home-life,which his body, cut out of all clean life for five years,innocently and deeply enjoyed. Nurse Blaber was a little interestedin Conroy's mother, but, as a rule, she smoked her cigarette andread her paper-backed novels in her own compartment.

On their last trip she volunteered to sit with them, and buriedherself in The Cloister and the Hearth while they whisperedtogether. On that occasion (it was near Salisbury) at two in themorning, when the Lier-in-Wait brushed them with his wing, it meantno more than that they should cease talk for the instant, and forthe instant hold hands, as even utter strangers on the deep may dowhen their ship rolls underfoot.

'But still,' said Nurse Blaber, not looking up, 'I think yourMr. Skinner might feel jealous of all this.'

'It would be difficult to explain,' said Conroy.

'Then you'd better not be at my wedding,' Miss Henschillaughed.

'After all we've gone through, too. But I suppose you ought toleave me out. Is the day fixed?' he cried.

'Twenty-second of September--in spite of both his sisters. I canrisk it now.' Her face was glorious as she flushed.

'My dear chap!' He shook hands unreservedly, and she gave backhis grip without flinching. 'I can't tell you how pleased Iam!'

'Gracious Heavens!' said Nurse Blaber, in a new voice. 'Oh, Ibeg your pardon. I forgot I wasn't paid to be surprised.'

'What at? Oh, I see!' Miss Henschil explained to Conroy. 'Sheexpected you were going to kiss me, or I was going to kiss you, orsomething.'

'After all you've gone through, as Mr. Conroy said,'

'But I couldn't, could you?' said Miss Henschil, with a disgustas frank as that on Conroy's face. 'It would be horrible--horrible.And yet, of course, you're wonderfully handsome. How d'you accountfor it, Nursey?'

Nurse Blaber shook her head. 'I was hired to cure you of ahabit, dear. When you're cured I shall go on to the next case--thatsenile-decay one at Bourne-mouth I told you about.'

'And I shall be left alone with George! But suppose it isn'tcured,' said Miss Henschil of a sudden. Suppose it comes backagain. What can I do? I can't send for him in this way whenI'm a married woman!' She pointed like an infant.

'I'd come, of course,' Conroy answered. 'But, seriously, that isa consideration.'

They looked at each other, alarmed and anxious, and then towardNurse Blaber, who closed her book, marked the place, and turned toface them.

'Have you ever talked to your mother as you have to me?' shesaid.

'No. I might have spoken to dad--but mother's different. Whatd'you mean?'

'And you've never talked to your mother either, Mr. Conroy?'

'Not till I took Najdolene. Then I told her it was my heart.There's no need to say anything, now that I'm practically over it,is there?'

'Not if it doesn't come back, but--' She beckoned with a stumpy,triumphant linger that drew their heads close together. 'You know Ialways go in and read a chapter to mother at tea, child.'

'I know you do. You're an angel,' Miss Henschil patted the blueshoulder next her. 'Mother's Church of England now,' she explained.'But she'll have her Bible with her pikelets at tea every nightlike the Skinners.'

'It was Naaman and Gehazi last Tuesday that gave me a clue. Isaid I'd never seen a case of leprosy, and your mother said she'dseen too many.'

'Where? She never told me,' Miss Henschil began.

'A few months before you were born--on her trip to Australia--atMola or Molo something or other. It took me three evenings to getit all out.'

'Ay--mother's suspicious of questions,' said Miss Henschil toConroy. 'She'll lock the door of every room she's in, if it's butfor five minutes. She was a Tackberry from Jarrow way, yo'see.'

'She described your men to the life--men with faces all eatenaway, staring at her over the fence of a lepers' hospital in thisMolo Island. They begged from her, and she ran, she told me, alldown the street, back to the pier. One touched her and she nearlyfainted. She's ashamed of that still.'

'My men? The sand and the fences?' Miss Henschil muttered.

'Yes. You know how tidy she is and how she hates wind. Sheremembered that the fences were broken--she remembered the windblowing. Sand--sun--salt wind--fences--faces--I got it all out ofher, bit by bit. You don't know what I know! And it all happenedthree or four months before you were born. There!' Nurse Blaberslapped her knee with her little hand triumphantly.

'Would that account for it?' Miss Henschil shook from head tofoot.

'Absolutely. I don't care who you ask! You never imagined thething. It was laid on you. It happened on earth toyou! Quick, Mr. Conroy, she's too heavy for me! I'll get theflask.'

Miss Henschil leaned forward and collapsed, as Conroy told herafterwards, like a factory chimney. She came out of her swoon withteeth that chattered on the cup.

'No--no,' she said, gulping. 'It's not hysterics. Yo' see I'veno call to hev 'em any more. No call--no reason whatever. God bepraised! Can't yo' feel I'm a right woman now?'

'Stop hugging me!' said Nurse Blaber. 'You don't know yourstrength. Finish the brandy and water. It's perfectly reasonable,and I'll lay long odds Mr. Conroy's case is something of the same.I've been thinking--'

'I wonder--' said Conroy, and pushed the girl back as she swayedagain.

Nurse Blaber smoothed her pale hair. 'Yes. Your trouble, orsomething like it, happened somewhere on earth or sea to the motherwho bore you. Ask her, child. Ask her and be done with it once forall.'

'I will,' said Conroy.... 'There ought to be--' He opened hisbag and hunted breathlessly.

'Bless you! Oh, God bless you, Nursey!' Miss Henschil wassobbing. 'You don't know what this means to me. It takes it alloff--from the beginning.'

'But doesn't it make any difference to you now?' the nurse askedcuriously. 'Now that you're rightfully a woman?'

Conroy, busy with his bag, had not heard. Miss Henschil staredacross, and her beauty, freed from the shadow of any fear, blazedup within her. 'I see what you mean,' she said. 'But it hasn'tchanged anything. I want Toots. He has never been out of hismind in his life--except over silly me.'

'It's all right,' said Conroy, stooping under the lamp, Bradshawin hand. 'If I change at Templecombe--for Bristol(Bristol--Hereford--yes)--I can be with mother for breakfast in herroom and find out.'

'Quick, then,' said Nurse Blaber. 'We've passed Gillingham quitea while. You'd better take some of our sandwiches.' She went out toget them. Conroy and Miss Henschil would have danced, but there isno room for giants in a South-Western compartment.

'Good-bye, good luck, lad. Eh, but you've changed already--likeme. Send a wire to our hotel as soon as you're sure,' said MissHenschil. 'What should I have done without you?'

'Or I?' said Conroy. 'But it's Nurse that's saving usreally.'

'Then thank her,' said Miss Henschil, looking straight at him.'Yes, I would. She'd like it.'

When Nurse Blaber came back after the parting at Templecombe hernose and her eyelids were red, but, for all that, her facereflected a great light even while she sniffed over The Cloisterand the Hearth.

Miss Henschil, deep in a house furnisher's catalogue, did notspeak for twenty minutes. Then she said, between adding totals ofbest, guest, and servants' sheets, 'But why should our times havebeen the same, Nursey?'

'Because a child is born somewhere every second of the clock,'Nurse Blaber answered. 'And besides that, you probably set eachother off by talking and thinking about it. You shouldn't, youknow.'

'Ay, but you've never been in Hell,' said Miss Henschil.

The telegram handed in at Hereford at 12.46 and delivered toMiss Henschil on the beach of a certain village at 2.7 ranthus:

'"Absolutely confirmed. She says she remembers hearing noiseof accident in engine-room returning from Indiaeighty-five."'

'He means the year, not the thermometer,' said Nurse Blaber,throwing pebbles at the cold sea.

'"And two men scalded thus explaining my hoots." (Theidea of telling me that!) "Subsequently silly clergymanpassenger ran up behind her calling for joke, 'Friend, all islost,' thus accounting very words."'

Nurse Blaber purred audibly.

'"She says only remembers being upset minute or two.Unspeakable relief. Best love Nursey, who is jewel. Get out of herwhat she would like best." Oh, I oughtn't to have read that,'said Miss Henschil.

'It doesn't matter. I don't want anything,' said Nurse Blaber,'and if I did I shouldn't get it.'

The Honours of War

(1911)

A hooded motor had followed mine from the Guildford Road up thedrive to The Infant's ancestral hall, and had turned off to thestables.

'We're having a quiet evening together. Stalky's upstairschanging. Dinner's at 7.15 sharp, because we're hungry. His room'snext to yours,' said The Infant, nursing a cobwebbed bottle ofBurgundy.

Then I found Lieutenant-Colonel A.L. Corkran, I.A., who borroweda collar-stud and told me about the East and his Sikh regiment.

'And are your subalterns as good as ever?' I asked.

'Amazin'--simply amazin'! All I've got to do is to find 'emjobs. They keep touchin' their caps to me and askin' for more work.'Come at me with their tongues hangin' out. I used to runthe other way at their age.'

'And when they err?' said I. 'I suppose they do sometimes?'

'Then they run to me again to weep with remorse over theirvirgin peccadilloes. I never cuddled my Colonel when I was introuble. Lambs--positive lambs!'

'And what do you say to 'em?'

'Talk to 'em like a papa. Tell 'em how I can't understand it,an' how shocked I am, and how grieved their parents'll be; andthrow in a little about the Army Regulations and the TenCommandments. 'Makes one feel rather a sweep when one thinks ofwhat one used to do at their age. D'you remember--'

We remembered together till close on seven o'clock. As we wentout into the gallery that runs round the big hall, we saw TheInfant, below, talking to two deferential well-set-up lads whom Ihad known, on and off, in the holidays, any time for the last tenyears. One of them had a bruised cheek, and the other a weepingleft eye.

'Yes, that's the style,' said Stalky below his breath. 'They'rebrought up on lemon-squash and mobilisation text-books. I say, thegirls we knew must have been much better than they pretended theywere; for I'll swear it isn't the fathers.'

'But why on earth did you do it?' The Infant was shouting. 'Youknow what it means nowadays.'

'Well, sir,' said Bobby Trivett, the taller of the two, 'Wontnertalks too much, for one thing. He didn't join till he wastwenty-three, and, besides that, he used to lecture on tactics inthe ante-room. He said Clausewitz was the only tactician, and heillustrated his theories with cigar-ends. He was that sort of chap,sir.'

'And he didn't much care whose cigar-ends they were,' saidEames, who was shorter and pinker.

'And then he would talk about the 'Varsity,' said Bobby.'He got a degree there. And he told us we weren't intellectual. Hetold the Adjutant so, sir. He was just that kind of chap, sir, ifyou understand.'

Stalky and I backed behind a tall Japanese jar of chrysanthemumsand listened more intently.

'Was all the Mess in it, or only you two?' The Infant demanded,chewing his moustache.

'The Adjutant went to bed, of course, sir, and the SeniorSubaltern said he wasn't going to risk his commission--they'reawfully down on ragging nowadays in the Service--but the rest ofus--er--attended to him,' said Bobby.

'Much?' The Infant asked. The boys smiled deprecatingly.

'Not in the ante-room, sir,' said Eames. 'Then he called ussilly children, and went to bed, and we sat up discussin', and Isuppose we got a bit above ourselves, and we--er--'

'Went to his quarters and drew him?' The Infant suggested.

'Well, we only asked him to get out of bed, and we put hishelmet and sword-belt on for him, and we sung him bits out of theBlue Fairy Book--the cram-book on Army organisation. Oh yes, andthen we asked him to drink old Clausewitz's health, as abrother-tactician, in milk-punch and Worcester sauce, and so on. Wehad to help him a little there. He bites. There wasn't much elsethat time; but, you know, the War Office is severe on ragging thesedays.' Bobby stopped with a lopsided smile.

'And then,' Eames went on, 'then Wontner said we'd done severalpounds' worth of damage to his furniture.'

'Oh,' said The Infant, 'he's that kind of man, is he? Does hebrush his teeth?'

'Oh yes, he's quite clean all over!' said Trivett; 'but hisfather's a wealthy barrister.'

'Solicitor,' Eames corrected, 'and so this Mister Wontner is outfor our blood. He's going to make a first-class row aboutit--appeal to the War Office--court of inquiry--spicy bits in thepapers, and songs in the music-halls. He told us so.'

'That's the sort of chap he is,' said Trivett. 'And that meansold Dhurrah-bags, our Colonel, 'll be put on half-pay, same as thatcase in the Scarifungers' Mess; and our Adjutant'll have toexchange, like it was with that fellow in the 73rd Dragoons, andthere'll be misery all round. He means making it too hot for us,and his papa'll back him.'

'Yes, that's all very fine,' said The Infant; 'but I left theService about the time you were born, Bobby. What's it got to dowith me?'

'Father told me I was always to go to you when I was in trouble,and you've been awfully good to me since he ...'

'Better stay to dinner.' The Infant mopped his forehead.

'Thank you very much, but the fact is--' Trivett halted.

'This afternoon, about four, to be exact--' Eames broke in.

'We went over to Wontner's quarters to talk things over. The rowonly happened last night, and we found him writing letters as hardas he could to his father--getting up his case for the War Office,you know. He read us some of 'em, but I'm not a good judge ofstyle. We tried to ride him off quietly--apologies and soforth--but it was the milk-punch and mayonnaise that defeatedus.'

'Yes, he wasn't taking anything except pure revenge,' saidEames.

'He said he'd make an example of the regiment, and he wasparticularly glad that he'd landed our Colonel. He told us so. OldDhurrah-bags don't sympathise with Wontner's tactical lectures. Hesays Wontner ought to learn manners first, but we thought--'Trivett turned to Eames, who was less a son of the house thanhimself, Eames's father being still alive.

'Then,' Eames went on, 'he became rather noisome, and we thoughtwe might as well impound the correspondence'--he wrinkled hisswelled left eye--'and after that, we got him to take a seat in mycar.'

'He was in a sack, you know,' Trivett explained. 'He wouldn't goany other way. But we didn't hurt him.'

'Oh no! His head's sticking out quite clear, and'--Eames rushedthe fence--'we've put him in your garage--er pendentelite.'

'My garage!' Infant's voice nearly broke with horror.

'Well, father always told me if I was in trouble, UncleGeorge--'

Bobby's sentence died away as The Infant collapsed on a divanand said no more than, 'Your commissions!' There was a long, longsilence.

'What price your latter-day lime-juice subaltern?' I whisperedto Stalky behind my hand. His nostrils expanded, and he drummed onthe edge of the Japanese jar with his knuckles.

'Confound your father, Bobby!' The Infant groaned. 'Raggin's acriminal offence these days. It isn't as if--'

'Come on,' said Stalky. 'That was my old Line battalion inEgypt. They nearly slung old Dhurrah-bags and me out of the Servicein '85 for ragging.' He descended the stairs and The Infant rolledappealing eyes at him.

'I heard what you youngsters have confessed,' he began; and inhis orderly-room voice, which is almost as musical as his singingone, he tongue-lashed those lads in such sort as was a privilegeand a revelation to listen to. Till then they had known him almostas a relative--we were all brevet, deputy, or acting uncles to TheInfant's friends' brood--a sympathetic elder brother, sound onfinance. They had never met Colonel A.L. Corkran in the Chair ofJustice. And while he flayed and rent and blistered, and wiped thefloor with them, and while they looked for hiding-places and foundnone on that floor, I remembered (1) the up-ending of 'Dolly'Macshane at Dalhousie, which came perilously near a court-martialon Second-Lieutenant Corkran; (2) the burning of Captain Parmilee'smosquito-curtains on a hot Indian dawn, when the captain slept inhis garden, and Lieutenant Corkran, smoking, rode by after asuccessful whist night at the club; (3) the introduction of an ekkapony, with ekka attached, into a brother captain's tent on a frostynight in Peshawur, and the removal of tent, pole, cot, and captainall wrapped in chilly canvas; (4) the bath that was given toElliot-Hacker on his own verandah--his lady-love saw it and brokeoff the engagement, which was what the Mess intended, she being anEurasian--and the powdering all over of Elliot-Hacker with flourand turmeric from the bazaar.

When he took breath I realised how only Satan can rebuke sin.The good don't know enough.

'Now,' said Stalky, 'get out! No, not out of the house. Go toyour rooms.'

'I'll send your dinner, Bobby,' said The Infant. 'Ipps!'

Nothing had ever been known to astonish Ipps, the butler. Heentered and withdrew with his charges. After all, he had sufferedfrom Bobby since Bobby's twelfth year.

'They've done everything they could, short of murder,' said TheInfant. 'You know what this'll mean for the regiment. It isn't asif we were dealing with Sahibs nowadays.'

'Quite so.' Stalky turned on me. 'Go and release the bagman,' hesaid.

''Tisn't my garage,' I pleaded. 'I'm company. Besides, he'llprobably slay me. He's been in the sack for hours.'

'Look here,' Stalky thundered--the years had fallen from usboth--'is your--am I commandin' or are you? We've got to pull thisthing off somehow or other. Cut over to the garage, make much ofhim, and bring him over. He's dining with us. Be quick, youdithering ass!'

I was quick enough; but as I ran through the shrubbery Iwondered how one extricates the subaltern of the present day from asack without hurting his feelings. Anciently, one slit the endopen, taking off his boots first, and then fled.

Imagine a sumptuously-equipped garage, half-filled by TheInfant's cobalt-blue, grey-corded silk limousine and amud-splashed, cheap, hooded four-seater. In the back seat of thislast, conceive a fiery chestnut head emerging from a long oat-sack;an implacable white face, with blazing eyes and jaws that workedceaselessly at the loop of the string that was drawn round itsneck. The effect, under the electrics, was that of a demoncaterpillar wrathfully spinning its own cocoon.

'Good evening!' I said genially. 'Let me help you out of that.'The head glared. 'We've got 'em,' I went on. 'They came to quitethe wrong shop for this sort of game--quite the wrong shop.'

'Game!' said the head. 'We'll see about that. Let me out.'

It was not a promising voice for one so young, and, as usual, Ihad no knife.

'You've chewed the string so I can't find the knot,' I said as Iworked with trembling fingers at the cater-pillar's throat.Something untied itself, and Mr. Wontner wriggled out, collarless,tieless, his coat split half down his back, his waistcoatunbuttoned, his watch-chain snapped, his trousers rucked well abovethe knees.

'Where,' he said grimly, as he pulled them down, 'are MasterTrivett and Master Eames?'

'Both arrested, of course,' I replied. 'Sir George'--I gave TheInfant's full title as a baronet--'is a Justice of the Peace. He'dbe very pleased if you dined with us. There's a room ready foryou.' I picked up the sack.

'D'you know,' said Mr. Wontner through his teeth--but the car'sbonnet was between us, 'that this looks to me like--I won't sayconspiracy yet, but uncommonly like a confederacy.'

When injured souls begin to distinguish and qualify, danger isover. So I grew bold.

''Sorry you take it that way,' I said. 'You come here introuble--'

'My good fool,' he interrupted, with a half-hysterical snort,'let me assure you that the trouble will recoil on the othermen!'

'As you please,' I went on. 'Anyhow, the chaps who got you intotrouble are arrested, and the magistrate who arrested 'em asks youto dinner. Shall I tell him you're walking back to Aldershot?'

He picked some fluff off his waistcoat.

'I'm in no position to dictate terms yet,' he said. 'That willcome later. I must probe into this a little further. In themeantime, I accept your invitation without prejudice--if youunderstand what that means.'

I understood and began to be happy again. Sub-alterns withoutprejudices were quite new to me. 'All right,' I replied; 'if you'llgo up to the house, I'll turn out the lights.'

He walked off stiffly, while I searched the sack and the car forthe impounded correspondence that Bobby had talked of. I foundnothing except, as the police reports say, the trace of a struggle.He had kicked half the varnish off the back of the front seat, andhad bitten the leather padding where he could reach it. Evidently apurposeful and hard-mouthed young gentleman.

'Well done!' said Stalky at the door. 'So he didn't slay you.Stop laughing. He's talking to The Infant now about depositions.Look here, you're nearest his size. Cut up to your rooms and giveIpps your dinner things and a clean shirt for him.'

'But I haven't got another suit,' I said.

'You! I'm not thinking of you! We've got to conciliatehim. He's in filthy rags and a filthy temper, and he won'tfeel decent till he's dressed. You're the sacrifice. Be quick! Andclean socks, remember!'

Once more I trotted up to my room, changed into unseasonableunbrushed grey tweeds, put studs into a clean shirt, dug out freshsocks, handed the whole garniture over to Ipps, and returned to thehall just in time to hear Stalky say, 'I'm a stockbroker, but Ihave the honour to hold His Majesty's commission in a Territorialbattalion.' Then I felt as though I might be beginning to berepaid.

'I have a very high opinion of the Territorials myself,' saidMr. Wontner above a glass of sherry. (Infant never lets us putbitters into anything above twenty years old.) 'But if you had anyexperience of the Service, you would find that the Average ArmyMan--'

Here The Infant suggested changing, and Ipps, before whom nohuman passion can assert itself, led Mr. Wontner away.

'Why the devil did you tell him I was on the Bench?' said Infantwrathfully to me. 'You know I ain't now. Why didn't he stay in hisfather's office? He's a raging blight!'

'Not a bit of it,' said Stalky cheerfully. 'He's a little shakenand excited. Probably Beetle annoyed him in the garage, but we mustoverlook that. We've contained him so far, and I'm going to nibbleround his outposts at dinner. All you've got to do, Infant, is toremember you're a gentleman in your own house. Don't hop! You'llfind it pretty difficult before dinner's over. I don't want to hearanything at all from you, Beetle.'

'But I'm just beginning to like him,' I said. 'Do let meplay!'

'Not till I ask you. You'll overdo it. Poor old Dhurrah-bags! Ascandal 'ud break him up!'

'But as long as a regiment has no say as to who joins it, it'sbound to rag,' Infant began. 'Why--why, they varnished me when Ijoined!' He squirmed at the thought of it.

'Don't be owls! We ain't discussing principles! We've got tosave the court of inquiry if we can,' said Stalky.

Five minutes later--at 7.45 to be precise--we four sat down tosuch a dinner as, I hold, only The Infant's cook can produce, withwines worthy of pontifical banquets. A man in the extremity of rageand injured dignity is precisely like a typhoid patient. He asks noquestions, accepts what is put before him, and babbles in onekey--very often of trifles. But food and drink are the very best ofdrugs. I think it was Heidsieck Dry Monopole '92--Stalky as usualstuck to Burgundy--that began to unlock Mr. Wontner's heart behindmy shirt-front. Me he snubbed throughout, after the Oxford manner,because I had seen him in the sack, and he did not intend me topresume; but to Stalky and The Infant, while I admired the set ofmy dinner-jacket across his shoulders, he made his plans of revengevery clear indeed. He had even sketched out some of the paragraphsthat were to appear in the papers, and if Stalky had allowed me tospeak, I would have told him that they were rather neatlyphrased.

'You ought to be able to get whackin' damages out of 'em, intothe bargain,' said Stalky, after Mr. Wontner had outlined hisposition legally.

'My de-ah sir,' Mr. Wontner applied himself to his glass, 'itisn't a matter that gentlemen usually discuss, but, I assure you,we Wontners'--he waved a well-kept hand--'do not stand in any needof filthy lucre.' In the next three minutes, we learned exactlywhat his father was worth, which, as he pointed out, was a trifleno man of the world dwelt on. Stalky envied aloud, and I deliveredmy first kick at The Infant's ankle. Thence we drifted toeducation, and the Average Army Man, and the desolating vacuity--Iremember these words--of Army Society, notably among its womenkind.It appeared there was some sort of narrow convention in the Armyagainst mentioning a woman's name at Mess. We were much surprisedat this--Stalky would not let me express my surprise--but we tookit from Mr. Wontner, who said we might, that it was so. Next hetouched on Colonels of the old school, and their cognisance oftactics. Not that he himself pretended to any skill in tactics, butafter three years at the 'Varsity--none of us had had a 'Varsityeducation--a man insensibly contracted the habit of clear thinking.At least, he could automatically co-ordinate his ideas, and thejealousy of these muddle-headed Colonels was inconceivable. Wewould understand that it was his duty to force on the retirement ofhis Colonel, who had been in the conspiracy against him; to makehis Adjutant resign or exchange; and to give the half-dozenchildish subalterns who had vexed his dignity a chance to retrievethemselves in other corps--West African ones, he hoped. Forhimself, after the case was decided, he proposed to go on living inthe regiment, just to prove--for he bore no malice--that times hadchanged, nosque mutamur in illis--if we knew what thatmeant. Infant had curled his legs out of reach, so I was quite freeto return thanks yet once more to Allah for the diversity of Hiscreatures in His adorable world.

And so, by way of an eighty-year-old liqueur brandy, to tacticsand the great General Clausewitz, unknown to the Average Army Man.Here The Infant, at a whisper from Ipps--whose face had darkenedlike a mulberry while he waited--excused himself and went away, butStalky, Colonel of Territorials, wanted some tips on tactics. Hegot them unbrokenly for ten minutes--Wontner and Clausewitz mixed,but Wontner in a film of priceless cognac distinctly on top. WhenThe Infant came back, he renewed his clear-spoken demand thatInfant should take his depositions. I supposed this to be a familytrait of the Wontners, whom I had been visualising for some timepast even to the third generation.

'But, hang it all, they're both asleep!' said Infant, scowlingat me. 'Ipps let 'em have the '81 port.'

'Asleep!' said Stalky, rising at once. 'I don't see that makesany difference. As a matter of form, you'd better identify them.I'll show you the way.'

We followed up the white stone side-staircase that leads to thebachelors' wing. Mr. Wontner seemed surprised that the boys werenot in the coal-cellar.

'Oh, a chap's assumed to be innocent until he's proved guilty,'said Stalky, mounting step by step. 'How did they get you into thesack, Mr. Wontner?'

'Jumped on me from behind--two to one,' said Mr. Wontnerbriefly. 'I think I handed each of them something first, but theyroped my arms and legs.'

'And did they photograph you in the sack?'

'Good Heavens, no!' Mr. Wontner shuddered.

'That's lucky. Awful thing to live down--a photograph, isn'tit?' said Stalky to me as we reached the landing. 'I'm thinking ofthe newspapers, of course.'

'Oh, but you can easily have sketches in the illustrated papersfrom accounts supplied by eye-witnesses,' I said.

Mr. Wontner turned him round. It was the first time he hadhonoured me by his notice since our talk in the garage.

'Ah,' said he, 'do you pretend to any special knowledge in thesematters?'

'I'm a journalist by profession,' I answered simply but nobly.'As soon as you're at liberty, I'd like to have your account of theaffair.'

Now I thought he would have loved me for this, but he onlyreplied in an uncomfortable, uncoming-on voice, 'Oh, you would,would you?'

'Not if it's any trouble, of course,' I said. 'I can always gettheir version from the defendants. Do either of 'em draw or sketchat all, Mr. Wontner? Or perhaps your father might--'

Then he said quite hotly, 'I wish you to understand veryclearly, my good man, that a gentleman's name can't be draggedthrough the gutter to bolster up the circulation of your wretchedsheet, whatever it may be.'

'It is ----' I named a journal of enormous sales whichspecialises in scholastic, military, and other scandals. 'I don'tknow yet what it can't do, Mr. Wontner.'

'I didn't know that I was dealing with a reporter' said Mr.Wontner.

We were all halted outside a shut door. Ipps had followedus.

'But surely you want it in the papers, don't you?' I urged.'With a scandal like this, one couldn't, in justice to thedemocracy, be exclusive. We'd syndicate it here and in the UnitedStates. I helped you out of the sack, if you remember.'

'I wish to goodness you'd stop talking!' he snapped, and satdown on a chair. Stalky's hand on my shoulder quietly signalled meout of action, but I felt that my fire had not beenmisdirected.

'I'll answer for him,' said Stalky to Wontner, in an undertonethat dropped to a whisper. I caught--'Not without myleave--dependent on me for market-tips,' and other gratifyingtributes to my integrity.

Still Mr. Wontner sat in his chair, and still we waited on him.The Infant's face showed worry and heavy grief; Stalky's, a brightand bird-like interest; mine was hidden behind his shoulders, buton the face of Ipps were written emotions that no butler shouldcherish towards any guest. Contempt and wrath were the least ofthem. And Mr. Wontner was looking full at Ipps, as Ipps was lookingat him. Mr. Wontner's father, I understood, kept a butler and twofootmen.

'D'you suppose they're shamming, in order to get off?' he saidat last. Ipps shook his head and noiselessly threw the door open.The boys had finished their dinner and were fast asleep--one on asofa, one in a long chair--their faces fallen back to the lines oftheir childhood. They had had a wildish night, a hard day, thatended with a telling-off from an artist, and the assurance they hadwrecked their prospects for life. What else should youth do, then,but eat, and drink '81 port, and remember their sorrows nomore?

Mr. Wontner looked at them severely, Ipps within easy reach, hishands quite ready. 'Childish,' said Mr. Wontner at last. 'Childishbut necessary. Er--have you such a thing as a rope on the premises,and a sack--two sacks and two ropes? I'm afraid I can't resist thetemptation. That man understands, doesn't he, that this is aprivate matter?'

'That man,' who was me, was off to the basem*nt like one ofInfant's own fallow-deer. The stables gave me what I wanted, andcoming back with it through a dark passage, I ran squarely intoIpps. 'Go on!' he grunted. 'The minute he lays hands on MasterBobby, Master Bobby's saved. But that person ought to be told hownear he came to being assaulted. It was touch-and-go with me allthe time from the soup down, I assure you.'

I arrived breathless with the sacks and the ropes. 'They weretwo to one with me,' said Mr. Wontner, as he took them. 'If theywake--'

'We'll stand by,' Stalky replied. 'Two to one is quitefair.'

But the boys hardly grunted as Mr. Wontner roped first one andthen the other. Even when they were slid into the sacks they onlymumbled, with rolling heads, through sticky lips, and snoredon.

'Port?' said Mr. Wontner virtuously.

'Nervous exhaustion. They aren't much more than kids, after all.What's next?' said Stalky.

'I want to take 'em away with me, please.'

Stalky looked at him with respect.

'I'll have my car round in five minutes,' said The Infant.'Ipps'll help carry 'em downstairs,' and he shook Mr. Wontner bythe hand.

We were all perfectly serious till the two bundles were dumpedon a divan in the hall, and the boys waked and began to realisewhat had happened.

'Yah!' said Mr. Wontner, with the simplicity of twelve yearsold. 'Who's scored now?' And he sat upon them. The tension broke ina storm of laughter, led, I think, by Ipps.

'Asinine--absolutely asinine!' said Mr. Wontner, with foldedarms from his lively chair. But he drank in the flattery and thefellowship of it all with quite a brainless grin, as we rolled andstamped round him, and wiped the tears from our cheeks.

'Hang it!' said Bobby Trivett. 'We're defeated!'

'By tactics, too,' said Eames. 'I didn't think you knew 'em,Clausewitz. It's a fair score. What are you going to do withus?'

'Take you back to Mess,' said Mr. Wontner.

'Not like this?'

'Oh no. Worse--much worse! I haven't begun with you yet. And youthought you'd scored! Yah!'

They had scored beyond their wildest dream. The man in whosehands it lay to shame them, their Colonel, their Adjutant, theirRegiment, and their Service, had cast away all shadow of his legalrights for the sake of a common or bear-garden rag--such a rag asif it came to the ears of the authorities, would cost him hiscommission. They were saved, and their saviour was their equal andtheir brother. So they chaffed and reviled him as such till heagain squashed the breath out of them, and we others laughed louderthan they.

'Fall in!' said Stalky when the limousine came round. 'This isthe score of the century. I wouldn't miss it for a brigade! Weshan't be long, Infant!'

I hurried into a coat.

'Is there any necessity for that reporter-chap to come too?'said Mr. Wontner in an unguarded whisper. 'He isn't dressed for onething.'

Bobby and Eames wriggled round to look at the reporter, began ajoyous bellow, and suddenly stopped.

'What's the matter?' said Wontner with suspicion.

'Nothing,' said Bobby. 'I die happy, Clausewitz. Take me uptenderly.'

We packed into the car, bearing our sheaves with us, and forhalf an hour, as the cool night-air fanned his thoughtful brow, Mr.Wontner was quite abreast of himself. Though he said nothingunworthy, he triumphed and trumpeted a little loudly over thesacks. I sat between them on the back seat, and applauded himservilely till he reminded me that what I had seen and what he hadsaid was not for publication. I hinted, while the boys plunged withjoy inside their trappings, that this might be a matter forarrangement. 'Then a sovereign shan't part us,' said Mr. Wontnercheerily, and both boys fell into lively hysterics. 'I don't seewhere the joke comes in for you,' said Mr. Wontner. 'I thought itwas my little jokelet to-night.'

'No, Clausewitz,' gasped Bobby. 'Some is, but not all. I'll begood now. I'll give you my parole till we get to Mess. I wouldn'tbe out of this for a fiver.'

'Nor me,' said Eames, and he gave his parole to attempt noescape or evasion.

'Now, I suppose,' said Mr. Wontner largely to Stalky, as weneared the suburbs of Ash, 'you have a good deal of practicaljoking on the Stock Exchange, haven't you?'

'And when were you on the Stock Exchange, Uncle Leonard?' pipedBobby, while Eames laid his sobbing head on my shoulder.

'I'm sorry,' said Stalky, 'but the fact is, I command a regimentmyself when I'm at home. Your Colonel knows me, I think.' He gavehis name. Mr. Wontner seemed to have heard of it. We had to pickEames off the floor, where he had cast himself from excess ofdelight.

'Oh, Heavens!' said Mr. Wontner after a long pause. 'What have Idone? What haven't I done?' We felt the temperature in the car riseas he blushed.

'You didn't talk tactics, Clausewitz?' said Bobby. 'Oh, say itwasn't tactics, darling!'

'It was,' said Wontner.

Eames was all among our feet again, crying, 'If you don't let meget my arms up, I'll be sick. Let's hear what you said. Tellus.'

But Mr. Wontner turned to Stalky. 'It's no good my begging yourpardon, sir, I suppose,' he said.

'Don't you notice 'em,' said Stalky. 'It was a fair rag allround, and anyhow, you two youngsters haven't any right to talktactics. You've been rolled up, horse, foot, and guns.'

'I'll make a treaty. If you'll let us go and change presently,'said Bobby, 'I'll promise we won't tell about you, Clausewitz.You talked tactics to Uncle Len? Old Dhurrah-bags will likethat. He don't love you, Claus.'

'If I've made one ass of myself, I shall take extra care to makeasses of you!' said Wontner. 'I want to stop, please, at the nextmilliner's shop on the right. It ought to be close here.'

He evidently knew the country even in the dark, for the carstopped at a brilliantly-lighted millinery establishment, where--itwas Saturday evening--a young lady was clearing up the counter. Ifollowed him, as a good reporter should.

'Have you got--' he began. 'Ah, those'll do!' He pointed to twohairy plush beehive bonnets, one magenta, the other a conscientiouselectric blue. 'How much, please? I'll take them both, and thatbunch of peaco*ck feathers, and that red feather thing.' It was abrilliant crimson-dyed pigeon's wing.

'Now I want some yards of muslin with a nice, fierce pattern,please.' He got it--yellow with black tulips--and returned heavilyladen.

'Sorry to have kept you,' said he. 'Now we'll go to my quartersto change and beautify.'

We came to them--opposite a dun waste of parade-ground thatmight have been Mian Mir--and bugles as they blew and drums as theyrolled set heart-strings echoing.

We hoisted the boys out and arranged them on chairs, whileWontner changed into uniform, but stopped when he saw me taking offmy jacket.

'What on earth's that for?' said he.

'Because you've been wearing my evening things,' I said. 'I wantto get into 'em again, if you don't mind.'

'Then you aren't a reporter?' he said.

'No,' I said, 'but that shan't part us.'

'Oh, hurry!' cried Eames in desperate convulsions. 'We can'tstand this much longer. 'Tisn't fair on the young.'

'I'll attend to you in good time,' said Wontner; and when he hadmade careful toilet, he unwrapped the bonnets, put the peaco*ck'sfeather into the magenta one, pinned the crimson wing on the blueone, set them daintily on the boys' heads, and bade them admire theeffect in his shaving-glass while he ripped the muslin intolengths, bound it first, and draped it artistically afterwards alittle below their knees. He finished off with a gigantic sash-bow,obi fashion. 'Hobble skirts,' he explained to Stalky, who noddedapproval.

Next he split open the bottom of each sack so that they couldwalk, but with very short steps. 'I ought to have got you whitesatin slippers,' he murmured, 'and I'm sorry there's no rouge.'

'Don't worry on our account, old man--you're doing us proud,'said Bobby from under his hat. 'This beats milk-punch andmayonnaise.'

'Oh, why didn't we think of these things when we had him at ourmercy?' Eames wailed. 'Never mind--we'll try it on the next chap.You've a mind, Claus.'

'Now we'll call on 'em at Mess,' said Wontner, as they mincedtowards the door.

'I think I'll call on your Colonel,' said Stalky. 'He oughtn'tto miss this. Your first attempt? I assure you I couldn't have doneit better myself. Thank you!' He held out his hand.

'Thank you, sir!' said Wontner, shaking it. 'I'm moregrateful to you than I can say, and--and I'd like you to believesome time that I'm not quite as big a--'

'Not in the least,' Stalky interrupted. 'If I were writing aconfidential report on you, I should put you down as ratheradequate. Look after your geishas, or they'll fall!'

We watched the three cross the road and disappear into theshadow of the Mess verandah. There was a noise. Then telephonebells rang, a sergeant and a Mess waiter charged out, and the noisegrew, till at last the Mess was a little noisy.

We came back, ten minutes later, with Colonel Dalziell, who hadbeen taking his sorrows to bed with him. The ante-room was quitefull and visitors were still arriving, but it was possible to hearoneself speak occasionally. Trivett and Eames, in sack and sash,sat side by side on a table, their hats at a ravishing angle,coquettishly twiddling their tied feet. In the intervals of singing'Put Me Among the Girls,' they sipped whisky-and-soda held to theirlips by, I regret to say, a Major. Public opinion seemed to beagainst allowing them to change their costume till they should havedanced in it. Wontner, lying more or less gracefully at the levelof the chandelier in the arms of six subalterns, was lecturing ontactics and imploring to be let down, which he was with a run whenthey realised that the Colonel was there. Then he picked himself upfrom the sofa and said: 'I want to apologise, sir, to you and theMess for having been such an ass ever since I joined!'

This was when the noise began.

Seeing the night promised to be wet, Stalky and I went homeagain in The Infant's car. It was some time since we had tasted thehot air that lies between the cornice and the ceiling of crowdedrooms.

After half an hour's silence, Stalky said to me: 'I don't knowwhat you've been doing, but I believe I've been weepin'. Would youput that down to Burgundy or senile decay?'

The Dog Hervey

(April 1914)

My friend Attley, who would give away his own head if you toldhim you had lost yours, was giving away a six-months-old litter ofBettina's pups, and half-a-dozen women were in raptures at the showon Mittleham lawn.

We picked by lot. Mrs. Godfrey drew first choice; her marrieddaughter, second. I was third, but waived my right because I wasalready owned by Malachi, Bettina's full brother, whom I hadbrought over in the car to visit his nephews and nieces, and hewould have slain them all if I had taken home one. Milly, Mrs.Godfrey's younger daughter, pounced on my rejection with squeals ofdelight, and Attley turned to a dark, sallow-skinned, slack-mouthedgirl, who had come over for tennis, and invited her to pick. Sheput on a pince-nez that made her look like a camel, knelt clumsily,for she was long from the hip to the knee, breathed hard, andconsidered the last couple.

'I think I'd like that sandy-pied one,' she said.

'Oh, not him, Miss Sichliffe!' Attley cried. 'He was overlaid orhad sunstroke or something. They call him The Looney in thekennels. Besides, he squints.'

'I think that's rather fetching,' she answered. Neither Malachinor I had ever seen a squinting dog before.

'That's chorea--St. Vitus's dance,' Mrs. Godfrey put in. 'Heought to have been drowned.'

'But I like his cast of countenance,' the girl persisted.

'He doesn't look a good life,' I said, 'but perhaps he can bepatched up.' Miss Sichliffe turned crimson; I saw Mrs. Godfreyexchange a glance with her married daughter, and knew I had saidsomething which would have to be lived down.

'Yes,' Miss Sichliffe went on, her voice shaking, 'he isn't agood life, but perhaps I can--patch him up. Come here, sir.' Themisshapen beast lurched toward her, squinting down his own nosetill he fell over his own toes. Then, luckily, Bettina ran acrossthe lawn and reminded Malachi of their puppyhood. All that familyare as queer as Dick's hatband, and fight like man and wife. I hadto separate them, and Mrs. Godfrey helped me till they retiredunder the rhododendrons and had it out in silence.

'D'you know what that girl's father was?' Mrs. Godfreyasked.

'No,' I replied. 'I loathe her for her own sake. She breathesthrough her mouth.'

'He was a retired doctor,' she explained. 'He used to pick upstormy young men in the repentant stage, take them home, and patchthem up till they were sound enough to be insured. Then he insuredthem heavily, and let them out into the world again--with anappetite. Of course, no one knew him while he was alive, but heleft pots of money to his daughter.'

'Strictly legitimate--highly respectable,' I said. 'But what alife for the daughter!'

'Mustn't it have been! Now d'you realise what you saidjust now?'

'Perfectly; and now you've made me quite happy, shall we go backto the house?'

When we reached it they were all inside, sitting in committee onnames.

'What shall you call yours?' I heard Milly ask MissSichliffe.

'Harvey,' she replied--'Harvey's Sauce, you know. He's going tobe quite saucy when I've'--she saw Mrs. Godfrey and me comingthrough the French window--'when he's stronger.'

Attley, the well-meaning man, to make me feel at ease, askedwhat I thought of the name.

'Oh, splendid,' I said at random. 'H with an A, A with an R, Rwith a--'

'But that's Little Bingo,' some one said, and they alllaughed.

Miss Sichliffe, her hands joined across her long knees, drawled,'You ought always to verify your quotations.'

It was not a kindly thrust, but something in the word'quotation' set the automatic side of my brain at work on someshadow of a word or phrase that kept itself out of memory's reachas a cat sits just beyond a dog's jump. When I was going home, MissSichliffe came up to me in the twilight, the pup on a leash,swinging her big shoes at the end of her tennis-racket.

''Sorry,' she said in her thick schoolboy-like voice. 'I'm sorryfor what I said to you about verifying quotations. I didn't knowyou well enough and--anyhow, I oughtn't to have.'

'But you were quite right about Little Bingo,' I answered. 'Thespelling ought to have reminded me.'

'Yes, of course. It's the spelling,' she said, and slouched offwith the pup sliding after her. Once again my brain began to worryafter something that would have meant something if it had beenproperly spelled. I confided my trouble to Malachi on the way home,but Bettina had bitten him in four places, and he was busy.

Weeks later, Attley came over to see me, and before his carstopped Malachi let me know that Bettina was sitting beside thechauffeur. He greeted her by the scruff of the neck as she hoppeddown; and I greeted Mrs. Godfrey, Attley, and a big basket.

'You've got to help me,' said Attley tiredly. We took the basketinto the garden, and there staggered out the angular shadow of asandy-pied, broken-haired terrier, with one imbecile and onedelirious ear, and two most hideous squints. Bettina and Malachi,already at grips on the lawn, saw him, let go, and fled in oppositedirections.

'Why have you brought that fetid hound here?' I demanded.

'Harvey? For you to take care of,' said Attley. 'He's haddistemper, but I'm going abroad.'

'Take him with you. I won't have him. He's mentallyafflicted.'

'Look here,' Attley almost shouted, 'do I strike you as afool?'

'Always,' said I.

'Well, then, if you say so, and Ella says so, that proves Iought to go abroad.'

'Will's wrong, quite wrong,' Mrs. Godfrey interrupted; 'but youmust take the pup.'

'My dear boy, my dear boy, don't you ever give anything to awoman,' Attley snorted.

Bit by bit I got the story out of them in the quiet garden(never a sign from Bettina and Malachi), while Harvey stared me outof countenance, first with one cuttlefish eye and then with theother.

It appeared that, a month after Miss Sichliffe took him, the dogHarvey developed distemper. Miss Sichliffe had nursed him herselffor some time; then she carried him in her arms the two miles toMittleham, and wept--actually wept--at Attley's feet, saying thatHarvey was all she had or expected to have in this world, andAttley must cure him. Attley, being by wealth, position, andtemperament guardian to all lame dogs, had put everything aside forthis unsavoury job, and, he asserted, Miss Sichliffe had virtuallylived with him ever since.

'She went home at night, of course,' he exploded, 'but the restof the time she simply infested the premises. Goodness knows, I'mnot particular, but it was a scandal. Even the servants!... Threeand four times a day, and notes in between, to know how the beastwas. Hang it all, don't laugh! And wanting to send me flowers andgoldfish. Do I look as if I wanted goldfish? Can't you two stop fora minute?' (Mrs. Godfrey and I were clinging to each other forsupport.) 'And it isn't as if I was--was so alluring a personality,is it?'

Attley commands more trust, goodwill, and affection than mostmen, for he is that rare angel, an absolutely unselfish bachelor,content to be run by contending syndicates of zealous friends. Hissituation seemed desperate, and I told him so.

'Instant flight is your only remedy,' was my verdict. I'll takecare of both your cars while you're away, and you can send me overall the greenhouse fruit.'

'But why should I be chased out of my house by a she-dromedary?'he wailed.

'Oh, stop! Stop!' Mrs. Godfrey sobbed. 'You're both wrong. Iadmit you're right, but I know you're wrong.'

'Three and four times a day,' said Attley, with an awfulcountenance. 'I'm not a vain man, but--look here, Ella, I'm notsensitive, I hope, but if you persist in making a joke of it--'

'Oh, be quiet!' she almost shrieked. 'D'you imagine for oneinstant that your friends would ever let Mittleham pass out oftheir hands? I quite agree it is unseemly for a grown girl to cometo Mittleham at all hours of the day and night--'

'I told you she went home o' nights,' Attley growled.

'Specially if she goes home o' nights. Oh, but think of the lifeshe must have led, Will!'

'I'm not interfering with it; only she must leave me alone.'

'She may want to patch you up and insure you,' I suggested.

'D'you know what you are?' Mrs. Godfrey turned on me withthe smile I have feared for the last quarter of a century. 'You'rethe nice, kind, wise, doggy friend. You don't know how wise andnice you are supposed to be. Will has sent Harvey to you tocomplete the poor angel's convalescence. You know all about dogs,or Will wouldn't have done it. He's written her that. You're toofar off for her to make daily calls on you. P'r'aps she'll drop intwo or three times a week, and write on other days. But it doesn'tmatter what she does, because you don't own Mittleham, don't yousee?'

I told her I saw most clearly.

'Oh, you'll get over that in a few days,' Mrs. Godfreycountered. 'You're the sporting, responsible, doggy friendwho--'

'He used to look at me like that at first,' said Attley, with avisible shudder, 'but he gave it up after a bit. It's only becauseyou're new to him.'

'But, confound you! he's a ghoul--' I began.

'And when he gets quite well, you'll send him back to her directwith your love, and she'll give you some pretty four-tailedgoldfish,' said Mrs. Godfrey, rising. 'That's all settled. Car,please. We're going to Brighton to lunch together.'

They ran before I could get into my stride, so I told the dogHarvey what I thought of them and his mistress. He never shiftedhis position, but stared at me, an intense, lopsided stare, eyeafter eye. Malachi came along when he had seen his sister off, andfrom a distance counselled me to drown the brute and consort withgentlemen again. But the dog Harvey never even co*cked his co*ckableear.

And so it continued as long as he was with me. Where I sat, hesat and stared; where I walked, he walked beside, head stifflyslewed over one shoulder in single-barrelled contemplation of me.He never gave tongue, never closed in for a caress, seldom let mestir a step alone. And, to my amazement, Malachi, who suffered nostranger to live within our gates, saw this gaunt, growing,green-eyed devil wipe him out of my service and company without awhimper. Indeed, one would have said the situation interested him,for he would meet us returning from grim walks together, and lookalternately at Harvey and at me with the same quivering interestthat he showed at the mouth of a rat-hole. Outside theseinspections, Malachi withdrew himself as only a dog or a womancan.

Miss Sichliffe came over after a few days (luckily I was out)with some elaborate story of paying calls in the neighbourhood. Shesent me a note of thanks next day. I was reading it when Harvey andMalachi entered and disposed themselves as usual, Harvey close upto stare at me, Malachi half under the sofa, watching us both. Outof curiosity I returned Harvey's stare, then pulled his lopsidedhead on to my knee, and took his eye for several minutes. Now, inMalachi's eye I can see at any hour all that there is of the normaldecent dog, flecked here and there with that strained half-soulwhich man's love and association have added to his nature. But withHarvey the eye was perplexed, as a tortured man's. Only by lookingfar into its deeps could one make out the spirit of the properanimal, beclouded and cowering beneath some unfair burden.

Leggatt, my chauffeur, came in for orders.

'How d'you think Harvey's coming on?' I said, as I rubbed thebrute's gulping neck. The vet had warned me of the possibilities ofspinal trouble following distemper.

'He ain't my fancy,' was the reply. 'But I don'tquestion his comings and goings so long as I 'aven't to sit alonein a room with him.'

'Why? He's as meek as Moses,' I said.

'He fair gives me the creeps. P'r'aps he'll go out in fits.'

But Harvey, as I wrote his mistress from time to time, throve,and when he grew better, would play by himself grisly games ofspying, walking up, hailing, and chasing another dog. From these hewould break off of a sudden and return to his normal stiff gait,with the air of one who had forgotten some matter of life anddeath, which could be reached only by staring at me. I left him oneevening posturing with the unseen on the lawn, and went inside tofinish some letters for the post. I must have been at work nearlyan hour, for I was going to turn on the lights, when I felt therewas somebody in the room whom, the short hairs at the back of myneck warned me, I was not in the least anxious to face. There was amirror on the wall. As I lifted my eyes to it I saw the dog Harveyreflected near the shadow by the closed door. He had reared himselffull-length on his hind legs, his head a little one side to clear asofa between us, and he was looking at me. The face, with itsknitted brows and drawn lips, was the face of a dog, but the look,for the fraction of time that I caught it, was human--wholly andhorribly human. When the blood in my body went forward again he haddropped to the floor, and was merely studying me in his usualone-eyed fashion. Next day I returned him to Miss Sichliffe. Iwould not have kept him another day for the wealth of Asia, or evenElla Godfrey's approval.

Miss Sichliffe's house I discovered to be a mid-Victorianmansion of peculiar villainy even for its period, surrounded bygardens of conflicting colours, all dazzling with glass and freshpaint on ironwork. Striped blinds, for it was a blazing autumnmorning, covered most of the windows, and a voice sang to the pianoan almost forgotten song of Jean Ingelow's--

Methought that the stars were blinking bright,
And the old brig's sails unfurled--

Down came the loud pedal, and the unrestrained cry swelled outacross a bed of tritomas consuming in their own fires--

When I said I will sail to my love this night
On the other side of the world.

I have no music, but the voice drew. I waited till the end:

It seemed to me a poor life that had no more than that to do ateleven o'clock of a Tuesday forenoon. Then Miss Sichliffe suddenlylumbered through a French window in clumsy haste, her browscontracted against the light.

'Well?' she said, delivering the word like a spear-thrust, withthe full weight of a body behind it.

'I've brought Harvey back at last,' I replied. 'Here he is.'

But it was at me she looked, not at the dog who had cast himselfat her feet--looked as though she would have fished my soul out ofmy breast on the instant.

'Wha--what did you think of him? What did you make ofhim?' she panted. I was too taken aback for the moment to reply.Her voice broke as she stooped to the dog at her knees. 'O Harvey,Harvey! You utterly worthless old devil!' she cried, and the dogcringed and abased himself in servility that one could scarcelybear to look upon. I made to go.

'Oh, but please, you mustn't!' She tugged at the car's side.'Wouldn't you like some flowers or some orchids? We've reallysplendid orchids, and'--she clasped her hands--'there are Japanesegoldfish--real Japanese goldfish, with four tails. If you don'tcare for 'em, perhaps your friends or somebody--oh, please!'

Harvey had recovered himself, and I realised that this womanbeyond the decencies was fawning on me as the dog had fawned onher.

'Certainly,' I said, ashamed to meet her eye. 'I'm lunching atMittleham, but--'

'There's plenty of time,' she entreated. 'What do youthink of Harvey?'

'He's a queer beast,' I said, getting out. 'He does nothing butstare at me.'

'Does he stare at you all the time he's with you?'

'Always. He's doing it now. Look!'

We had halted. Harvey had sat down, and was staring from one tothe other with a weaving motion of the head.

'He'll do that all day,' I said. 'What is it, Harvey?'

'Yes, what is it, Harvey?' she echoed. The dog's throattwitched, his body stiffened and shook as though he were going tohave a fit. Then he came back with a visible wrench to hisunwinking watch.

'Always so?' she whispered.

'Always,' I replied, and told her something of his life with me.She nodded once or twice, and in the end led me into the house.

There were unaging pitch-pine doors of Gothic design in it;there were inlaid marble mantel-pieces and cut-steel fenders; therewere stupendous wall-papers, and octagonal, medallioned Wedgwoodwhat-nots, and black-and-gilt Austrian images holding candelabra,with every other refinement that Art had achieved or wealth hadbought between 1851 and 1878. And everything reeked of varnish.

'Now!' she opened a baize door, and pointed down a long corridorflanked with more Gothic doors. 'This was where we used to--topatch 'em up. You've heard of us. Mrs. Godfrey told you in thegarden the day I got Harvey given me. I'--she drew in herbreath--'I live here by myself, and I have a very large income.Come back, Harvey.'

He had tiptoed down the corridor, as rigid as ever, and wassitting outside one of the shut doors. 'Look here!' she said, andplanted herself squarely in front of me. 'I tell you this becauseyou--you've patched up Harvey, too. Now, I want you to rememberthat my name is Moira. Mother calls me Marjorie because it's morerefined; but my real name is Moira, and I am in my thirty-fourthyear.'

'Very good,' I said. 'I'll remember all that.'

'Thank you.' Then with a sudden swoop into the humility of anabashed boy--''Sorry if I haven't said the proper things. Yousee--there's Harvey looking at us again. Oh, I want to say--if everyou want anything in the way of orchids or goldfish or--or anythingelse that would be useful to you, you've only to come to me for it.Under the will I'm perfectly independent, and we're a long-livedfamily, worse luck!' She looked at me, and her face worked likeglass behind driven flame. 'I may reasonably expect to live anotherfifty years,' she said.

'Thank you, Miss Sichliffe,' I replied. 'If I want anything, youmay be sure I'll come to you for it.' She nodded. 'Now I must getover to Mittleham,' I said.

'Mr. Attley will ask you all about this.' For the first time shelaughed aloud. 'I'm afraid I frightened him nearly out of thecounty. I didn't think, of course. But I dare say he knows by thistime he was wrong. Say good-bye to Harvey.'

'Good-bye, old man,' I said. 'Give me a farewell stare, so weshall know each other when we meet again.'

The dog looked up, then moved slowly toward me, and stood, headbowed to the floor, shaking in every muscle as I patted him; andwhen I turned, I saw him crawl back to her feet.

That was not a good preparation for the rampantboy-and-girl-dominated lunch at Mittleham, which, as usual, I foundin possession of everybody except the owner.

'But what did the dromedary say when you brought her beastback?' Attley demanded.

'The usual polite things,' I replied. 'I'm posing as the nicedoggy friend nowadays.'

'I don't envy you. She's never darkened my doors, thankgoodness, since I left Harvey at your place. I suppose she'll runabout the county now swearing you cured him. That's a woman's ideaof gratitude.' Attley seemed rather hurt, and Mrs. Godfreylaughed.

'That proves you were right about Miss Sichliffe, Ella,' I said.'She had no designs on anybody.'

'I'm always right in these matters. But didn't she even offeryou a goldfish?'

'Not a thing,' said I. 'You know what an old maid's like whereher precious dog's concerned.' And though I have tried vainly tolie to Ella Godfrey for many years, I believe that in this case Isucceeded.

When I turned into our drive that evening, Leggatt observed halfaloud:

'I'm glad Zvengali's back where he belongs. It's time our Mikehad a look in.'

Sure enough, there was Malachi back again in spirit as well asflesh, but still with that odd air of expectation he had picked upfrom Harvey.

It was in January that Attley wrote me that Mrs. Godfrey,wintering in Madeira with Milly, her unmarried daughter, had beenattacked with something like enteric; that the hotel, anxious forits good name, had thrust them both out into a cottage annexe; thathe was off with a nurse, and that I was not to leave England till Iheard from him again. In a week he wired that Milly was down aswell, and that I must bring out two more nurses, with suitabledelicacies.

Within seventeen hours I had got them all aboard the Cape boat,and had seen the women safely collapsed into sea-sickness. The nextfew weeks were for me, as for the invalids, a low delirium, cloudedwith fantastic memories of Portuguese officials trying to taxcalves'-foot jelly; voluble doctors insisting that true typhoid wasunknown in the island; nurses who had to be exercised, taken out ofthemselves, and returned on the tick of change of guard; nightslides down glassy, cobbled streets, smelling of sewage andflowers, between walls whose every stone and patch Attley and Iknew; vigils in stucco verandahs, watching the curve and descent ofgreat stars or drawing auguries from the break of dawn; insaneinterludes of gambling at the local Casino, where we won heaps ofunconsoling silver; blasts of steamers arriving and departing inthe roads; help offered by total strangers, grabbed at or thrustaside; the long nightmare crumbling back into sanity one forenoonunder a vine-covered trellis, where Attley sat hugging a nurse,while the others danced a noiseless, neat-footed breakdown neverlearned at the Middlesex Hospital. At last, as the tension came outall over us in aches and tingles that we put down to the countrywine, a vision of Mrs. Godfrey, her grey hair turned to spun-glass,but her eyes triumphant over the shadow of retreating death beneaththem, with Milly, enormously grown, and clutching life back to heryoung breast, both stretched out on cane chairs, clamouring forfood.

In this ungirt hour there imported himself into our life ayoungish-looking middle-aged man of the name of Shend, with ablurred face and deprecating eyes. He said he had gambled with meat the Casino, which was no recommendation, and I remember that hetwice gave me a basket of champagne and liqueur brandy for theinvalids, which a sailor in a red-tasselled cap carried up to thecottage for me at 3 A.M. He turned out to be the son of somemerchant prince in the oil and colour line, and the owner of afour-hundred-ton steam yacht, into which, at his gentle insistence,we later shifted our camp, staff, and equipage, Milly weeping withdelight to escape from the horrible cottage. There we lay offFunchal for weeks, while Shend did miracles of luxury andattendance through deputies, and never once asked how his guestswere enjoying themselves. Indeed, for several days at a time wewould see nothing of him. He was, he said, subject to malaria.Giving as they do with both hands, I knew that Attley and Mrs.Godfrey could take nobly; but I never met a man who so nobly gaveand so nobly received thanks as Shend did.

'Tell us why you have been so unbelievably kind to us gipsies,'Mrs. Godfrey said to him one day on deck.

He looked up from a diagram of some Thames-mouth shoals which hewas explaining to me, and answered with his gentle smile:

'I will. It's because it makes me happy--it makes me more thanhappy--to be with you. It makes me comfortable. You know howselfish men are? If a man feels comfortable all over with certainpeople, he'll bore them to death, just like a dog. You always makeme feel as if pleasant things were going to happen to me.'

'Haven't any ever happened before?' Milly asked.

'This is the most pleasant thing that has happened to me in everso many years,' he replied. 'I feel like the man in the Bible,"It's good for me to be here." Generally, I don't feel that it'sgood for me to be anywhere in particular.' Then, as one begging afavour. 'You'll let me come home with you--in the same boat, Imean? I'd take you back in this thing of mine, and that would saveyou packing your trunks, but she's too lively for spring workacross the Bay.'

We booked our berths, and when the time came, he wafted us andours aboard the Southampton mail-boat with the pomp ofplenipotentiaries and the precision of the Navy. Then he dismissedhis yacht, and became an inconspicuous passenger in a cabinopposite to mine, on the port side.

We ran at once into early British spring weather, followed bysou'west gales. Mrs. Godfrey, Milly, and the nurses disappeared.Attley stood it out, visibly yellowing, till the next meal, andfollowed suit, and Shend and I had the little table all toourselves. I found him even more attractive when the women wereaway. The natural sweetness of the man, his voice, and bearing allfascinated me, and his knowledge of practical seamanship (he heldan extra master's certificate) was a real joy. We sat long in theempty saloon and longer in the smoking-room, making dashesdownstairs over slippery decks at the eleventh hour.

It was on Friday night, just as I was going to bed, that he cameinto my cabin, after cleaning his teeth, which he did half a dozentimes a day.

'I say,' he began hurriedly, 'do you mind if I come in here fora little? I'm a bit edgy.' I must have shown surprise. 'I'm ever somuch better about liquor than I used to be, but--it's the whisky inthe suitcase that throws me. For God's sake, old man, don't go backon me to-night! Look at my hands!'

They were fairly jumping at the wrists. He sat down on a trunkthat had slid out with the roll. We had reduced speed, and weresurging in confused seas that pounded on the black port-glasses.The night promised to be a pleasant one!

'You understand, of course, don't you?' he chattered.

'Oh yes,' I said cheerily; 'but how about--'

'No, no; on no account the doctor. 'Tell a doctor, tell thewhole ship. Besides, I've only got a touch of 'em. You'd never haveguessed it, would you? The tooth-wash does the trick. I'll give youthe prescription.'

I'll send a note to the doctor for a prescription, shall I?' Isuggested.

'Right! I put myself unreservedly in your hands. 'Fact is, Ialways did. I said to myself--'sure I don't bore you?--the minute Isaw you, I said, "Thou art the man."' He repeated the phrase as hepicked at his knees. 'All the same, you can take it from me thatthe ewe-lamb business is a rotten bad one. I don't care howunfaithful the shepherd may be. Drunk or sober, 'tisn'tcricket.'

A surge of the trunk threw him across the cabin as the stewardanswered my bell. I wrote my requisition to the doctor while Shendwas struggling to his feet.

'What's wrong?' he began. 'Oh, I know. We're slowing forsoundings off Ushant. It's about time, too. You'd better ship thedead-lights when you come back, Matchem. It'll save you waking uslater. This sea's going to get up when the tide turns. That'll showyou,' he said as the man left, 'that I am to be trusted.You--you'll stop me if I say anything I shouldn't, won't you?'

'Talk away,' I replied, 'if it makes you feel better.'

'That's it; you've hit it exactly. You always make me feelbetter. I can rely on you. It's awkward soundings but you'll see methrough it. We'll defeat him yet.... I may be an utterly worthlessdevil, but I'm not a brawler.... I told him so at breakfast. Isaid, "Doctor, I detest brawling, but if ever you allow that girlto be insulted again as Clements insulted her, I will break yourneck with my own hands." You think I was right?'

'Absolutely,' I agreed.

'Then we needn't discuss the matter any further. That man was amurderer in intention--outside the law, you understand, as it wasthen. They've changed it since--but he never deceived me. Itold him so. I said to him at the time, "I don't know what priceyou're going to put on my head, but if ever you allow Clements toinsult her again, you'll never live to claim it."'

'And what did he do?' I asked, to carry on the conversation, forMatchem entered with the bromide.

'Oh, crumpled up at once. 'Lead still going, Matchem?'

'I 'aven't 'eard,' said that faithful servant of theUnion-Castle Company.

'Quite right. Never alarm the passengers. Ship the dead-light,will you?' Matchem shipped it, for we were rolling very heavily.There were tramplings and gull-like cries from on deck. Shendlooked at me with a mariner's eye.

'That's nothing,' he said protectingly.

'Oh, it's all right for you,' I said, jumping at the idea.'I haven't an extra master's certificate. I'm only apassenger. I confess it funks me.'

Instantly his whole bearing changed to answer the appeal.

'My dear fellow, it's as simple as houses. We're hunting forsixty-five fathom water. Anything short of sixty, with a sou'westwind means--but I'll get my Channel Pilot out of my cabin and giveyou the general idea. I'm only too grateful to do anything to putyour mind at ease.'

And so, perhaps, for another hour--he declined thedrink--Channel Pilot in hand, he navigated us round Ushant, and atmy request up-channel to Southampton, light by light, withexplanations and reminiscences. I professed myself soothed at last,and suggested bed.

'In a second,' said he. 'Now, you wouldn't think, would you'--heglanced off the book toward my wildly swaying dressing-gown on thedoor--'that I've been seeing things for the last half-hour? 'Factis, I'm just on the edge of 'em, skating on thin ice round thecorner--nor'east as near as nothing--where that dog's looking atme.'

'What's the dog like?' I asked.

'Ah, that is comforting of you! Most men walk through 'emto show me they aren't real. As if I didn't know! But you'redifferent. Anybody could see that with half an eye.' He stiffenedand pointed. 'Damn it all! The dog sees it too with half an--Why,he knows you! Knows you perfectly. D'you know him?'

'How can I tell if he isn't real?' I insisted.

'But you can! You're all right. I saw that from thefirst. Don't go back on me now or I shall go to pieces like theDrummond Castle. I beg your pardon, old man; but, you see,you do know the dog. I'll prove it. What's that dog doing?Come on! You know.' A tremor shook him, and he put his handon my knee, and whispered with great meaning: 'I'll letter or halveit with you. There! You begin.'

'S,' said I to humour him, for a dog would most likely bestanding or sitting, or may be scratching or sniffling orstaring.

'Q,' he went on, and I could feel the heat of his shakinghand.

'U,' said I. There was no other letter possible; but I wasshaking too.

'I.'

'N.'

'T-i-n-g,' he ran out. 'There! That proves it. I knew you knewhim. You don't know what a relief that is. Between ourselves, oldman, he--he's been turning up lately a--a damn sight more oftenthan I cared for. And a squinting dog--a dog that squints! I meanthat's a bit too much. Eh? What?' He gulped and half rose,and I thought that the full tide of delirium would be on him inanother sentence.

'Not a bit of it,' I said as a last chance, with my hand overthe bellpush. 'Why, you've just proved that I know him; so thereare two of us in the game, anyhow.'

'By Jove! that is an idea! Of course there are. I knewyou'd see me through. We'll defeat them yet. Hi, pup!... He's gone.Absolutely disappeared!' He sighed with relief, and I caught thelucky moment.

'Good business! I expect he only came to have a look at me,' Isaid. 'Now, get this drink down and turn in to the lower bunk.'

He obeyed, protesting that he could not inconvenience me, and inthe midst of apologies sank into a dead sleep. I expected a wakefulnight, having a certain amount to think over; but no sooner had Iscrambled into the top bunk than sleep came on me like a wave fromthe other side of the world.

In the morning there were apologies, which we got over atbreakfast before our party were about.

'I suppose--after this--well, I don't blame you. I'm rather alonely chap, though.' His eyes lifted dog-like across thetable.

'Shend,' I replied, 'I'm not running a Sunday school. You'recoming home with me in my car as soon as we land.'

'That is kind of you--kinder than you think.'

'That's because you're a little jumpy still. Now, I don't wantto mix up in your private affairs--'

'But I'd like you to,' he interrupted.

'Then, would you mind telling me the Christian name of a girlwho was insulted by a man called Clements?'

'Moira,' he whispered; and just then Mrs. Godfrey and Milly cameto table with their shore-going hats on.

We did not tie up till noon, but the faithful Leggatt hadintrigued his way down to the dock-edge, and beside him satMalachi, wearing his collar of gold, or Leggatt makes it look so,as eloquent as Demosthenes. Shend flinched a little when he sawhim. We packed Mrs. Godfrey and Milly into Attley's car--they weregoing with him to Mittleham, of course--and drew clear across therailway lines to find England all lit and perfumed for spring.Shend sighed with happiness.

'D'you know,' he said, 'if--if you'd chucked me--I should havegone down to my cabin after breakfast and cut my throat. Andnow--it's like a dream--a good dream, you know.'

We lunched with the other three at Romsey. Then I sat in frontfor a little while to talk to my Malachi. When I looked back, Shendwas solidly asleep, and stayed so for the next two hours, whileLeggatt chased Attley's fat Daimler along the green-speckledhedges. He woke up when we said good-bye at Mittleham, withpromises to meet again very soon.

'And I hope,' said Mrs. Godfrey, 'that everything pleasant willhappen to you.'

'Heaps and heaps--all at once,' cried long, weak Milly, wavingher wet handkerchief.

'I've just got to look in at a house near here for a minute toinquire about a dog,' I said, 'and then we will go home.'

'I used to know this part of the world,' he replied, and said nomore till Leggatt shot past the lodge at the Sichliffes's gate.Then I heard him gasp.

Miss Sichliffe, in a green waterproof, an orange jersey, and apinkish leather hat, was working on a bulb-border. She straightenedherself as the car stopped, and breathed hard. Shend got out andwalked towards her. They shook hands, turned round together, andwent into the house. Then the dog Harvey pranced out corkily fromunder the lee of a bench. Malachi, with one joyous swoop, fell onhim as an enemy and an equal. Harvey, for his part, freed from allburden whatsoever except the obvious duty of a man-dog on his ownground, met Malachi without reserve or remorse, and with sixmonths' additional growth to come and go on.

'Don't check 'em!' cried Leggatt, dancing round the flurry.'They've both been saving up for each other all this time. It'll do'em worlds of good.'

'Leggatt,' I said, 'will you take Mr. Shend's bag and suitcaseup to the house and put them down just inside the door? Then wewill go on.'

So I enjoyed the finish alone. It was a dead heat, and theylicked each other's jaws in amity till Harvey, one imploring eye onme, leaped into the front seat, and Malachi backed his appeal. Itwas theft, but I took him, and we talked all the way home of r-ratsand r-rabbits and bones and baths and the other basic facts oflife. That evening after dinner they slept before the fire, withtheir warm chins across the hollows of my ankles--to each chin anankle--till I kicked them upstairs to bed.

I was not at Mittleham when she came over to announce herengagement, but I heard of it when Mrs. Godfrey and Attley came,forty miles an hour, over to me, and Mrs. Godfrey called me namesof the worst for suppression of information.

'As long as it wasn't me, I don't care,' said Attley.

'I believe you knew it all along,' Mrs. Godfrey repeated. 'Elsewhat made you drive that man literally into her arms?'

'To ask after the dog Harvey,' I replied.

'Then, what's the beast doing here?' Attley demanded, forMalachi and the dog Harvey were deep in a council of the familywith Bettina, who was being out-argued.

'Oh, Harvey seemed to think himself de trop where hewas,' I said. 'And she hasn't sent after him. You'd better saveBettina before they kill her.'

'There's been enough lying about that dog,' said Mrs. Godfrey tome. 'If he wasn't born in lies, he was baptized in 'em. D'you knowwhy she called him Harvey? It only occurred to me in those dreadfuldays when I was ill, and one can't keep from thinking, and thinkseverything. D'you know your Boswell? What did Johnson say aboutHervey--with an e?'

'Oh, that's it, is it?' I cried incautiously. 'That waswhy I ought to have verified my quotations. The spelling defeatedme. Wait a moment, and it will come back. Johnson said: "He was avicious man,"' I began.

'"But very kind to me,"' Mrs. Godfrey prompted. Then, bothtogether, '"If you call a dog Hervey, I shall love him."'

'So you were mixed up in it. At any rate, you had yoursuspicions from the first? Tell me,' she said.

'Ella,' I said, 'I don't know anything rational or reasonableabout any of it. It was all--all woman-work, and it scared mehorribly.'

'Why?' she asked.

That was six years ago. I have written this tale to let herknow--wherever she may be.

The Village that Voted the Earth was Flat

(1913)

Our drive till then had been quite a success. The other men inthe car were my friend Woodhouse, young Ollyett, a distantconnection of his, and Pallant, the M.P. Woodhouse's business wasthe treatment and cure of sick journals. He knew by instinct theprecise moment in a newspaper's life when the impetus of past goodmanagement is exhausted and it fetches up on the dead-centrebetween slow and expensive collapse and the new start which can begiven by gold injections--and genius. He was wisely ignorant ofjournalism; but when he stooped on a carcase there was sure to bemeat. He had that week added a half-dead, halfpenny evening paperto his collection, which consisted of a prosperous London daily,one provincial ditto, and a limp-bodied weekly of commercialleanings. He had also, that very hour, planted me with a largeblock of the evening paper's common shares, and was explaining thewhole art of editorship to Ollyett, a young man three years fromOxford, with coir-matting-coloured hair and a face harshly modelledby harsh experiences, who, I understood, was assisting in the newventure. Pallant, the long, wrinkled M.P., whose voice is more likea crane's than a peaco*ck's, took no shares, but gave us alladvice.

'You'll find it rather a knacker's yard,' Woodhouse was saying.'Yes, I know they call me The Knacker; but it will pay inside ayear. All my papers do. I've only one motto: Back your luck andback your staff. It'll come out all right.'

Then the car stopped, and a policeman asked our names andaddresses for exceeding the speed-limit. We pointed out that theroad ran absolutely straight for half a mile ahead without even aside-lane. 'That's just what we depend on,' said the policemanunpleasantly.

'The usual swindle,' said Woodhouse under his breath. 'What'sthe name of this place?'

'Huckley,' said the policeman. 'H-u-c-k-l-e-y,' and wrotesomething in his note-book at which young Ollyett protested. Alarge red man on a grey horse who had been watching us from theother side of the hedge shouted an order we could not catch. Thepoliceman laid his hand on the rim of the right driving-door(Woodhouse carries his spare tyres aft), and it closed on thebutton of the electric horn. The grey horse at once bolted, and wecould hear the rider swearing all across the landscape.

'Damn it, man, you've got your silly fist on it! Take it off!'Woodhouse shouted.

'Ho!' said the constable, looking carefully at his fingers asthough we had trapped them. 'That won't do you any good either,'and he wrote once more in his note-book before he allowed us togo.

This was Woodhouse's first brush with motor law, and since Iexpected no ill consequences to myself, I pointed out that it wasvery serious. I took the same view myself when in due time I foundthat I, too, was summonsed on charges ranging from the use ofobscene language to endangering traffic.

Judgment was done in a little pale-yellow market-town with asmall, Jubilee clock-tower and a large corn-exchange. Woodhousedrove us there in his car. Pallant, who had not been included inthe summons, came with us as moral support. While we waitedoutside, the fat man on the grey horse rode up and entered intoloud talk with his brother magistrates. He said to one of them--forI took the trouble to note it down--'It falls away from mylodge-gates, dead straight, three-quarters of a mile. I'd defy anyone to resist it. We rooked seventy pounds out of 'em last month.No car can resist the temptation. You ought to have one your sidethe county, Mike. They simply can't resist it.'

'Whew!' said Woodhouse. 'We're in for trouble. Don't you say aword--or Ollyett either! I'll pay the fines and we'll get it overas soon as possible. Where's Pallant?'

'At the back of the court somewhere,' said Ollyett. 'I saw himslip in just now.'

The fat man then took his seat on the Bench, of which he waschairman, and I gathered from a bystander that his name was SirThomas Ingell, Bart., M.P., of Ingell Park, Huckley. He began withan allocution pitched in a tone that would have justified revoltthroughout empires. Evidence, when the crowded little court did notdrown it with applause, was given in the pauses of the address.They were all very proud of their Sir Thomas, and looked from himto us, wondering why we did not applaud too.

Taking its time from the chairman, the Bench rollicked with usfor seventeen minutes. Sir Thomas explained that he was sick andtired of processions of cads of our type, who would be betteremployed breaking stones on the road than in frightening horsesworth more than themselves or their ancestors. This was after ithad been proved that Woodhouse's man had turned on the hornpurposely to annoy Sir Thomas, who happened to be riding by'! Therewere other remarks too--primitive enough,--but it was theunspeakable brutality of the tone, even more than the quality ofthe justice, or the laughter of the audience that stung our soulsout of all reason. When we were dismissed--to the tune oftwenty-three pounds, twelve shillings and sixpence--we waited forPallant to join us, while we listened to the next case--one ofdriving without a licence. Ollyett with an eye to his eveningpaper, had already taken very full notes of our own, but we did notwish to seem prejudiced.

'It's all right,' said the reporter of the local papersoothingly. 'We never report Sir Thomas in extenso. Only thefines and charges.'

'Oh, thank you,' Ollyett replied, and I heard him ask who everyone in court might be. The local reporter was verycommunicative.

The new victim, a large, flaxen-haired man in somewhat strikingclothes, to which Sir Thomas, now thoroughly warmed, drew publicattention, said that he had left his licence at home. Sir Thomasasked him if he expected the police to go to his home address atJerusalem to find it for him; and the court roared. Nor did SirThomas approve of the man's name, but insisted on calling him 'Mr.Masquerader,' and every time he did so, all his people shouted.Evidently this was their established auto-da-fé.

'He didn't summons me--because I'm in the House, I suppose. Ithink I shall have to ask a Question,' said Pallant, reappearing atthe close of the case.

'I think I shall have to give it a little publicity too,'said Woodhouse. 'We can't have this kind of thing going on, youknow.' His face was set and quite white. Pallant's, on the otherhand, was black, and I know that my very stomach had turned withrage. Ollyett was dum.

'Well, let's have lunch,' Woodhouse said at last. 'Then we canget away before the show breaks up.'

We drew Ollyett from the arms of the local reporter, crossed theMarket Square to the Red Lion and found Sir Thomas's 'Mr.Masquerader' just sitting down to beer, beef and pickles.

'Ah!' said he, in a large voice. 'Companions in misfortune.Won't you gentlemen join me?'

'Delighted,' said Woodhouse. 'What did you get?'

'I haven't decided. It might make a good turn, but--the publicaren't educated up to it yet. It's beyond 'em. If it wasn't, thatred dub on the Bench would be worth fifty a week.'

'Where?' said Woodhouse. The man looked at him with unaffectedsurprise.

'At any one of My places,' he replied. 'But perhaps you livehere?'

'Good heavens!' cried young Ollyett suddenly. 'You areMasquerier, then? I thought you were!'

'Bat Masquerier.' He let the words fall with the weight of aninternational ultimatum. 'Yes, that's all I am. But you have theadvantage of me, gentlemen.'

For the moment, while we were introducing ourselves, I waspuzzled. Then I recalled prismatic music-hall posters--of enormousacreage--that had been the unnoticed background of my visits toLondon for years past. Posters of men and women, singers,jongleurs, impersonators and audacities of every draped andundraped brand, all moved on and off in London and the Provinces byBat Masquerier--with the long wedge-tailed flourish following thefinal 'r.'

'I knew you at once,' said Pallant, the trained M.P., andI promptly backed the lie. Woodhouse mumbled excuses. BatMasquerier was not moved for or against us any more than thefrontage of one of his own palaces.

'I always tell My people there's a limit to the size of thelettering,' he said. 'Overdo that and the ret'na doesn't take itin. Advertisin' is the most delicate of all the sciences.'

'There's one man in the world who is going to get a little of itif I live for the next twenty-four hours,' said Woodhouse, andexplained how this would come about.

Masquerier stared at him lengthily with gunmetal-blue eyes.

'You mean it?' he drawled; the voice was as magnetic as thelook.

'I do,' said Ollyett. 'That business of the horn aloneought to have him off the Bench in three months.' Masquerier lookedat him even longer than he had looked at Woodhouse.

'He told me,' he said suddenly, 'that my home-address wasJerusalem. You heard that?'

'But it was the tone--the tone,' Ollyett cried.

'You noticed that, too, did you?' said Masquerier. 'That's theartistic temperament. You can do a lot with it. And I'm BatMasquerier,' he went on. He dropped his chin in his fists andscowled straight in front of him.... 'I made the Silhouettes--Imade the Trefoil and the Jocunda. I made 'Dal Benzaguen.' HereOllyett sat straight up, for in common with the youth of that yearhe worshipped Miss Vidal Benzaguen of the Trefoil immensely andunreservedly. '"Is that a dressing-gown or an ulster you'resupposed to be wearing?" You heard that?... "And I supposeyou hadn't time to brush your hair either?" You heardthat?... Now, you hear me!' His voice filled thecoffee-room, then dropped to a whisper as dreadful as a surgeon'sbefore an operation. He spoke for several minutes. Pallant muttered'Hear! hear!' I saw Ollyett's eye flash--it was to Ollyett thatMasquerier addressed himself chiefly,--and Woodhouse leaned forwardwith joined hands.

'Are you with me?' he went on, gathering us all up in onesweep of the arm. 'When I begin a thing I see it through,gentlemen. What Bat can't break, breaks him! But I haven't struckthat thing yet. This is no one-turn turn-it-down show. This isbusiness to the dead finish. Are you with me, gentlemen? Good! Now,we'll pool our assets. One London morning, and one provincialdaily, didn't you say? One weekly commercial ditto and oneM.P.'

'Not much use, I'm afraid,' Pallant smirked.

'But privileged. But privileged,' he returned. 'And wehave also my little team--London, Blackburn, Liverpool, Leeds--I'lltell you about Manchester later--and Me! Bat Masquerier.' Hebreathed the name reverently into his tankard. 'Gentlemen, when ourcombination has finished with Sir Thomas Ingell, Bart., M.P., andeverything else that is his, Sodom and Gomorrah will be a winsomebit of Merrie England beside 'em. I must go back to town now, but Itrust you gentlemen will give me the pleasure of your company atdinner to-night at the Chop Suey--the Red Amber Room--and we'llblock out the scenario.' He laid his hand on young Ollyett'sshoulder and added: 'It's your brains I want.' Then he left, in agood deal of astrachan collar and nickel-plated limousine, and theplace felt less crowded.

We ordered our car a few minutes later. As Woodhouse, Ollyettand I were getting in, Sir Thomas Ingell, Bart., M.P., came out ofthe Hall of Justice across the square and mounted his horse. I havesometimes thought that if he had gone in silence he might even thenhave been saved, but as he settled himself in the saddle he caughtsight of us and must needs shout: 'Not off yet? You'd better getaway and you'd better be careful.' At that moment Pallant, who hadbeen buying picture-postcards, came out of the inn, took SirThomas's eye and very leisurely entered the car. It seemed to methat for one instant there was a shade of uneasiness on thebaronet's grey-whiskered face.

'I hope,' said Woodhouse after several miles, 'I hope he's awidower.'

'Yes,' said Pallant. 'For his poor, dear wife's sake I hopethat, very much indeed. I suppose he didn't see me in Court. Oh,here's the parish history of Huckley written by the Rector andhere's your share of the picture-postcards. Are we all dining withthis Mr. Masquerier to-night?'

'Yes!' said we all.

If Woodhouse knew nothing of journalism, young Ollyett, who hadgraduated in a hard school, knew a good deal. Our halfpenny eveningpaper, which we will call The Bun to distinguish her fromher prosperous morning sister, The Cake, was not onlydiseased but corrupt. We found this out when a man brought us theprospectus of a new oil-field and demanded sub-leaders on itsprosperity. Ollyett talked pure Brasenose to him for three minutes.Otherwise he spoke and wrote trade-English--a toothsome amalgam ofAmericanisms and epigrams. But though the slang changes the gamenever alters, and Ollyett and I and, in the end, some othersenjoyed it immensely. It was weeks ere we could see the wood forthe trees, but so soon as the staff realised that they hadproprietors who backed them right or wrong, and specially when theywere wrong (which is the sole secret of journalism), and that theirfate did not hang on any passing owner's passing mood, they didmiracles.

But we did not neglect Huckley. As Ollyett said our first carewas to create an 'arresting atmosphere' round it. He used to visitthe village of week-ends, on a motor-bicycle with a side-car; forwhich reason I left the actual place alone and dealt with it in theabstract. Yet it was I who drew first blood. Two inhabitants ofHuckley wrote to contradict a small, quite solid paragraph inThe Bun that a hoopoe had been seen at Huckley and had, 'ofcourse, been shot by the local sportsmen.' There was some heat intheir letters, both of which we published. Our version of how thehoopoe got his crest from King Solomon was, I grieve to say, soinaccurate that the Rector himself--no sportsman as he pointed out,but a lover of accuracy--wrote to us to correct it. We gave hisletter good space and thanked him.

'This priest is going to be useful,' said Ollyett. 'He has theimpartial mind. I shall vitalise him.'

Forthwith he created M.L. Sigden, a recluse of refined tasteswho in The Bun demanded to know whether thisHuckley-of-the-Hoopoe was the Hugly of his boyhood and whether, byany chance, the fell change of name had been wrought by collusionbetween a local magnate and the railway, in the mistaken interestsof spurious refinement. 'For I knew it and loved it with themaidens of my day--eheu ab angulo!--as Hugly,' wrote M.L.Sigden from Oxf.

Though other papers scoffed, The Bun was gravelysympathetic. Several people wrote to deny that Huckley had beenchanged at birth. Only the Rector--no philosopher as he pointedout, but a lover of accuracy--had his doubts, which he laidpublicly before Mr. M.L. Sigden who suggested, through TheBun, that the little place might have begun life in Anglo-Saxondays as 'Hogslea' or among the Normans as 'Argilé,' onaccount of its much clay. The Rector had his own ideas too (he saidit was mostly gravel), and M.L. Sigden had a fund of reminiscences.Oddly enough--which is seldom the case with freereading-matter--our subscribers rather relished the correspondence,and contemporaries quoted freely.

'The secret of power,' said Ollyett, 'is not the big stick. It'sthe liftable stick.' (This means the 'arresting' quotation of sixor seven lines.) 'Did you see the Spec. had a middle on"Rural Tenacities" last week. That was all Huckley. I'm doing a"Mobiquity" on Huckley next week.'

Our 'Mobiquities' were Friday evening accounts of easymotor-bike-cum-side-car trips round London, illustrated (wecould never get that machine to work properly) by smudgy maps.Ollyett wrote the stuff with a fervour and a delicacy which Ialways ascribed to the side-car. His account of Epping Forest, forinstance, was simply young love with its soul at its lips. But hisHuckley 'Mobiquity' would have sickened a soap-boiler. Itchemically combined loathsome familiarity, leering suggestion,slimy piety and rancid 'social service' in one fuming compost thatfairly lifted me off my feet.

'Yes,' said he, after compliments. 'It's the most vital,arresting and dynamic bit of tump I've done up to date. Nonnobis gloria! I met Sir Thomas Ingell in his own park. Hetalked to me again. He inspired most of it.'

'Which? The "glutinous native drawl," or "the neglected adenoidsof the village children"?' I demanded.

'Oh, no! That's only to bring in the panel doctor. It's the lastflight we--I'm proudest of.'

This dealt with 'the crepuscular penumbra spreading her dimlimbs over the boskage'; with 'jolly rabbits'; with a herd of'gravid polled Angus'; and with the 'arresting, gipsy-like face oftheir swart, scholarly owner--as well known at the RoyalAgricultural Shows as that of our late King-Emperor.'

'"Swart" is good and so's "gravid,"' said I, 'but the paneldoctor will be annoyed about the adenoids.'

'Not half as much as Sir Thomas will about his face,' saidOllyett. 'And if you only knew what I've left out!'

He was right. The panel doctor spent his week-end (this is theadvantage of Friday articles) in overwhelming us with aprofessional counterblast of no interest whatever to oursubscribers. We told him so, and he, then and there, battered hisway with it into the Lancet where they are keen on glands,and forgot us altogether. But Sir Thomas Ingell was of sternerstuff. He must have spent a happy week-end too. The letter which wereceived from him on Monday proved him to be a kinless loon ofupright life, for no woman, however remotely interested in a manwould have let it pass the home wastepaper-basket. He objected toour references to his own herd, to his own labours in his ownvillage, which he said was a Model Village, and to our infernalinsolence; but he objected most to our invoice of his features. Wewrote him courtously to ask whether the letter was meant forpublication. He, remembering, I presume, the Duke of Wellington,wrote back, 'publish and be damned.'

'Oh! This is too easy,' Ollyett said as he began heading theletter.

'Stop a minute,' I said. 'The game is getting a little beyondus. To-night's the Bat dinner.' (I may have forgotten to tell youthat our dinner with Bat Masquerier in the Red Amber Room of theChop Suey had come to be a weekly affair.) 'Hold it over tillthey've all seen it.'

'Perhaps you're right,' he said. 'You might waste it.'

At dinner, then, Sir Thomas's letter was handed round. Batseemed to be thinking of other matters, but Pallant was veryinterested.

'I've got an idea,' he said presently. 'Could you put somethinginto The Bun to-morrow about foot-and-mouth disease in thatfellow's herd?'

'Oh, plague if you like,' Ollyett replied. 'They're only fivemeasly Shorthorns. I saw one lying down in the park. She'll serveas a sub-stratum of fact.'

'Then, do that; and hold the letter over meanwhile. I thinkI come in here,' said Pallant.

'Why?' said I.

'Because there's something coming up in the House aboutfoot-and-mouth, and because he wrote me a letter after that littleaffair when he fined you. 'Took ten days to think it over. Here youare,' said Pallant. 'House of Commons paper, you see.'

We read:

DEAR PALLANT--Although in the past our paths have notlain much together, I am sure you will agree with me that on thefloor of the House all members are on a footing of equality. I makebold, therefore, to approach you in a matter which I think capableof a very different interpretation from that which perhaps was putupon it by your friends. Will you let them know that that was thecase and that I was in no way swayed by animus in the exercise ofmy magisterial duties, which as you, as a brother magistrate, canimagine are frequently very distasteful to--Yours verysincerely,

T. INGELL.

P.S.--I have seen to it that the motor vigilanceto which your friends took exception has been considerably relaxedin my district.

'What did you answer?' said Ollyett, when all our opinions hadbeen expressed.

'I told him I couldn't do anything in the matter. And Icouldn't--then. But you'll remember to put in that foot-and-mouthparagraph. I want something to work upon.'

'It seems to me The Bun has done all the work up todate,' I suggested. 'When does The Cake come in?'

'The Cake,' said Woodhouse, and I remembered afterwardsthat he spoke like a Cabinet Minister on the eve of a Budget,'reserves to itself the fullest right to deal with situations asthey arise.'

'Ye-eh!' Bat Masquerier shook himself out of his thoughts.'"Situations as they arise." I ain't idle either. But there's nouse fishing till the swim's baited. You'--he turned toOllyett--'manufacture very good ground-bait.... I always tell Mypeople--What the deuce is that?'

There was a burst of song from another private dining-roomacross the landing. 'It ees some ladies from the Trefoil,' thewaiter began.

'Oh, I know that. What are they singing, though?'

He rose and went out, to be greeted by shouts of applause fromthat merry company. Then there was silence, such as one hears inthe form-room after a master's entry. Then a voice that we lovedbegan again: 'Here we go gathering nuts in May--nuts in May--nutsin May!'

'It's only 'Dal--and some nuts,' he explained when he returned.'She says she's coming in to dessert.' He sat down, humming the oldtune to himself, and till Miss Vidal Benzaguen entered, he held usspeechless with tales of the artistic temperament.

We obeyed Pallant to the extent of slipping into The Buna wary paragraph about cows lying down and dripping at the mouth,which might be read either as an unkind libel or, in the hands of acapable lawyer, as a piece of faithful nature-study.

'And besides,' said Ollyett, 'we allude to "gravid polledAngus." I am advised that no action can lie in respect of virginShorthorns. Pallant wants us to come to the House to-night. He'sgot us places for the Strangers' Gallery. I'm beginning to likePallant.'

'Masquerier seems to like you,' I said.

'Yes, but I'm afraid of him,' Ollyett answered with perfectsincerity. 'I am. He's the Absolutely Amoral Soul. I've never metone yet.'

We went to the House together. It happened to be an Irishafternoon, and as soon as I had got the cries and the faces alittle sorted out, I gathered there were grievances in the air, buthow many of them was beyond me.

'It's all right,' said Ollyett of the trained ear. 'They've shuttheir ports against--oh yes--export of Irish cattle! Foot-and-mouthdisease at Ballyhellion. I see Pallant's idea!'

The House was certainly all mouth for the moment, but, as Icould feel, quite in earnest. A Minister with a piece oftypewritten paper seemed to be fending off volleys of insults. Hereminded me somehow of a nervous huntsman breaking up a fox in theface of rabid hounds.

'It's question-time. They're asking questions,' said Ollyett.'Look! Pallant's up.'

There was no mistaking it. His voice, which his enemies said washis one parliamentary asset, silenced the hubbub as toothachesilences mere singing in the ears. He said:

'Arising out of that, may I ask if any special consideration hasrecently been shown in regard to any suspected outbreak of thisdisease on this side of the Channel?'

He raised his hand; it held a noon edition of The Bun. Wehad thought it best to drop the paragraph out of the later ones. Hewould have continued, but something in a grey frock-coat roared andbounded on a bench opposite, and waved another Bun. It wasSir Thomas Ingell.

'As the owner of the herd so dastardly implicated--' His voicewas drowned in shouts of 'Order!'--the Irish leading.

'What's wrong?' I asked Ollyett. 'He's got his hat on his head,hasn't he?'

'Yes, but his wrath should have been put as a question.'

'Arising out of that, Mr. Speaker, Sirrr!' Sir Thomas bellowedthrough a lull, 'are you aware that--that all this is aconspiracy--part of a dastardly conspiracy to make Huckleyridiculous--to make us ridiculous? Part of a deep-laid plotto make me ridiculous, Mr. Speaker, Sir!'

The man's face showed almost black against his white whiskers,and he struck out swimmingly with his arms. His vehemence puzzledand held the House for an instant, and the Speaker took advantageof it to lift his pack from Ireland to a new scent. He addressedSir Thomas Ingell in tones of measured rebuke, meant also, Iimagine, for the whole House, which lowered its hackles at theword. Then Pallant, shocked and pained: 'I can only express myprofound surprise that in response to my simple question thehonourable member should have thought fit to indulge in a personalattack. If I have in any way offended--'

Again the Speaker intervened, for it appeared that he regulatedthese matters.

He, too, expressed surprise, and Sir Thomas sat back in a hushof reprobation that seemed to have the chill of the centuriesbehind it. The Empire's work was resumed.

'Beautiful!' said I, and I felt hot and cold up my back.

'And now we'll publish his letter,' said Ollyett.

We did--on the heels of his carefully reported outburst. We madeno comment. With that rare instinct for grasping the heart of asituation which is the mark of the Anglo-Saxon, all ourcontemporaries and, I should say, two-thirds of our correspondentsdemanded how such a person could be made more ridiculous than hehad already proved himself to be. But beyond spelling his name'Injle,' we alone refused to hit a man when he was down.

'There's no need,' said Ollyett. 'The whole press is on thehuckle from end to end.'

Even Woodhouse was a little astonished at the ease with which ithad come about, and said as much.

'Rot!' said Ollyett. 'We haven't really begun. Huckley isn'tnews yet.'

'What do you mean?' said Woodhouse, who had grown to have greatrespect for his young but by no means distant connection.

'Mean? By the grace of God, Master Ridley, I mean to have it sothat when Huckley turns over in its sleep, Reuters and the PressAssociation jump out of bed to cable.' Then he went off at scoreabout certain restorations in Huckley Church which, he said--and heseemed to spend his every week-end there--had been perpetrated bythe Rector's predecessor, who had abolished a 'leper-window' or a'squinch-hole' (whatever these may be) to institute a lavatory inthe vestry. It did not strike me as stuff for which Reuters or thePress Association would lose much sleep, and I left him declaimingto Woodhouse about a fourteenth-century font which, he said, he hadunearthed in the sexton's tool-shed.

My methods were more on the lines of peaceful penetration. Anodd copy, in The Bun's rag-and-bone library, of Hone'sEvery-Day Book had revealed to me the existence of a villagedance founded, like all village dances, on Druidical mysteriesconnected with the Solar Solstice (which is always unchallengeable)and Mid-summer Morning, which is dewy and refreshing to the Londoneye. For this I take no credit--Hone being a mine any one canwork--but that I rechristened that dance, after I had revised it,'The Gubby' is my title to immortal fame. It was still to bewitnessed, I wrote, 'in all its poignant purity at Huckley, thatlast home of significant mediæval survivals'; and I fell soin love with my creation that I kept it back for days, enamellingand burnishing.

'You's better put it in,' said Ollyett at last. 'It's time weasserted ourselves again. The other fellows are beginning to poach.You saw that thing in the Pinnacle about Sir Thomas's ModelVillage? He must have got one of their chaps down to do it.'

''Nothing like the wounds of a friend,' I said. 'That account ofthe non-alcoholic pub alone was--'

'I liked the bit best about the white-tiled laundry and theFallen Virgins who wash Sir Thomas's dress shirts. Our sidecouldn't come within a mile of that, you know. We haven't theproper flair for sexual slobber.'

'That's what I'm always saying,' I retorted. 'Leave 'em alone.The other fellows are doing our work for us now. Besides I want totouch up my "Gubby Dance" a little more.'

'No. You'll spoil it. Let's shove it in to-day. For one thingit's Literature. I don't go in for compliments as you know, but,etc. etc.'

I had a healthy suspicion of young Ollyett in every aspect, butthough I knew that I should have to pay for it, I fell to hisflattery, and my priceless article on the 'Gubby Dance' appeared.Next Saturday he asked me to bring out The Bun in hisabsence, which I naturally assumed would be connected with thelittle maroon side-car. I was wrong.

On the following Monday I glanced at The Cake atbreakfast-time to make sure, as usual, of her inferiority to mybeloved but unremunerative Bun. I opened on a heading: 'TheVillage that Voted the Earth was Flat.' I read ... I read that theGeoplanarian Society--a society devoted to the proposition that theearth is flat--had held its Annual Banquet and Exercises at Huckleyon Saturday, when after convincing addresses, amid scenes of thegreatest enthusiasm, Huckley village had decided by an unanimousvote of 438 that the earth was flat. I do not remember that Ibreathed again till I had finished the two columns of descriptionthat followed. Only one man could have written them. They wereflawless--crisp, nervous, austere yet human, poignant, vital,arresting--most distinctly arresting--dynamic enough to shift acity--and quotable by whole sticks at a time. And there was aleader, a grave and poised leader, which tore me in two with mirth,until I remembered that I had been left out--infamously andunjustifiably dropped. I went to Ollyett's rooms. He wasbreakfasting, and, to do him justice, lookedconscience-stricken.

'It wasn't my fault,' he began. 'It was Bat Masquerier. I swearI would have asked you to come if--'

'Never mind that,' I said. 'It's the best bit of work you'veever done or will do. Did any of it happen?'

'Happen? Heavens! D'you think even I could have inventedit?'

'Is it exclusive to The Cake?' I cried.

'It cost Bat Masquerier two thousand,' Ollyett replied. 'D'youthink he'd let any one else in on that? But I give you my sacredword I knew nothing about it till he asked me to come down andcover it. He had Huckley posted in three colours, "TheGeoplanarians' Annual Banquet and Exercises." Yes, he invented"Geoplanarians." He wanted Huckley to think it meant aeroplanes.Yes, I know that there is a real Society that thinks the world'sflat--they ought to be grateful for the lift--but Bat made his own.He did! He created the whole show, I tell you. He swept out halfhis Halls for the job. Think of that--on a Saturday! They--we wentdown in motor char-à-bancs--three of 'em--one pink, oneprimrose, and one forget-me-not blue--twenty people in each one and"The Earth is Flat" on each side and across the back. I wentwith Teddy Rickets and Lafone from the Trefoil, and both theSilhouette Sisters, and--wait a minute!--the Crossleigh Trio. Youknow the Every-Day Dramas Trio at the Jocunda--Ada Crossleigh,"Bunt" Crossleigh, and little Victorine? Them. And there was HokeRamsden, the lightning-change chap in Morgiana andDrexel--and there was Billy Turpeen. Yes, you know him! TheNorth London Star. "I'm the Referee that got himself disliked atBlackheath." That chap! And there was Mackaye--that one-eyedScotch fellow that all Glasgow is crazy about. Talk ofsubordinating yourself for Art's sake! Mackaye was the earnestinquirer who got converted at the end of the meeting. And there wasquite a lot of girls I didn't know, and--oh, yes--there was 'Dal!'Dal Benzaguen herself! We sat together, going and coming. She'sall the darling there ever was. She sent you her love, and she toldme to tell you that she won't forget about Nellie Farren. She saysyou've given her an ideal to work for. She? Oh, she was the LadySecretary to the Geoplanarians, of course. I forget who were in theother brakes--provincial stars mostly--but they played upgorgeously. The art of the music-hall's changed since your day.They didn't overdo it a bit. You see, people who believe the earthis flat don't dress quite like other people. You may have noticedthat I hinted at that in my account. It's a rather flat-frontedIonic style--neo-Victorian, except for the bustles, 'Dal toldme,--but 'Dal looked heavenly in it! So did little Victorine. Andthere was a girl in the blue brake--she's a provincial--but she'scoming to town this winter and she'll knock 'em--Winnie Deans.Remember that! She told Huckley how she had suffered for the Causeas a governess in a rich family where they believed that the worldis round, and how she threw up her job sooner than teach immoralgeography. That was at the overflow meeting outside the Baptistchapel. She knocked 'em to sawdust! We must look out for Winnie....But Lafone! Lafone was beyond everything. Impact,personality--conviction--the whole bag o' tricks! He sweatedconviction. Gad, he convinced me while he was speaking!(Him? He was President of the Geoplanarians, of course. Haven't youread my account?) It is an infernally plausible theory.After all, no one has actually proved the earth is round, havethey?'

'Never mind the earth. What about Huckley?'

'Oh, Huckley got tight. That's the worst of these model villagesif you let 'em smell fire-water. There's one alcoholic pub in theplace that Sir Thomas can't get rid of. Bat made it his base. Hesent down the banquet in two motor lorries--dinner for five hundredand drinks for ten thousand. Huckley voted all right. Don't youmake any mistake about that. No vote, no dinner. A unanimousvote--exactly as I've said. At least, the Rector and the Doctorwere the only dissentients. We didn't count them. Oh yes, SirThomas was there. He came and grinned at us through his park gates.He'll grin worse to-day. There's an aniline dye that you rubthrough a stencil-plate that eats about a foot into any stone andwears good to the last. Bat had both the lodge-gates stencilled"The Earth is flat!" and all the barns and walls they couldget at.... Oh Lord, but Huckley was drunk! We had to fill 'em up tomake 'em forgive us for not being aeroplanes. Unthankful yokels!D'you realise that Emperors couldn't have commanded the talent Batdecanted on 'em? Why, 'Dal alone was.... And by eight o'clock noteven a bit of paper left! The whole show packed up and gone, andHuckley hoo-raying for the earth being flat.'

'Very good,' I began. 'I am, as you know, a one-third proprietorof The Bun.'

'I didn't forget that,' Ollyett interrupted. 'That was uppermostin my mind all the time. I've got a special account for TheBun to-day--it's an idyll--and just to show how I thought ofyou, I told 'Dal, coming home, about your Gubby Dance, and she toldWinnie. Winnie came back in our char-à-banc. After a bit wehad to get out and dance it in a field. It's quite a dance the waywe did it--and Lafone invented a sort of gorilla lockstepprocession at the end. Bat had sent down a film-chap on the chanceof getting something. He was the son of a clergyman--a most dynamicpersonality. He said there isn't anything for the cinema inmeetings qua meetings--they lack action. Films are a branchof art by themselves. But he went wild over the Gubby. He said itwas like Peter's vision at Joppa. He took about a million feet ofit. Then I photoed it exclusive for The Bun. I've sent 'emin already, only remember we must eliminate Winnie's left leg inthe first figure. It's too arresting.... And there you are! But Itell you I'm afraid of Bat. That man's the Personal Devil. He didit all. He didn't even come down himself. He said he'd distract hispeople.'

'Why didn't he ask me to come?' I persisted.

'Because he said you'd distract me. He said he wanted my brainson ice. He got 'em. I believe it's the best thing I've ever done.'He reached for The Cake and re-read it luxuriously. 'Yes,out and away the best--supremely quotable,' he concluded,and--after another survey--'By God, what a genius I wasyesterday!'

I would have been angry, but I had not the time. That morning,Press agencies grovelled to me in The Bun office for leaveto use certain photos, which, they understood, I controlled, of acertain village dance. When I had sent the fifth man away on theedge of tears, my self-respect came back a little. Then there wasThe Bun's poster to get out. Art being elimination, I finedit down to two words (one too many, as it proved)--'The Gubby!' inred, at which our manager protested; but by five o'clock he told methat I was the Napoleon of Fleet Street. Ollyett's accountin The Bun of the Geoplanarians' Exercises and Love Feastlacked the supreme shock of his version in The Cake, but itbruised more; while the photos of 'The Gubby' (which, with Winnie'sleft leg, was why I had set the doubtful press to work so early)were beyond praise and, next day, beyond price. But even then I didnot understand.

A week later, I think it was, Bat Masquerier telephoned to me tocome to the Trefoil.

'It's your turn now,' he said. 'I'm not asking Ollyett. Come tothe stage-box.'

I went, and, as Bat's guest, was received as Royalty is not. Wesat well back and looked out on the packed thousands. It wasMorgiana and Drexel, that fluid and electric review whichBat--though he gave Lafone the credit--really created.

'Ye-es,' said Bat dreamily, after Morgiana had given 'the nastyjar' to the Forty Thieves in their forty oil 'combinations.' 'Asyou say, I've got 'em and I can hold 'em. What a man does doesn'tmatter much; and how he does it don't matter either. It's thewhen--the psychological moment. 'Press can't make up for it;money can't; brains can't. A lot's luck, but all the rest isgenius. I'm not speaking about My people now. I'm talking ofMyself.'

Then 'Dal--she was the only one who dared--knocked at the doorand stood behind us all alive and panting as Morgiana. Lafone wascarrying the police-court scene, and the house was ripped upcrossways with laughter.

'Ah! Tell a fellow now,' she asked me for the twentieth time,'did you love Nellie Farren when you were young?'

'Did we love her?' I answered. '"If the earth and the sky andthe sea"--There were three million of us, 'Dal, and we worshippedher.'

'How did she get it across?' Dal went on.

'She was Nellie. The houses used to coo over her when she cameon.'

'I've had a good deal, but I've never been cooed over yet,' said'Dal wistfully.

'It isn't the how, it's the when,' Bat repeated. 'Ah!'

He leaned forward as the house began to rock and pealfull-throatedly. 'Dal fled. A sinuous and silent procession wasfiling into the police-court to a scarcely audible accompaniment.It was dressed--but the world and all its picture-palaces know howit was dressed. It danced and it danced, and it danced the dancewhich bit all humanity in the leg for half a year, and it wound upwith the lockstep finale that mowed the house down in swathes,sobbing and aching. Somebody in the gallery moaned, 'Oh Gord, theGubby!' and we heard the word run like a shudder, for they had nota full breath left among them. Then 'Dal came on, an electric starin her dark hair, the diamonds flashing in her three-inch heels--avision that made no sign for thirty counted seconds while thepolice-court scene dissolved behind her into Morgiana's ManicurePalace, and they recovered themselves. The star on her foreheadwent out, and a soft light bathed her as she took--slowly, slowlyto the croon of adoring strings--the eighteen paces forward. We sawher first as a queen alone; next as a queen for the first timeconscious of her subjects, and at the end, when her handsfluttered, as a woman delighted, awed not a little, buttransfigured and illuminated with sheer, compelling affection andgoodwill. I caught the broken mutter of welcome--the coo which ismore than tornadoes of applause. It died and rose and died againlovingly.

'She's got it across,' Bat whispered. 'I've never seen her likethis. I told her to light up the star, but I was wrong, and sheknew it. She's an artist.'

''Dal, you darling!' some one spoke, not loudly but it carriedthrough the house.

'Thank you!' 'Dal answered, and in that broken tone oneheard the last fetter riveted. 'Good evening, boys! I've just comefrom--now--where the dooce was it I have come from?' She turned tothe impassive files of the Gubby dancers, and went on: 'Ah, so goodof you to remind me, you dear, bun-faced things. I've just comefrom the village--The Village that Voted the Earth was Flat.'

She swept into that song with the full orchestra. It devastatedthe habitable earth for the next six months. Imagine, then, whatit* rage and pulse must have been at the incandescent hour of itsbirth! She only gave the chorus once. At the end of the secondverse, 'Are you with me, boys?' she cried, and the housetore it clean away from her--'Earth was flat--Earthwas flat. Flat as my hat--Flatter than that'--drowning all but thebassoons and double-basses that marked the word.

'Wonderful,' I said to Bat. 'And it's only "Nuts in May," withvariations.'

'Yes--but I did the variations,' he replied.

At the last verse she gestured to Carlini the conductor, whothrew her up his baton. She caught it with a boy's ease. 'Are youwith me?' she cried once more, and--the maddened housebehind her--abolished all the instruments except the guttural belchof the double-basses on 'Earth'--'The Village that voted theEarth was flat--Earth was flat!' It was delirium.Then she picked up the Gubby dancers and led them in a clatteringimprovised lockstep thrice round the stage till her last kick senther diamond-hiked shoe catherine-wheeling to the electrolier.

I saw the forest of hands raised to catch it, heard the roaringand stamping pass through hurricanes to full typhoon; heard thesong, pinned down by the faithful double-basses as the bull-dogpins down the bellowing bull, overbear even those; till at last thecurtain fell and Bat took me round to her dressing-room, where shelay spent after her seventh call. Still the song, through all thosewhite-washed walls, shook the reinforced concrete of the Trefoil assteam pile-drivers shake the flanks of a dock.

'I'm all out--first time in my life. Ah! Tell a fellow now, didI get it across?' she whispered huskily.

'You know you did,' I replied as she dipped her nose deep in abeaker of barley-water. 'They cooed over you.'

Bat nodded. 'And poor Nellie's dead--in Africa, ain't it?'

'I hope I'll die before they stop cooing,' said 'Dal.

'"Earth was flat--Earth was flat!"' Now it wasmore like mine-pumps in flood.

'They'll have the house down if you don't take another,' someone called.

'Bless 'em!' said 'Dal, and went out for her eighth, when in theface of that cataract she said yawning, 'I don't know howyou feel, children, but I'm dead. You be quiet.'

'Hold a minute,' said Bat to me. 'I've got to hear how it wentin the provinces. Winnie Deans had it in Manchester, and Ramsden atGlasgow--and there are all the films too. I had rather a heavyweek-end.'

The telephones presently reassured him.

'It'll do,' said he. 'And he said my home address wasJerusalem.' He left me humming the refrain of 'The Holy City.' LikeOllyett I found myself afraid of that man.

When I got out into the street and met the disgorgingpicture-palaces capering on the pavements and humming it (for hehad put the gramophones on with the films), and when I saw far tothe south the red electrics flash 'Gubby' across the Thames, Ifeared more than ever.

A few days passed which were like nothing except, perhaps, asuspense of fever in which the sick man perceives the searchlightsof the world's assembled navies in act to converge on one minutefragment of wreckage--one only in all the black and agony-strewnsea. Then those beams focussed themselves. Earth as we knew it--thefull circuit of our orb--laid the weight of its impersonal andsearing curiosity on this Huckley which had voted that it was flat.It asked for news about Huckley--where and what it might be, andhow it talked--it knew how it danced--and how it thought in itswonderful soul. And then, in all the zealous, merciless press,Huckley was laid out for it to look at, as a drop of pond water isexposed on the sheet of a magic-lantern show. But Huckley's sheetwas only coterminous with the use of type among mankind. For theprecise moment that was necessary, Fate ruled it that there shouldbe nothing of first importance in the world's idle eye. Oneatrocious murder, a political crisis, an incautious or headycontinental statesman, the mere catarrh of a king, would have wipedout the significance of our message, as a passing cloud annuls theurgent helio. But it was halcyon weather in every respect. Ollyettand I did not need to lift our little fingers any more than theAlpine climber whose last sentence has unkeyed the arch of theavalanche. The thing roared and pulverised and swept beyondeyesight all by itself--all by itself. And once well away, the fallof kingdoms could not have diverted it.

Ours is, after all, a kindly earth. While The Song ran and rapedit with the cataleptic kick of 'Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,' multiplied bythe West African significance of 'Everybody's doing it,' plus twicethe infernal elementality of a certain tune in Dona etGamma; when for all practical purposes, literary, dramatic,artistic, social, municipal, political, commercial, andadministrative, the Earth was flat, the Rector of Huckleywrote to us--again as a lover of accuracy--to point out that theHuckley vote on 'the alleged flatness of this scene of our labourshere below' was not unanimous; he and the doctor havingvoted against it. And the great Baron Reuter himself (I am sure itcould have been none other) flashed that letter in full to thefront, back, and both wings of this scene of our labours. ForHuckley was News. The Bun also contributed a photographwhich cost me some trouble to fake.

'We are a vital nation,' said Ollyett while we were discussingaffairs at a Bat dinner. 'Only an Englishman could have writtenthat letter at this present juncture.'

'It reminded me of a tourist in the Cave of the Winds underNiagara. Just one figure in a mackintosh. But perhaps you saw ourphoto?' I said proudly.

'Yes,' Bat replied. 'I've been to Niagara, too. And how'sHuckley taking it?'

'They don't quite understand, of course,' said Ollyett. 'Butit's bringing pots of money into the place. Ever since themotor-bus excursions were started--'

'I didn't know they had been,' said Pallant.

'Oh yes. Motor char-à-bancs--uniformed guides andkey-bugles included. They're getting a bit fed up with the tunethere nowadays,' Ollyett added.

'They play it under his windows, don't they?' Bat asked. 'Hecan't stop the right of way across his park.'

'He cannot,' Ollyett answered. 'By the way, Woodhouse, I'vebought that font for you from the sexton. I paid fifteen pounds forit.'

'What am I supposed to do with it?' asked Woodhouse.

'You give it to the Victoria and Albert Museum. It isfourteenth-century work all right. You can trust me.'

'Is it worth it--now?' said Pallant. 'Not that I'm weakening,but merely as a matter of tactics?'

'But this is true,' said Ollyett. 'Besides, it is my hobby, Ialways wanted to be an architect. I'll attend to it myself. It'stoo serious for The Bun and miles too good for TheCake.'

He broke ground in a ponderous architectural weekly, which hadnever heard of Huckley. There was no passion in his statement, butmere fact backed by a wide range of authorities. He establishedbeyond doubt that the old font at Huckley had been thrown out, onSir Thomas's instigation, twenty years ago, to make room for a newone of Bath stone adorned with Limoges enamels; and that it hadlain ever since in a corner of the sexton's shed. He proved, withlearned men to support him, that there was only one other font inall England to compare with it. So Woodhouse bought it andpresented it to a grateful South Kensington which said it would seethe earth still flatter before it returned the treasure to purblindHuckley. Bishops by the benchful and most of the Royal Academy, notto mention 'Margaritas ante Porcos,' wrote fervently to the papers.Punch based a political cartoon on it; the Times athird leader, 'The Lust of Newness'; and the Spectator ascholarly and delightful middle, 'Village Hausmania.' The vastamused outside world said in all its tongues and types: 'Of course!This is just what Huckley would do!' And neither Sir Thomas nor theRector nor the sexton nor any one else wrote to deny it.

'You see,' said Ollyett, 'this is much more of a blow to Huckleythan it looks--because every word of it's true. Your Gubby dancewas inspiration, I admit, but it hadn't its roots in--'

'Two hemispheres and four continents so far,' I pointed out.

'Its roots in the hearts of Huckley was what I was going to say.Why don't you ever come down and look at the place? You've neverseen it since we were stopped there.'

'I've only my week-ends free,' I said, 'and you seem to spendyours there pretty regularly--with the side-car. I wasafraid--'

'Oh, that's all right,' he said cheerily. 'We're quite anold engaged couple now. As a matter of fact, it happened after "thegravid polled Angus" business. Come along this Saturday. Woodhousesays he'll run us down after lunch. He wants to see Huckleytoo.'

Pallant could not accompany us, but Bat took his place.

'It's odd,' said Bat, 'that none of us except Ollyett has everset eyes on Huckley since that time. That's what I always tell Mypeople. Local colour is all right after you've got your idea.Before that, it's a mere nuisance.' He regaled us on the way downwith panoramic views of the success--geographical and financial--of'The Gubby' and The Song.

'By the way,' said he, 'I've assigned 'Dal all the gramophonerights of "The Earth." She's a born artist. 'Hadn't sense enough tohit me for triple-dubs the morning after. She'd have taken it outin coos.'

'Bless her! And what'll she make out of the gramophone rights?'I asked.

'Lord knows!' he replied. 'I've made fifty-four thousand mylittle end of the business, and it's only just beginning. Hearthat!'

A shell-pink motor-brake roared up behind us to the music on akey-bugle of 'The Village that Voted the Earth was Flat.' In a fewminutes we overtook another, in natural wood, whose occupants weresinging it through their noses.

'I don't know that agency. It must be Cook's,' said Ollyett.'They do suffer.' We were never out of earshot of the tunethe rest of the way to Huckley.

Though I knew it would be so, I was disappointed with the actualaspect of the spot we had--it is not too much to say--created inthe face of the nations. The alcoholic pub; the village green; theBaptist chapel; the church; the sexton's shed; the Rectory whencethe so-wonderful letters had come; Sir Thomas's park gate-pillarsstill violently declaring 'The Earth is flat,' were as mean,as average, as ordinary as the photograph of a room where a murderhas been committed. Ollyett, who, of course, knew the placespecially well, made the most of it to us. Bat, who had employed itas a back-cloth to one of his own dramas, dismissed it as a thingused and emptied, but Woodhouse expressed my feelings when he said:'Is that all--after all we've done?'

'I know,' said Ollyett soothingly. '"Like that strangesong I heard Apollo sing: When Ilion like a mist rose into towers."I've felt the same sometimes, though it has been Paradise for me.But they do suffer.'

The fourth brake in thirty minutes had just turned into SirThomas's park to tell the Hall that 'The Earth was flat'; aknot of obviously American tourists were kodaking his lodge-gates;while the tea-shop opposite the lych-gate was full of people buyingpostcards of the old font as it had lain twenty years in thesexton's shed. We went to the alcoholic pub and congratulated theproprietor.

'It's bringin' money to the place,' said he. 'But in a sense youcan buy money too dear. It isn't doin' us any good. People arelaughin' at us. That's what they're doin'.... Now, with regard tothat Vote of ours you may have heard talk about....'

'For Gorze sake, chuck that votin' business,' cried an elderlyman at the door. 'Money-gettin' or no money-gettin', we're fed upwith it.'

'Well, I do think,' said the publican, shifting his ground, 'Ido think Sir Thomas might ha' managed better in some things.'

'He tole me,'--the elderly man shouldered his way to thebar--'he tole me twenty years ago to take an' lay that font in mytool-shed. He tole me so himself. An' now, after twentyyears, me own wife makin' me out little better than the common'angman!'

'That's the sexton,' the publican explained. 'His good ladysells the postcards--if you 'aven't got some. But we feel SirThomas might ha' done better.'

'What's he got to do with it?' said Woodhouse.

'There's nothin' we can trace 'ome to 'im in so many words, butwe think he might 'ave saved us the font business. Now, in regardto that votin' business--'

'Chuck it! Oh, chuck it!' the sexton roared, 'or you'll 'ave mecuttin' my throat at co*ck-crow. 'Ere's another parcel offun-makers!'

A motor-brake had pulled up at the door and a multitude of menand women immediately descended. We went out to look. They borerolled banners, a reading-desk in three pieces, and, I speciallynoticed, a collapsible harmonium, such as is used on ships atsea.

'Salvation Army?' I said, though I saw no uniforms.

Two of them unfurled a banner between poles which bore thelegend: 'The Earth is flat.' Woodhouse and I turned to Bat.He shook his head. 'No, no! Not me.... If I had only seen theircostumes in advance!'

'Good Lord!' said Ollyett. 'It's the genuine Society!'

The company advanced on the green with the precision of peoplewell broke to these movements. Scene-shifters could not have beenquicker with the three-piece rostrum, nor stewards with theharmonium. Almost before its cross-legs had been kicked into theircatches, certainly before the tourists by the lodge-gates had begunto move over, a woman sat down to it and struck up a hymn:

I saw sick envy on Bat's face. 'Curse Nature,' he muttered. 'Shegets ahead of you every time. To think I forgot hymns and aharmonium!'

Then came the chorus:

They sang several verses with the fervour of Christians awaitingtheir lions. Then there were growlings in the air. The sexton,embraced by the landlord, two-stepped out of the pub-door. Each wastrying to outroar the other. 'Apologising in advarnce for what hesays,' the landlord shouted: 'You'd better go away' (here thesexton began to speak words). 'This isn't the time nor yet theplace for--for any more o' this chat.'

The crowd thickened. I saw the village police-sergeant come outof his cottage buckling his belt.

'But surely,' said the woman at the harmonium, 'there must besome mistake. We are not suffragettes.'

'Damn it! They'd be a change,' cried the sexton. 'You get out ofthis! Don't talk! I can't stand it for one! Get right out,or we'll font you!'

The crowd which was being recruited from every house in sightechoed the invitation. The sergeant pushed forward. A man besidethe reading-desk said: 'But surely we are among dear friends andsympathisers. Listen to me for a moment.'

It was the moment that a passing char-à-banc chose tostrike into The Song. The effect was instantaneous. Bat, Ollyett,and I, who by divers roads have learned the psychology of crowds,retreated towards the tavern door. Woodhouse, the newspaperproprietor, anxious, I presume, to keep touch with the public,dived into the thick of it. Every one else told the Society to goaway at once. When the lady at the harmonium (I began to understandwhy it is sometimes necessary to kill women) pointed at thestencilled park pillars and called them 'the cromlechs of ourcommon faith,' there was a snarl and a rush. The police-sergeantchecked it, but advised the Society to keep on going. The Societywithdrew into the brake fighting, as it were, a rear-guard actionof oratory up each step. The collapsed harmonium was hauled inlast, and with the perfect unreason of crowds, they cheered itloudly, till the chauffeur slipped in his clutch and sped away.Then the crowd broke up, congratulating all concerned except thesexton, who was held to have disgraced his office by having swornat ladies. We strolled across the green towards Woodhouse, who wastalking to the police-sergeant near the park-gates. We were nottwenty yards from him when we saw Sir Thomas Ingell emerge from thelodge and rush furiously at Woodhouse with an uplifted stick, atthe same time shrieking: 'I'll teach you to laugh, you--' butOllyett has the record of the language. By the time we reachedthem, Sir Thomas was on the ground; Woodhouse, very white, held thewalking-stick and was saying to the sergeant:

'I give this person in charge for assault.'

'But, good Lord!' said the sergeant, whiter than Woodhouse.'It's Sir Thomas.'

'Whoever it is, it isn't fit to be at large,' said Woodhouse.The crowd suspecting something wrong began to reassemble, and allthe English horror of a row in public moved us, headed by thesergeant, inside the lodge. We shut both park-gates andlodge-door.

'You saw the assault, sergeant,' Woodhouse went on. 'You cantestify I used no more force than was necessary to protect myself.You can testify that I have not even damaged this person'sproperty. (Here! take your stick, you!) You heard the filthylanguage he used.'

'I--I can't say I did,' the sergeant stammered.

'Oh, but we did!' said Ollyett, and repeated it, to theapron-veiled horror of the lodge-keeper's wife.

Sir Thomas on a hard kitchen chair began to talk. He said he had'stood enough of being photographed like a wild beast,' andexpressed loud regret that he had not killed 'that man,' who was'conspiring with the sergeant to laugh at him.'

''Ad you ever seen 'im before, Sir Thomas?' the sergeantasked.

'No! But it's time an example was made here. I've never seen thesweep in my life.'

I think it was Bat Masquerier's magnetic eye that recalled thepast to him, for his face changed and his jaw dropped. 'But Ihave!' he groaned. 'I remember now.'

Here a writhing man entered by the back door. He was, he said,the village solicitor. I do not assert that he licked Woodhouse'sboots, but we should have respected him more if he had and beendone with it. His notion was that the matter could be accommodated,arranged and compromised for gold, and yet more gold. The sergeantthought so too. Woodhouse undeceived them both. To the sergeant hesaid, 'Will you or will you not enter the charge?' To the villagesolicitor he gave the name of his lawyers, at which the man wrunghis hands and cried, 'Oh, Sir T., Sir T.!' in a miserable falsetto,for it was a Bat Masquerier of a firm. They conferred together intragic whispers.

'I don't dive after Dickens,' said Ollyett to Bat and me by thewindow, 'but every time I get into a row I notice thepolice-court always fills up with his characters.'

'I've noticed that too,' said Bat. 'But the odd thing is youmustn't give the public straight Dickens--not in My business. Iwonder why that is.'

Then Sir Thomas got his second wind and cursed the day that he,or it may have been we, were born. I feared that though he was aRadical he might apologise and, since he was an M.P., might lie hisway out of the difficulty. But he was utterly and truthfully besidehimself. He asked foolish questions--such as what we were doing inthe village at all, and how much blackmail Woodhouse expected tomake out of him. But neither Woodhouse nor the sergeant nor thewrithing solicitor listened. The upshot of their talk, in thechimney-corner, was that Sir Thomas stood engaged to appear nextMonday before his brother magistrates on charges of assault,disorderly conduct, and language calculated, etc. Ollyett wasspecially careful about the language.

Then we left. The village looked very pretty in the latelight--pretty and tuneful as a nest of nightingales.

'You'll turn up on Monday, I hope,' said Woodhouse, when wereached town. That was his only allusion to the affair.

So we turned up--through a world still singing that the Earthwas flat--at the little clay-coloured market-town with the largeCorn Exchange and the small Jubilee memorial. We had somedifficulty in getting seats in the court. Woodhouse's importedLondon lawyer was a man of commanding personality, with a voicetrained to convey blasting imputations by tone. When the case wascalled, he rose and stated his client's intention not to proceedwith the charge. His client, he went on to say, had notentertained, and, of course, in the circ*mstances could not haveentertained, any suggestion of accepting on behalf of publiccharities any moneys that might have been offered to him on thepart of Sir Thomas's estate. At the same time, no one acknowledgedmore sincerely than his client the spirit in which those offers hadbeen made by those entitled to make them. But, as a matter offact--here he became the man of the world colloguing with hisequals--certain--er--details had come to his client's knowledgesince the lamentable outburst, which ... He shrugged hisshoulders. Nothing was served by going into them, but he venturedto say that, had those painful circ*mstances only been knownearlier, his client would--again 'of course'--never have dreamed--Agesture concluded the sentence, and the ensnared Bench looked atSir Thomas with new and withdrawing eyes. Frankly, as they couldsee, it would be nothing less than cruelty to proceed further withthis--er-unfortunate affair. He asked leave, therefore, to withdrawthe charge in toto, and at the same time to express hisclient's deepest sympathy with all who had been in any waydistressed, as his client had been, by the fact and the publicityof proceedings which he could, of course, again assure them thathis client would never have dreamed of instituting if, as he hopedhe had made plain, certain facts had been before his client at thetime when.... But he had said enough. For his fee it seemed to methat he had.

Heaven inspired Sir Thomas's lawyer--all of a sweat lest hisclient's language should come out--to rise up and thank him. Then,Sir Thomas--not yet aware what leprosy had been laid upon him, butgrateful to escape on any terms--followed suit. He was heard ininterested silence, and people drew back a pace as Gehazi passedforth.

'You hit hard,' said Bat to Woodhouse afterwards. 'His ownpeople think he's mad.'

'You don't say so? I'll show you some of his letters to-night atdinner,' he replied.

He brought them to the Red Amber Room of the Chop Suey. Weforgot to be amazed, as till then we had been amazed, over the Songor 'The Gubby,' or the full tide of Fate that seemed to run onlyfor our sakes. It did not even interest Ollyett that the verb 'tohuckle' had passed into the English leader-writers' language. Wewere studying the interior of a soul, flash-lighted to its grimiestcorners by the dread of 'losing its position.'

'And then it thanked you, didn't it, for dropping the case?'said Pallant.

'Yes, and it sent me a telegram to confirm.' Woodhouse turned toBat. 'Now d'you think I hit too hard?' he asked.

'No-o!' said Bat. 'After all--I'm talking of every one'sbusiness now--one can't ever do anything in Art that comes up toNature in any game in life. Just think how this thing has--'

'Just let me run through that little case of yours again,' saidPallant, and picked up The Bun which had it set out infull.

'Any chance of 'Dal looking in on us to-night?' Ollyettbegan.

'She's occupied with her Art too,' Bat answered bitterly.'What's the use of Art? Tell me, some one!' A barrel-organ outsidepromptly pointed out that the Earth was flat. 'Thegramophone's killing street organs, but I let loose ahundred-and-seventy-four of those hurdygurdys twelve hours afterThe Song,' said Bat. 'Not counting the Provinces.' His facebrightened a little.

'Look here!' said Pallant over the paper. 'I don't suppose youor those asinine J.P.'s knew it--but your lawyer ought to haveknown that you've all put your foot in it most confoundedly overthis assault case.'

'What's the matter?' said Woodhouse.

'It's ludicrous. It's insane. There isn't two penn'orth oflegality in the whole thing. Of course, you could have withdrawnthe charge, but the way you went about it is childish--besidesbeing illegal. What on earth was the Chief Constable thinkingof?'

'Oh, he was a friend of Sir Thomas's. They all were for thatmatter,' I replied.

'He ought to be hanged. So ought the Chairman of the Bench. I'mtalking as a lawyer now.'

'Why, what have we been guilty of? Misprision of treason orcompounding a felony--or what?' said Ollyett.

'I'll tell you later.' Pallant went back to the paper withknitted brows, smiling unpleasantly from time to time. At last helaughed.

'Thank you!' he said to Woodhouse. 'It ought to be prettyuseful--for us.'

'What d'you mean?' said Ollyett.

'For our side. They are all Rads who are mixed up in this--fromthe Chief Constable down. There must be a Question. There must be aQuestion.'

'Yes, but I wanted the charge withdrawn in my own way,'Woodhouse insisted.

'That's nothing to do with the case. It's the legality of yoursilly methods. You wouldn't understand if I talked till morning,'He began to pace the room, his hands behind him. 'I wonder if I canget it through our Whip's thick head that it's a chance.... Thatcomes of stuffing the Bench with radical tinkers,' he muttered.

'Oh, sit down!' said Woodhouse.

'Where's your lawyer to be found now?' he jerked out.

'At the Trefoil,' said Bat promptly. 'I gave him the stage-boxfor to-night. He's an artist too.'

'Then I'm going to see him,' said Pallant. 'Properly handledthis ought to be a godsend for our side.' He withdrew withoutapology.

'Certainly, this thing keeps on opening up, and up,' I remarkedinanely.

'It's beyond me!' said Bat. 'I don't think if I'd known I'd haveever ... Yes, I would, though. He said my home address was--'

'It was his tone--his tone!' Ollyett almost shouted. Woodhousesaid nothing, but his face whitened as he brooded.

'Well, any way,' Bat went on, 'I'm glad I always believed in Godand Providence and all those things. Else I should lose my nerve.We've put it over the whole world--the full extent of thegeographical globe. We couldn't stop it if we wanted to now. It'sgot to burn itself out. I'm not in charge any more. What d'youexpect'll happen next. Angels?'

I expected nothing. Nothing that I expected approached what Igot. Politics are not my concern, but, for the moment, since itseemed that they were going to 'huckle' with the rest, I took aninterest in them. They impressed me as a dog's life without a dog'sdecencies, and I was confirmed in this when an unshaven andunwashen Pallant called on me at ten o'clock one morning, beggingfor a bath and a couch.

'Bail too?' I asked. He was in evening dress and his eyes weresunk feet in his head.

'No,' he said hoarsely. 'All night sitting. Fifteen divisions.'Nother to-night. Your place was nearer than mine, so--' He beganto undress in the hall.

When he awoke at one o'clock he gave me lurid accounts of whathe said was history, but which was obviously collective hysteria.There had been a political crisis. He and his fellow M.P.'s had'done things'--I never quite got at the things--for eighteen hourson end, and the pitiless Whips were even then at the telephones toherd 'em up to another dog-fight. So he snorted and grew hot allover again while he might have been resting.

'I'm going to pitch in my question about that miscarriage ofjustice at Huckley this afternoon, if you care to listen to it,' hesaid. 'It'll be absolutely thrown away--in our present state. Itold 'em so; but it's my only chance for weeks. P'raps Woodhousewould like to come.'

'I'm sure he would. Anything to do with Huckley interests us,' Isaid.

'It'll miss fire, I'm afraid. Both sides are absolutely cooked.The present situation has been working up for some time. You seethe row was bound to come, etc. etc.,' and he flew off the handleonce more.

I telephoned to Woodhouse, and we went to the House together. Itwas a dull, sticky afternoon with thunder in the air. For somereason or other, each side was determined to prove its virtue andendurance to the utmost. I heard men snarling about it all roundme. 'If they won't spare us, we'll show 'em no mercy,' 'Break thebrutes up from the start. They can't stand late hours.' 'Come on!No shirking! I know you've had a Turkish bath,' were some ofthe sentences I caught on our way. The House was packed already,and one could feel the negative electricity of a jaded crowdwrenching at one's own nerves, and depressing the afternoonsoul.

'This is bad!' Woodhouse whispered. 'There'll be a row beforethey've finished. Look at the Front Benches!' And he pointed outlittle personal signs by which I was to know that each man was onedge. He might have spared himself. The House was ready to snapbefore a bone had been thrown. A sullen minister rose to reply to astaccato question. His supporters cheered defiantly. 'None o' that!None o' that!' came from the Back Benches. I saw the Speaker's facestiffen like the face of a helmsman as he humours a hard-mouthedyacht after a sudden following sea. The trouble was barely met intime. There came a fresh, apparently causeless gust a few minuteslater--savage, threatening, but futile. It died out--one could hearthe sigh--in sudden wrathful realisation of the dreary hours ahead,and the ship of state drifted on.

Then Pallant--and the raw House winced at the torture of hisvoice--rose. It was a twenty-line question, studded with legaltechnicalities. The gist of it was that he wished to know whetherthe appropriate Minister was aware that there had been a gravemiscarriage of justice on such and such a date, at such and such aplace, before such and such justices of the peace, in regard to acase which arose--

I heard one desperate, weary 'damn!' float up from the pit ofthat torment. Pallant sawed on--'out of certain events whichoccurred at the village of Huckley.'

The House came to attention with a parting of the lips like ahiccough, and it flashed through my mind.... Pallant repeated,'Huckley. The village--'

'That voted the Earth was flat.' A single voice from aback Bench sang it once like a lone frog in a far pool.

'Earth was flat,' croaked another voice opposite.

'Earth was flat.' There were several. Then severalmore.

It was, you understand, the collective, overstrained nerve ofthe House, snapping, strand by strand to various notes, as thehawser parts from its moorings.

'The Village that voted the Earth was flat.' The tune wasbeginning to shape itself. More voices were raised and feet beganto beat time. Even so it did not occur to me that the thingwould--

'The Village that voted the Earth was flat!' It waseasier now to see who were not singing. There were still a few. Ofa sudden (and this proves the fundamental instability of thecross-bench mind) a cross-bencher leaped on his seat and thereplayed an imaginary double-bass with tremendous maestro-likewagglings of the elbow.

The last strand parted. The ship of state drifted out helplesson the rocking tide of melody.

The Irish first conceived the idea of using their order-papersas funnels wherewith to reach the correct 'vroom--vroom' on'Earth.' Labour, always conservative and respectable at acrisis, stood out longer than any other section, but when it camein it was howling syndicalism. Then, without distinction of Party,fear of constituents, desire for office, or hope of emolument, theHouse sang at the tops and at the bottoms of their voices, swayingtheir stale bodies and epileptically beating with their swelledfeet. They sang 'The Village that voted the Earth was flat':first, because they wanted to, and secondly--which is the terror ofthat song--because they could not stop. For no consideration couldthey stop.

Pallant was still standing up. Some one pointed at him and theylaughed. Others began to point, lunging, as it were, in time withthe tune. At this moment two persons came in practically abreastfrom behind the Speaker's chair, and halted appalled. One happenedto be the Prime Minister and the other a messenger. The House, withtears running down their cheeks, transferred their attention to theparalysed couple. They pointed six hundred forefingers at them.They rocked, they waved, and they rolled while they pointed, butstill they sang. When they weakened for an instant, Ireland wouldyell: 'Are ye with me, bhoys?' and they all renewed theirstrength like Antaeus. No man could say afterwards what happened inthe Press or the Strangers' Gallery. It was the House, thehysterical and abandoned House of Commons that held all eyes, as itdeafened all ears. I saw both Front Benches bend forward, some withtheir foreheads on their despatch-boxes, the rest with their facesin their hands; and their moving shoulders jolted the House out ofits last rag of decency. Only the Speaker remained unmoved. Theentire press of Great Britain bore witness next day that he had noteven bowed his head. The Angel of the Constitution, for vain wasthe help of man, foretold him the exact moment at which the Housewould have broken into 'The Gubby.' He is reported to have said: 'Iheard the Irish beginning to shuffle it. So I adjourned.' Pallant'sversion is that he added: 'And I was never so grateful to a privatemember in all my life as I was to Mr. Pallant.'

He made no explanation. He did not refer to orders or disorders.He simply adjourned the House till six that evening. And the Houseadjourned--some of it nearly on all fours.

I was not correct when I said that the Speaker was the only manwho did not laugh. Woodhouse was beside me all the time. His facewas set and quite white--as white, they told me, as Sir ThomasIngell's when he went, by request, to a private interview with hisChief Whip.

In The Presence

(1912)

'So the matter,' the Regimental Chaplain concluded, 'wascorrect; in every way correct. I am well pleased with Rutton Singhand Attar Singh. They have gathered the fruit of their lives.'

He folded his arms and sat down on the verandah. The hot day hadended, and there was a pleasant smell of cooking along theregimental lines, where half-clad men went back and forth with leafplatters and water-goglets. The Subadar-Major, in extreme undress,sat on a chair, as befitted his rank; the Havildar-Major, hisnephew, leaning respectfully against the wall. The Regiment was athome and at ease in its own quarters in its own district whichtakes its name from the great Muhammadan saint Mian Mir, revered byJehangir and beloved by Guru Har Gobind, sixth of the great SikhGurus.

'Quite correct,' the Regimental Chaplain repeated.

No Sikh contradicts his Regimental Chaplain who expounds to himthe Holy Book of the Grunth Sahib and who knows the lives andlegends of all the Gurus.

The Subadar-Major bowed his grey head. The Havildar-Majorcoughed respectfully to attract attention and to ask leave tospeak. Though he was the Subadar-Major's nephew, and though hisfather held twice as much land as his uncle, he knew his place inthe scheme of things. The Subadar-Major shifted one hand with aniron bracelet on the wrist.

'Was there by any chance any woman at the back of it?' theHavildar-Major murmured. 'I was not here when the thinghappened.'

'Yes! Yes! Yes! We all know that thou wast in England eating anddrinking with the Sahibs. We are all surprised that thou canststill speak Punjabi.' The Subadar-Major's carefully-tended beardbristled.

'There was no woman,' the Regimental Chaplain growled. 'It wasland. Hear, you! Rutton Singh and Attar Singh were the elder offour brothers. These four held land in--what was the village'sname?--oh, Pishapur, near Thori, in the Banalu Tehsil of PatialaState, where men can still recognise right behaviour when they seeit. The two younger brothers tilled the land, while Rutton Singhand Attar Singh took service with the Regiment, according to thecustom of the family.'

'True, true,' said the Havildar-Major. 'There is the samearrangement in all good families.'

'Then, listen again,' the Regimental Chaplain went on. 'Theirkin on their mother's side put great oppression and injustice uponthe two younger brothers who stayed with the land in Patiala State.Their mother's kin loosened beasts into the four brothers' cropswhen the crops were green; they cut the corn by force when it wasripe; they broke down the water-courses; they defiled the wells;and they brought false charges in the law-courts against all fourbrothers. They did not spare even the cotton-seed, as the sayingis.

'Their mother's kin trusted that the young men would thus beforced by weight of trouble, and further trouble and perpetualtrouble, to quit their lands in Pishapur village in Banalu Tehsilin Patiala State. If the young men ran away, the land would comewhole to their mother's kin. I am not a regimental school-master,but is it understood, child?'

'Understood,' said the Havildar-Major grimly. 'Pishapur is notthe only place where the fence eats the field instead of protectingit. But perhaps there was a woman among their mother's kin?'

'God knows!' said the Regimental Chaplain. 'Woman, or man, orlaw-courts, the young men would not be driven off the landwhich was their own by inheritance. They made appeal to RuttonSingh and Attar Singh, their brethren who had taken service withus in the Regiment, and so knew the world, to help them intheir long war against their mother's kin in Pishapur. For thatreason, because their own land and the honour of their house wasdear to them, Rutton Singh and Attar Singh needs must very oftenask for leave to go to Patiala and attend to the lawsuits andcattle-poundings there.

'It was not, look you, as though they went back to their ownvillage and sat, garlanded with jasmine, in honour, upon chairsbefore the elders under the trees. They went back always toperpetual trouble, either of lawsuits, or theft, or strayed cattle;and they sat on thorns.'

'I knew it,' said the Subadar-Major. 'Life was bitter for themboth. But they were well-conducted men. It was not hard to get themtheir leave from the Colonel Sahib.'

'They spoke to me also,' said the Chaplain. '"Let him whodesires the four great gifts apply himself to the words of holymen." That is written. Often they showed me the papers of thefalse lawsuits brought against them. Often they wept on account ofthe persecution put upon them by their mother's kin. Men thought itwas drugs when their eyes showed red.'

'They wept in my presence too,' said the Subadar-Major.'Well-conducted men of nine years' service apiece. Rutton Singh wasdrill-Naik, too.'

'They did all things correctly as Sikhs should,' said theRegimental Chaplain. 'When the persecution had endured seven years,Attar Singh took leave to Pishapur once again (that was the fourthtime in that year only) and he called his persecutors togetherbefore the village elders, and he cast his turban at their feet andbesought them by his mother's blood to cease from theirpersecutions. For he told them earnestly that he had marched to theboundaries of his patience, and that there could be but one end tothe matter.

'They gave him abuse. They mocked him and his tears, which wasthe same as though they had mocked the Regiment. Then Attar Singhreturned to the Regiment, and laid this last trouble before RuttonSingh, the eldest brother. But Rutton Singh could not get leave allat once.'

'Because he was drill-Naik and the recruits were to be drilled.I myself told him so,' said the Subadar-Major. 'He was awell-conducted man. He said he could wait.'

'But when permission was granted, those two took four days'leave,' the Chaplain went on.

'I do not think Attar Singh should have taken Baynes Sahib'srevolver. He was Baynes Sahib's orderly, and all that Sahib'sthings were open to him. It was, therefore, as I count it, shame toAttar Singh,' said the Subadar-Major.

'All the words had been said. There was need of arms, and howcould soldiers use Government rifles upon mere cultivators in thefields?' the Regimental Chaplain replied. 'Moreover, the revolverwas sent back, together with a money-order for the cartridgesexpended. "Borrow not; but if thou borrowest, pay backsoon!" That is written in the Hymns. Rutton Singh took a sword,and he and Attar Singh went to Pishapur and, after word given, thefour brethren fell upon their persecutors in Pishapur village andslew seventeen, wounding ten. A revolver is better than a lawsuit.I say that these four brethren, the two with us, and the twomere cultivators, slew and wounded twenty-seven--all their mother'skin, male and female.

'Then the four mounted to their housetop, and Attar Singh, whowas always one of the impetuous, said "My work is done," and hemade shinan (purification) in all men's sight, and he lentRutton Singh Baynes Sahib's revolver, and Rutton Singh shot him inthe head.

'So Attar Singh abandoned his body, as an insect abandons ablade of grass. But Rutton Singh, having more work to do, went downfrom the housetop and sought an enemy whom he had forgotten--aPatiala man of this regiment who had sided with the persecutors.When he overtook the man, Rutton Singh hit him twice with bulletsand once with the sword.'

'But the man escaped and is now in the hospital here,' said theSubadar-Major. 'The doctor says he will live in spite of all.'

'Not Rutton Singh's fault. Rutton Singh left him for dead. ThenRutton Singh returned to the housetop, and the three brotherstogether, Attar Singh being dead, sent word by a lad to the policestation for an army to be dispatched against them that they mightdie with honours. But none came. And yet Patiala State is not underEnglish law and they should know virtue there when they see it!

'So, on the third day, Rutton Singh also made shinan, andthe youngest of the brethren shot him also in the head, andhe abandoned his body.

'Thus was all correct. There was neither heat, nor haste, norabuse in the matter from end to end. There remained alive not oneman or woman of their mother's kin which had oppressed them. Of theother villagers of Pishapur, who had taken no part in thepersecutions, not one was slain. Indeed, the villagers sent themfood on the housetop for those three days while they waited for thepolice who would not dispatch that army.

'Listen again! I know that Attar Singh and Rutton Singh omittedno ceremony of the purifications, and when all was done BaynesSahib's revolver was thrown down from the housetop, together withthree rupees twelve annas; and order was given for its return bypost.'

'And what befell the two younger brethren who were not in theservice?' the Havildar-Major asked.

'Doubtless they too are dead, but since they were not in theRegiment their honour concerns themselves only. So far as wewere touched, see how correctly we came out of the matter! I thinkthe King should be told; for where could you match such a taleexcept among us Sikhs? Sri wah guru ji ki Khalsa! Sri wah guruji ki futteh!' said the Regimental Chaplain.

'Would three rupees twelve annas pay for the used cartridges?'said the Havildar-Major.

'Attar Singh knew the just price. All Baynes Sahib's gear was inhis charge. They expended one tin box of fifty cartouches, lackingtwo which were returned. As I said--as I say--the arrangement wasmade not with heat nor blasphemies as a Mussulman would have madeit; not with cries nor caperings as an idolater would have made it;but conformably to the ritual and doctrine of the Sikhs. Hear you!"Though hundreds of amusem*nts are offered to a child it cannotlive without milk. If a man be divorced from his soul and hissoul's desire he certainly will not stop to play upon the road, buthe will make haste with his pilgrimage." That is written. Irejoice in my disciples.'

'True! True! Correct! Correct!' said the Subadar-Major. Therewas a long, easy silence. One heard a water-wheel creakingsomewhere and the nearer sound of meal being ground in a quern.

'But he--' the Chaplain pointed a scornful chin at theHavildar-Major--'he has been so long in England that--'

'Let the lad alone,' said his uncle. 'He was but two monthsthere, and he was chosen for good cause.'

Theoretically, all Sikhs are equal. Practically, there aredifferences, as none know better than well-born, land-owning folk,or long-descended chaplains from Amritsar.

'Hast thou heard anything in England to match my tale?' theChaplain sneered.

'I saw more than I could understand, so I have locked up mystories in my own mouth,' the Havildar-Major replied meekly.

'Stories? What stories? I know all the stories about England,'said the Chaplain. 'I know that terains run underneath theirbazaars there, and as for their streets stinking with motakahars, only this morning I was nearly killed by Duggan Sahib'smota-kahar. That young man is a devil.'

'I expect Grunthi-jee,' said the Subadar-Major, 'you and I growtoo old to care for the Kahar-ki-nautch--the Bearer's dance.' Henamed one of the sauciest of the old-time nautches, and smiled athis own pun. Then he turned to his nephew. 'When I was a lad andcame back to my village on leave, I waited the convenient hour,and, the elders giving permission, I spoke of what I had seenelsewhere.'

'Ay, my father,' said the Havildar-Major, softly andaffectionately. He sat himself down with respect, as behoved a merelad of thirty with a bare half-dozen campaigns to his credit.

'There were four men in this affair also,' he began, 'and it wasan affair that touched the honour, not of one regiment, nor two,but of all the Army in Hind. Some part of it I saw; some I heard;but all the tale is true. My father's brother knows, and mypriest knows, that I was in England on business with my Colonel,when the King--the Great Queen's son--completed his life.

'First, there was a rumour that sickness was upon him. Next, weknew that he lay sick in the Palace. A very great multitude stoodoutside the Palace by night and by day, in the rain as well as thesun, waiting for news.

'Then came out one with a written paper, and set it upon agate-side--the word of the King's death--and they read, andgroaned. This I saw with my own eyes, because the office where myColonel Sahib went daily to talk with Colonel Forsyth Sahib was atthe east end of the very gardens where the Palace stood. They arelarger gardens than Shalimar here'--he pointed with his chin up thelines--'or Shahdera across the river.

'Next day there was a darkness in the streets, because all thecity's multitude were clad in black garments, and they spoke as aman speaks in the presence of his dead--all those multitudes. Inthe eyes, in the air, and in the heart, there was blackness. I sawit. But that is not my tale.

'After ceremonies had been accomplished, and word had gone outto the Kings of the Earth that they should come and mourn, the newKing--the dead King's son--gave commandment that his father's bodyshould be laid, coffined, in a certain Temple which is near theriver. There are no idols in that Temple; neither any carvings, norpaintings, nor gildings. It is all grey stone, of one colour asthough it were cut out of the live rock. It is larger than--yes,than the Durbar Sahib at Amritsar, even though the Akal Bunga andthe Baba-Atal were added. How old it may be God knows. It is theSahibs' most sacred Temple.

'In that place, by the new King's commandment, they made, as itwere, a shrine for a saint, with lighted candles at the head andthe feet of the Dead, and duly appointed watchers for every hour ofthe day and the night, until the dead King should be taken to theplace of his fathers, which is at Wanidza.

'When all was in order, the new King said, "Give entrance to allpeople," and the doors were opened, and O my uncle! O my teacher!all the world entered, walking through that Temple to take farewellof the Dead. There was neither distinction, nor price, nor rankingin the host, except an order that they should walk by fours.

'As they gathered in the streets without--very, very far off--sothey entered the Temple, walking by fours: the child, the old man;mother, virgin, harlot, trader, priest; of all colours and faithsand customs under the firmament of God, from dawn till late atnight. I saw it. My Colonel gave me leave to go. I stood in theline, many hours, one koss, two koss, distant fromthe temple.'

'Then why did the multitude not sit down under the trees?' askedthe priest.

'Because we were still between houses. The city is manykoss wide,' the Havildar-Major resumed. 'I submitted myselfto that slow-moving river and thus--thus--a pace at a time--I madepilgrimage. There were in my rank a woman, a cripple, and a lascarfrom the ships.

'When we entered the Temple, the coffin itself was as a shoal inthe Ravi River, splitting the stream into two branches, one oneither side of the Dead; and the watchers of the Dead, who weresoldiers, stood about It, moving no more than the still flame ofthe candles. Their heads were bowed; their hands were clasped;their eyes were cast upon the ground--thus. They were not men, butimages, and the multitude went past them in fours by day, and,except for a little while, by night also.

'No, there was no order that the people should come to payrespect. It was a free-will pilgrimage. Eight kings had beencommanded to come--who obeyed--but upon his own Sahibs the new Kinglaid no commandment. Of themselves they came.

'I made pilgrimage twice: once for my Salt's sake, and onceagain for wonder and terror and worship. But my mouth cannotdeclare one thing of a hundred thousand things in this matter.There were lakhs of lakhs, crores ofcrores of people. I saw them.'

'More than at our great pilgrimages?' the Regimental Chaplaindemanded.

'Yes. Those are only cities and districts coming out to pray.This was the world walking in grief. And now, hear you! It is theKing's custom that four swords of Our Armies in Hind should standalways before the Presence in case of need.'

'The King's custom, our right,' said the Subadar-Majorcurtly.

'Also our right. These honoured ones are changed after certainmonths or years, that the honour may be fairly spread. Now itchanced that when the old King--the Queen's son--completed hisdays, the four that stood in the Presence were Goorkhas. NeitherSikhs alas, nor Pathans, Rajputs, nor Jats. Goorkhas, myfather.'

'Idolaters,' said the Chaplain.

'But soldiers; for I remember in the Tirah--' the Havildar-Majorbegan.

'But soldiers, for I remember fifteen campaigns. Go on,'said the Subadar-Major.

'And it was their honour and right to furnish one who shouldstand in the Presence by day and by night till It went out toburial. There were no more than four all told--four old men tofurnish that guard.'

'Old? Old? What talk is this of old men?' said theSubadar-Major.

'Nay. My fault! Your pardon!' The Havildar-Major spread adeprecating hand. 'They were strong, hot, valiant men, and theyoungest was a lad of forty-five.'

'That is better,' the Subadar-Major laughed.

'But for all their strength and heat they could not eat strangefood from the Sahibs' hands. There was no cooking place in theTemple; but a certain Colonel Forsyth Sahib, who had understanding,made arrangement whereby they should receive at least a littlecaste-clean parched grain; also cold rice maybe, and water whichwas pure. Yet, at best, this was no more than a hen's mouthful,snatched as each came off his guard. They lived on grain and werethankful, as the saying is.

'One hour's guard in every four was each man's burden, for, as Ihave shown, they were but four all told; and the honour of OurArmies in Hind was on their heads. The Sahibs could draw upon allthe armies in England for the other watchers--thousands uponthousands of fresh men--if they needed; but these four were butfour.

'The Sahibs drew upon the Granadeers for the other watchers.Granadeers be very tall men under very tall bearskins, such asFusilier regiments wear in cold weather. Thus, when a Granadeerbowed his head but a very little over his stock, the bearskinsloped and showed as though he grieved exceedingly. Now theGoorkhas wear flat, green caps--'

'I see, I see,' said the Subadar-Major impatiently.

'They are bull-necked, too; and their stocks are hard, and whenthey bend deeply--deeply--to match the Granadeers--they come nighto choking themselves. That was a handicap against them, when itcame to the observance of ritual.

'Yet even with their tall, grief-declaring bearskins, theGranadeers could not endure the full hour's guard in the Presence.There was good cause, as I will show, why no man could endure thatterrible hour. So for them the hour's guard was cut to one-half.What did it matter to the Sahibs? They could draw on ten thousandGranadeers. Forsyth Sahib, who had comprehension, put this choicealso before the four, and they said, "No, ours is the Honour of theArmies of Hind. Whatever the Sahibs do, we will suffer the fullhour."

'Forsyth Sahib, seeing that they were--knowing that they couldneither sleep long nor eat much, said, "Is it great suffering?"They said, "It is great honour. We will endure."

'Forsyth Sahib, who loves us, said then to the eldest, "Ho,father, tell me truly what manner of burden it is; for the fullhour's watch breaks up our men like water."

'The eldest answered, "Sahib, the burden is the feet of themultitude that pass us on either side. Our eyes being lowered andfixed, we see those feet only from the knee down--a river of feet,Sahib, that never--never--never stops. It is not the standingwithout any motion; it is not hunger; nor is it the dead partbefore the dawn when maybe a single one comes here to weep. It isthe burden of the unendurable procession of feet from the kneedown, that never--never--never stops!"

'Forsyth Sahib said, "By God, I had not considered that! Now Iknow why our men come trembling and twitching off that guard. Butat least, my father, ease the stock a little beneath the bent chinfor that one hour."

'The eldest said, "We are in the Presence. Moreover Heknew every button and braid and hook of every uniform in all Hisarmies."

'Then Forsyth Sahib said no more, except to speak about theirparched grain, but indeed they could not eat much after their hour,nor could they sleep much because of eye-twitchings and the renewedprocession of the feet before the eyes. Yet they endured each hisfull hour--not half an hour--his one full hour in each fourhours.'

'Correct! correct!' said the Subadar-Major and the Chaplaintogether. 'We come well out of this affair.'

'But seeing that they were old men,' said the Subadar-Majorreflectively, 'very old men, worn out by lack of food and sleep,could not arrangements have been made, or influence have beensecured, or a petition presented, whereby a well-born Sikh mighthave eased them of some portion of their great burden, even thoughhis substantive rank--'

'Then they would most certainly have slain me,' said theHavildar-Major with a smile.

'And they would have done correctly,' said the Chaplain. 'Whatbefell the honourable ones later?'

'This. The Kings of the earth and all the Armies sent flowersand such-like to the dead King's palace at Wanidza, where thefuneral offerings were accepted. There was no order given, but allthe world made oblation. So the four took counsel--three at atime--and either they asked Forsyth Sahib to choose flowers, orthemselves they went forth and bought flowers--I do not know; but,however it was arranged, the flowers were bought and made in theshape of a great drum-like circle weighing half a maund.

'Forsyth Sahib had said, "Let the flowers be sent to Wanidzawith the other flowers which all the world is sending." But theysaid among themselves, "It is not fit that these flowers, which arethe offerings of His Armies in Hind, should come to the Palace ofthe Presence by the hands of hirelings or messengers, or of any mannot in His service."

'Hearing this, Forsyth Sahib, though he was much occupied withoffice-work, said, "Give me the flowers, and I will steal a timeand myself take them to Wanidza."

'The eldest said, "Since when has Forsyth Sahib worn sword?"

'Forsyth Sahib said, "But always. And I wear it in the Presencewhen I put on uniform. I am a Colonel in the Armies of Hind." Theeldest said, "Of what regiment?" And Forsyth Sahib looked on thecarpet and pulled the hair of his lip. He saw the trap.'

'Forsyth Sahib's regiment was once the old Forty-sixth Pathanswhich was called--' the Subadar-Major gave the almost forgottentitle, adding that he had met them in such and such campaigns, whenForsyth Sahib was a young captain.

The Havildar-Major took up the tale, saying, 'The eldest knewthat also, my father. He laughed, and presently Forsyth Sahiblaughed.

'"It is true," said Forsyth Sahib. "I have no regiment. Fortwenty years I have been a clerk tied to a thick pen. Therefore Iam the more fit to be your orderly and messenger in thisbusiness."

'The eldest then said, "If it were a matter of my life or thehonour of any of my household, it would be easy." AndForsyth Sahib joined his hands together, half laughing, though hewas ready to weep, and he said, "Enough! I ask pardon. Which one ofyou goes with the offering?"

'The eldest said, feigning not to have heard, "Nor must they bedelivered by a single sword--as though we were pressed for men inHis service," and they saluted and went out.'

'Were these things seen, or were they told thee?' said theSubadar-Major.

'I both saw and heard in the office full of books and paperswhere my Colonel Sahib consulted Forsyth Sahib upon the businessthat had brought my Colonel Sahib to England.'

'And what was that business?' the Regimental Chaplain asked of asudden, looking full at the Havildar-Major, who returned the lookwithout a quiver.

'That was not revealed to me,' said the Havildar-Major.

'I heard it might have been some matter touching the integrityof certain regiments,' the Chaplain insisted.

'The matter was not in any way open to my ears,' said theHavildar-Major.

'Humph!' The Chaplain drew his hard road-worn feet under hisrobe. 'Let us hear the tale that it is permitted thee to tell,' hesaid, and the Havildar-Major went on:

'So then the three, having returned to the Temple, called thefourth, who had only forty-five years, when he came off guard, andsaid, "We go to the Palace at Wanidza with the offerings. Remainthou in the Presence, and take all our guards, one after the other,till we return."

'Within that next hour they hired a large and strongmota-kahar for the journey from the Temple to Wanidza, whichis twenty koss or more, and they promised expedition. But hewho took their guards said, "It is not seemly that we should forany cause appear to be in haste. There are eighteen medals witheleven clasps and three Orders to consider. Go at leisure. I canendure."

'So the three with the offerings were absent three hours and ahalf, and having delivered the offering at Wanidza in the correctmanner they returned and found the lad on guard, and they did notbreak his guard till his full hour was ended. So he enduredfour hours in the Presence, not stirring one hair, his eyes abased,and the river of feet, from the knee down, passing continuallybefore his eyes. When he was relieved, it was seen that hiseyeballs worked like weavers' shuttles.

'And so it was done--not in hot blood, not for a little while,nor yet with the smell of slaughter and the noise of shouting tosustain, but in silence, for a very long time, rooted to one placebefore the Presence among the most terrible feet of themultitude.'

'Correct!' the Chaplain chuckled.

'But the Goorkhas had the honour,' said the Subadar-Majorsadly.

'Theirs was the Honour of His Armies in Hind, and that was OurHonour,' the nephew replied.

'Yet I would one Sikh had been concerned in it--even onelow-caste Sikh. And after?'

'They endured the burden until the end--until It went out of theTemple to be laid among the older kings at Wanidza. When all wasaccomplished and It was withdrawn under the earth, Forsyth Sahibsaid to the four, "The King gives command that you be fed here onmeat cooked by your own cooks. Eat and take ease, my fathers."

'So they loosed their belts and ate. They had not eaten foodexcept by snatches for some long time; and when the meat had giventhem strength they slept for very many hours; and it was told methat the procession of the unendurable feet ceased to pass beforetheir eyes any more.'

He threw out one hand palm upward to show that the tale wasended.

'We came well and cleanly out of it,' said theSubadar-Major.

'Correct! Correct! Correct!' said the Regimental Chaplain. 'Inan evil age it is good to hear such things, and there is certainlyno doubt that this is a very evil age.'

REGULUS

(1917)

Regulus, a Roman general, defeated the Carthaginians256 B.C., but was next year defeated and taken prisoner by theCarthaginians, who sent him to Rome with an embassy to ask forpeace or an exchange of prisoners. Regulus strongly advised theRoman Senate to make no terms with the enemy. He then returned toCarthage and was put to death.

The Fifth Form had been dragged several times in its collectivelife, from one end of the school Horace to the other. Those werethe years when Army examiners gave thousands of marks for Latin,and it was Mr. King's hated business to defeat them.

Hear him, then, on a raw November morning at second lesson.

'Aha!' he began, rubbing his hands. 'Cras ingens iterabimusaequor. Our portion to-day is the Fifth Ode of the Third Book,I believe--concerning one Regulus, a gentleman. And how often havewe been through it?'

'Twice, sir,' said Malpass, head of the Form.

Mr. King shuddered. 'Yes, twice, quite literally,' he said.'To-day, with an eye to your Army viva-voceexaminations--ugh!--I shall exact somewhat freer and more floridrenditions. With feeling and comprehension if that be possible. Iexcept'--here his eye swept the back benches--'our friend andcompanion Beetle, from whom, now as always, I demand an absolutelyliteral translation.' The form laughed subserviently.

'Spare his blushes! Beetle charms us first.'

Beetle stood up, confident in the possession of a guaranteedconstrue, left behind by M'Turk, who had that day gone into thesick-house with a cold. Yet he was too wary a hand to showconfidence.

'Credidimus, we--believe--we have believed,' he opened inhesitating slow time, 'tonantem Joven, thunderingJove--regnare, to reign--caelo, in heaven.Augustus, Augustus--habebitur, will be held orconsidered--praesens divus, a present God--adjectisBritannis, the Britons being added--imperio, to theEmpire--gravibusque Persis, with the heavy--er, sternPersians.'

'What?'

'The grave or stern Persians.' Beetle pulled up with the'Thank-God-I-have-done-my-duty' air of Nelson in the co*ckpit.

'I am quite aware,' said King, 'that the first stanza is aboutthe extent of your knowledge, but continue, sweet one, continue.Gravibus, by the way, is usually translated as"troublesome."'

Beetle drew a long and tortured breath. The second stanza (whichcarries over to the third) of that Ode is what is technicallycalled a 'stinker.' But M'Turk had done him handsomely.

'Milesne Crassi, had--has the soldier ofCrassus--vixit, lived--turpis maritus, a disgracefulhusband--'

'You slurred the quantity of the word after turpis,' saidKing. 'Let's hear it.'

Beetle guessed again, and for a wonder hit the correct quantity.'Er--a disgraceful husband--conjuge barbara, with abarbarous spouse.'

'Why do you select that disgustful equivalent out of allthe dictionary?' King snapped. 'Isn't "wife" good enough foryou?'

'Yes, sir. But what do I do about this bracket, sir? Shall Itake it now?'

'Confine yourself at present to the soldier of Crassus.'

'Yes, sir. Et, and--consenuit, has he grownold--in armis, in the--er--arms--hositum socerorum,of his father-in-law's enemies.'

'Who? How? Which?'

'Arms of his enemies' fathers-in-law, sir.'

'Tha-anks. By the way, what meaning might you attach to inarmis?'

'Oh, weapons--weapons of war, sir.' There was a virginal note inBeetle's voice as though he had been falsely accused of utteringindecencies. 'Shall I take the bracket now, sir?'

'Since it seems to be troubling you.'

'Pro Curia, O for the Senate House--inversiquemores, and manners upset--upside down.'

'Ve-ry like your translation. Meantime, the soldier ofCrassus?'

'Sub rege Medo, under a Median King--Marsus etApulus, he being a Marsian and an Apulian.'

'Who? The Median King?'

'No, sir. The soldier of Crassus. Oblittus agrees withmilesne Crassi, sir,' volunteered too-hasty Beetle.

'Does it? It doesn't with me.'

'Oh-blight-us,' Beetle corrected hastily,'forgetful--anciliorum, of the shields, or trophies--etnominis, and the--his name--et togae, and thetoga--eternaeque Vestae, and eternal Vesta--incolumiJove, Jove being safe--et urbe Roma, and the Romancity.' With an air of hardly restrained zeal--'Shall I go on,sir?'

Mr. King winced. 'No, thank you. You have indeed given us atranslation! May I ask if it conveys any meaning whatever to yourso-called mind?'

'Oh, I think so, sir.' This with gentle toleration for Horaceand all his works.

'We envy you. Sit down.'

Beetle sat down relieved, well knowing that a reef of unchartedgenitives stretched ahead of him, on which in spite of M'Turk'ssailing-directions he would infallibly have been wrecked.

Rattray, who took up the task, steered neatly through them andcame unscathed to port.

'Here we require drama,' said King. 'Regulus himself is speakingnow. Who shall represent the provident-minded Regulus? Winton, willyou kindly oblige?'

Winton of King's House, a long, heavy, tow-headed Second Fifteenforward, overdue for his First Fifteen colours, and in aspect likean earnest, elderly horse, rose up, and announced, among otherthings, that he had seen 'signs affixed to Punic deluges.' Half theForm shouted for joy, and the other half for joy that there wassomething to shout about.

Mr. King opened and shut his eyes with great swiftness.'Signa adfixa delubris,' he gasped. 'So delubris is"deluges" is it? Winton, in all our dealings, have I ever suspectedyou of a jest?'

'No, sir,' said the rigid and angular Winton, while the Formrocked about him.

'And yet you assert delubris means "deluges." Whether Iam a fit subject for such a jape is, of course, a matter ofopinion, but.... Winton, you are normally conscientious. May weassume you looked out delubris?'

'No, sir.' Winton was privileged to speak that truth dangerousto all who stand before Kings.

''Made a shot at it then?'

Every line of Winton's body showed he had done nothing of thesort. Indeed, the very idea that 'Pater' Winton (and a boy is notcalled 'Pater' by companions for his frivolity) would make a shotat anything was beyond belief. But he replied, 'Yes,' and all thewhile worked with his right heel as though he were heeling a ballat punt-about.

Though none dared to boast of being a favourite with King, thetaciturn, three-cornered Winton stood high in his House-Master'sopinion. It seemed to save him neither rebuke nor punishment, butthe two were in some fashion sympathetic.

'Hm!' said King drily. 'I was going to say--Flagito additisdamnum, but I think--I think I see the process. Beetle, thetranslation of delubris, please.'

Beetle raised his head from his shaking arm long enough toanswer: 'Ruins, sir.'

There was an impressive pause while King checked off crimes onhis fingers. Then to Beetle the much-enduring man addressed wingedwords:

'Guessing,' said he. 'Guessing, Beetle, as usual, from the lookof delubris that it bore some relation to diluvium ordeluge, you imparted the result of your half-baked lucubrations toWinton who seems to have been lost enough to have accepted it.Observing next, your companion's fall, from the presumed securityof your undistinguished position in the rear-guard, you tookanother pot-shot. The turbid chaos of your mind threw up somememory of the word "dilapidations" which you have pitifullyattempted to disguise under the synonym of "ruins."'

As this was precisely what Beetle had done he looked hurt butforgiving. 'We will attend to this later,' said King. 'Go on,Winton, and retrieve yourself.'

Delubris happened to be the one word which Winton had notlooked out and had asked Beetle for, when they were settling intotheir places. He forged ahead with no further trouble. Only when herendered scilicet as 'forsooth,' King erupted.

'Regulus,' he said, 'was not a leader-writer for the pennypress, nor, for that matter, was Horace. Regulus says: "The soldierransomed by gold will come keener for the fight--will he by--bygum!" That's the meaning of scilicet. It indicatescontempt--bitter contempt. "Forsooth," forsooth! You'll be talkingabout "speckled beauties" and "eventually transpire" next. Howell,what do you make of that doubled "Vidi ego--ego vidi"? It wasn'tput in to fill up the metre, you know.'

'Isn't it intensive, sir?' said Howell, afflicted by a genuineinterest in what he read. 'Regulus was a bit in earnest about Romemaking no terms with Carthage--and he wanted to let the Romansunderstand it, didn't he, sir?'

'Less than your usual grace, but the fact. Regulus was inearnest. He was also engaged at the same time in cutting his ownthroat with every word he uttered. He knew Carthage which (yourexaminers won't ask you this so you needn't take notes) was a sortof God-forsaken nigg*r Manchester. Regulus was not thinking abouthis own life. He was telling Rome the truth. He was playing for hisside. Those lines from the eighteenth to the fortieth ought to bewritten in blood. Yet there are things in human garments which willtell you that Horace was a flâneur--a man about town. Avoidsuch beings. Horace knew a very great deal. He knew! Eritille fortis--"will he be brave who once to faithless foes hasknelt?" And again (stop pawing with your hooves, Thornton!) hicunde vitam sumeret inscius. That means roughly--but I perceiveI am ahead of my translators. Begin at hic unde, Vernon, andlet us see if you have the spirit of Regulus.'

Now no one expected fireworks from gentle Paddy Vernon,sub-prefect of Hartopp's House, but, as must often be the case withgrowing boys, his mind was in abeyance for the time being, and hesaid, all in a rush, on behalf of Regulus: 'O magna Carthagoprobrosis altior Italiae ruinis, O Carthage, thou wilt standforth higher than the ruins of Italy.'

Even Beetle, most lenient of critics, was interested at thispoint, though he did not join the half-groan of reprobation fromthe wiser heads of the Form.

'Please don't mind me,' said King, and Vernon very kindlydid not. He ploughed on thus: 'He (Regulus) is related to haveremoved from himself the kiss of the shameful wife and of his smallchildren as less by the head, and, being stern, to have placed hisvirile visage on the ground.'

Since King loved 'virile' about as much as he did 'spouse' or'forsooth' the Form looked up hopefully. But Jove thunderednot.

'Until,' Vernon continued, 'he should have confirmed the slidingfathers as being the author of counsel never given under analias.'

He stopped, conscious of stillness round him like the dread calmof the typhoon's centre. King's opening voice was sweeter thanhoney.

'I am painfully aware by bitter experience that I cannot giveyou any idea of the passion, the power, the--the essential guts ofthe lines which you have so foully outraged in our presence. But--'the note changed, 'so far as in me lies, I will strive to bringhome to you, Vernon, the fact that there exist in Latin a fewpitiful rules of grammar, of syntax, nay, even of declension, whichwere not created for your incult sport--your Boeotian diversion.You will, therefore, Vernon, write out and bring to me to-morrow aword-for-word English-Latin translation of the Ode, together with afull list of all adjectives--an adjective is not a verb, Vernon, asthe Lower Third will tell you--all adjectives, their number, case,and gender. Even now I haven't begun to deal with youfaithfully.'

'I--I'm very sorry, sir,' Vernon stammered.

'You mistake the symptoms, Vernon. You are possibly discomfitedby the imposition, but sorrow postulates some sort of mind,intellect, nous. Your rendering of probrosis alonestamps you as lower than the beasts of the field. Will some onetake the taste out of our mouths? And--talking of tastes--' Hecoughed. There was a distinct flavour of chlorine gas in the air.Up went an eyebrow, though King knew perfectly well what itmeant.

'Mr. Hartopp's st--science class next door,' said Malpass.

'Oh yes. I had forgotten. Our newly established Modern Side, ofcourse. Perowne, open the windows; and Winton, go on once more frominterque maerentes.'

'And hastened away,' said Winton, 'surrounded by his mourningfriends, into--into illustrious banishment. But I got that out ofConington, sir,' he added in one conscientious breath.

'I am aware. The master generally knows his ass's crib, though Iacquit you of any intention that way. Can you suggestanything for egregius exul? Only "egregious exile"? I fear"egregious" is a good word ruined. No! You can't in this caseimprove on Conington. Now then for atqui sciebat quae sibibarbarus tortor pararet. The whole force of it lies in theatqui.'

'Although he knew,' Winton suggested.

'Stronger than that, I think.'

'He who knew well,' Malpass interpolated.

'Ye-es. "Well though he knew." I don't like Conington's"well-witting." It's Wardour Street.'

'Well though he knew what the savage torturer was--was gettingready for him,' said Winton.

'Ye-es. Had in store for him.'

'Yet he brushed aside his kinsmen and the people delaying hisreturn.'

'Ye-es; but then how do you render obstantes?'

'If it's a free translation mightn't obstantes andmorantem come to about the same thing, sir?'

'Nothing comes to "about the same thing" with Horace, Winton. AsI have said, Horace was not a journalist. No, I take it that hiskinsmen bodily withstood his departure, whereas thecrowd--populumque--the democracy stood about futilelypitying him and getting in the way. Now for that noblest ofendings--quam si clientum,' and King ran off into thequotation:

'As though some tedious business o'er
Of clients' court, his journey lay
Towards Venafrum's grassy floor
Or Sparta-built Tarentum's bay.

All right, Winton. Beetle, when you've quite finished dodgingthe fresh air yonder, give me the meaning of tendens--andturn down your collar.'

'Me, sir? Tendens, sir? Oh! Stretching away in thedirection of, sir.'

'Idiot! Regulus was not a feature of the landscape. He was aman, self-doomed to death by torture. Atqui,sciebat--knowing it--having achieved it for his country'ssake--can't you hear that atqui cut like a knife?--he movedoff with some dignity. That is why Horace out of the whole goldenLatin tongue chose the one word "tendens"--which is utterlyuntranslatable.'

The gross injustice of being asked to translate it, convertedBeetle into a young Christian martyr, till King buried his nose inhis handkerchief again.

'I think they've broken another gas-bottle next door, sir,' saidHowell. 'They're always doing it.' The Form coughed as morechlorine came in.

'Well, I suppose we must be patient with the Modern Side,' saidKing. 'But it is almost insupportable for this Side. Vernon, whatare you grinning at?'

Vernon's mind had returned to him glowing and inspired. Hechuckled as he underlined his Horace.

'It appears to amuse you,' said King. 'Let us participate. Whatis it?'

'The last two lines of the Tenth Ode, in this book, sir,' wasVernon's amazing reply.

'What? Oh, I see. Non hoc semper erit liminis aut aquaecaelestis patiens latus[2].' King's mouth twitched to hide a grin. 'Wasthat done with intention?'

[2]'This side will not always be patient of rain and waiting on thethreshold.'

'I--I thought it fitted, sir.'

'It does. It's distinctly happy. What put it into your thickhead, Paddy?'

'I don't know, sir, except we did the Ode last term.'

'And you remembered? The same head that minted probrosisas a verb! Vernon, you are an enigma. No! This Side will notalways be patient of unheavenly gases and waters. I will makerepresentations to our so-called Moderns. Meantime (who shall say Iam not just?) I remit you your accrued pains and penalties inregard to probrosim, probrosis, probrosit and otherenormities. I oughtn't to do it, but this Side is occasionallyhuman. By no means bad, Paddy.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Vernon, wondering how inspiration hadvisited him.

Then King, with a few brisk remarks about Science, headed themback to Regulus, of whom and of Horace and Rome and evil-mindedcommercial Carthage and of the democracy eternally futile, heexplained, in all ages and climes, he spoke for ten minutes;passing thence to the next Ode--Delicta Majorum--where hefetched up, full-voiced, upon--'Dis te minorem quod gerisimperas' (Thou rulest because thou bearest thyself as lowerthan the Gods)--making it a text for a discourse on manners,morals, and respect for authority as distinct from bottled gases,which lasted till the bell rang. Then Beetle, concertinaing hisbooks, observed to Winton, 'When King's really on tap he's aninterestin' dog. Hartopp's chlorine uncorked him.'

'Yes; but why did you tell me delubris was "deluges," yousilly ass?' said Winton.

'Well, that uncorked him too. Look out, you hoof-handed oldowl!' Winton had cleared for action as the Form poured out likepuppies at play and was scragging Beetle. Stalky from behindcollared Winton low. The three fell in confusion.

'Dis te minorem quod geris imperas,' quoth Stalky,ruffling Winton's lint-white locks. 'Mustn't jape with Number Fivestudy. Don't be too virtuous. Don't brood over it. 'Twon't countagainst you in your future caree-ah. Cheer up, Pater.'

'Pull him off my--er--essential guts, will you?' said Beetlefrom beneath. 'He's squashin' 'em.'

They dispersed to their studies.

No one, the owner least of all, can explain what is in a growingboy's mind. It might have been the blind ferment of adolescence;Stalky's random remarks about virtue might have stirred him; likehis betters he might have sought popularity by way of clowning; or,as the Head asserted years later, the only known jest of hisserious life might have worked on him, as a sober-sided man's onelove colours and dislocates all his after days. But, at the nextlesson, mechanical drawing with Mr. Lidgett who as drawing-masterhad very limited powers of punishment, Winton fell suddenly fromgrace and let loose a live mouse in the form-room. The whole form,shrieking and leaping high, threw at it all the plaster cones,pyramids, and fruit in high relief--not to mention ink-pots--thatthey could lay hands on. Mr. Lidgett reported at once to the Head;Winton owned up to his crime, which, venial in the Upper Third,pardonable at a price in the Lower Fourth, was, of course, rankruffianism on the part of a Fifth Form boy; and so, by graduatedstages, he arrived at the Head's study just before lunch, penitent,perturbed, annoyed with himself and--as the Head said to King inthe corridor after the meal--more human than he had known him inseven years.

'You see,' the Head drawled on, 'Winton's only fault is acertain costive and unaccommodating virtue. So this comes veryhappily.'

'I've never noticed any sign of it,' said King. Winton was inKing's House, and though King as pro-consul might, and did,infernally oppress his own Province, once a black and yellow capwas in trouble at the hands of the Imperial authority King foughtfor him to the very last steps of Caesar's throne.

'Well, you yourself admitted just now that a mouse was beneaththe occasion,' the Head answered.

'It was.' Mr. King did not love Mr. Lidgett. 'It should havebeen a rat. But--but--I hate to plead it--it's the lad's firstoffence.'

'Could you have damned him more completely, King?'

'Hm. What is the penalty?' said King, in retreat, but keeping upa rear-guard action.

'Only my usual few lines of Virgil to be shown up bytea-time.'

The Head's eyes turned slightly to that end of the corridorwhere Mullins, Captain of the Games ('Pot,' 'old Pot,' or'Potiphar' Mullins), was pinning up the usual Wednesdaynotice--'Big, Middle, and Little Side Football--A to K, L to Z, 3to 4.45 P.M.'

You cannot write out the Head's usual few (which means fivehundred) Latin lines and play football for one hour andthree-quarters between the hours of 1.30 and 5 P.M. Winton hadevidently no intention of trying to do so, for he hung about thecorridor with a set face and an uneasy foot. Yet it was law in theschool, compared with which that of the Medes and Persians was nomore than a non-committal resolution, that any boy, outside theFirst Fifteen, who missed his football for any reason whatever, andhad not a written excuse, duly signed by competent authority toexplain his absence, would receive not less than three strokes witha ground-ash from the Captain of the Games, generally a youthbetween seventeen and eighteen years, rarely under eleven stone('Pot' was nearer thirteen), and always in hard condition.

King knew without inquiry that the Head had given Winton no suchexcuse.

'But he is practically a member of the First Fifteen. He hasplayed for it all this term,' said King. 'I believe his Cap shouldhave arrived last week.'

'His Cap has not been given him. Officially, therefore, he isnaught. I rely on old Pot.'

'But Mullins is Winton's study-mate,' King persisted.

Pot Mullins and Pater Winton were cousins and rather closefriends.

'That will make no difference to Mullins--or Winton, if I know'em,' said the Head.

'But--but,' King played his last card desperately, 'I was goingto recommend Winton for extra sub-prefect in my House, now Cartonhas gone.'

'Certainly,' said the Head. 'Why not? He will be excellent bytea-time, I hope.'

At that moment they saw Mr. Lidgett, tripping down the corridor,waylaid by Winton.

'It's about that mouse-business at mechanical drawing,' Wintonopened, swinging across his path.

'Yes, yes, highly disgraceful,' Mr. Lidgett panted.

'I know it was,' said Winton. 'It--it was a cad's trickbecause--'

'Because you knew I couldn't give you more than fifty lines,'said Mr. Lidgett.

'Well, anyhow I've come to apologise for it.'

'Certainly,' said Mr. Lidgett, and added, for he was a kindlyman, 'I think that shows quite right feeling. I'll tell the Head atonce I'm satisfied.'

'No--no!' The boy's still unmended voice jumped from the growlto the squeak. 'I didn't mean that! I--I did it onprinciple. Please don't--er--do anything of that kind.'

Mr. Lidgett looked him up and down and, being an artist,understood.

'Thank you, Winton,' he said. 'This shall be betweenourselves.'

'You heard?' said King, indecent pride in his voice.

'Of course. You thought he was going to get Lidgett to beg himoff the impot.'

King denied this with so much warmth that the Head laughed andKing went away in a huff.

'By the way,' said the Head, 'I've told Winton to do his linesin your form-room--not in his study.'

'Thanks,' said King over his shoulder, for the Head's orders hadsaved Winton and Mullins, who was doing extra Army work in thestudy, from an embarrassing afternoon together.

An hour later, King wandered into his still form-room as thoughby accident. Winton was hard at work.

'Aha!' said King, rubbing his hands. 'This does not look likegames, Winton. Don't let me arrest your facile pen. Whence thissudden love for Virgil?'

'Impot from the Head, sir, for that mouse-business thismorning.'

'Rumours thereof have reached us. That was a lapse on your partinto Lower Thirdery which I don't quite understand.'

The 'tump-tump' of the puntabouts before the sides settled togames came through the open window. Winton, like his House-Master,loved fresh air. Then they heard Paddy Vernon, sub-prefect on duty,calling the roll in the field and marking defaulters. Winton wrotesteadily. King curled himself up on a desk, hands round knees. Onewould have said that the man was gloating over the boy'smisfortune, but the boy understood.

'Dis te minorem quod geris imperas,' King quotedpresently. 'It is necessary to bear oneself as lower than the localgods--even than drawing-masters who are precluded from effectiveretaliation. I do wish you'd tried that mouse-game with me,Pater.'

Winton grinned; then sobered 'It was a cad's trick, sir, to playon Mr. Lidgett.' He peered forward at the page he was copying.

'Well, "the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost"--' Kingstopped himself. 'Why do you goggle like an owl? Hand me theMantuan and I'll dictate. No matter. Any rich Virgilian measureswill serve. I may peradventure recall a few.' He began:

'Tu regere imperio populos Romane memento
Hae tibi erunt artes pacisque imponere morem,
Parcere subjectis et debellare superbos.

There you have it all, Winton. Write that out twice and yet onceagain.'

For the next forty minutes, with never a glance at the book,King paid out the glorious hexameters (and King could read Latin asthough it were alive), Winton hauling them in and coiling them awaybehind him as trimmers in a telegraph-ship's hold coil awaydeep-sea cable. King broke from the Aeneid to the Georgics and backagain, pausing now and then to translate some specially loved lineor to dwell on the treble-shot texture of the ancient fabric. Hedid not allude to the coming interview with Mullins except at thelast, when he said, 'I think at this juncture, Pater, I need notask you for the precise significance of atqui sciebat quae sibibarbarus tortor.'

The ungrateful Winton flushed angrily, and King loafed out totake five o'clock call-over, after which he invited little Hartoppto tea and a talk on chlorine-gas. Hartopp accepted the challengelike a bantam, and the two went up to King's study about the sametime as Winton returned to the form-room beneath it to finish hislines.

Then half a dozen of the Second Fifteen, who should have beenwashing, strolled in to condole with 'Pater' Winton, whosemisfortune and its consequences were common talk. No one was moresincere than the long, red-headed, knotty-knuckled 'Paddy' Vernon,but, being a careless animal, he joggled Winton's desk.

'Curse you for a silly ass!' said Winton. 'Don't do that.'

No one is expected to be polite while under punishment, soVernon, sinking his sub-prefectship, replied peacefully enough:

'Well, don't be wrathy, Pater.'

'I'm not,' said Winton. 'Get out! This ain't your Houseform-room.'

''Form-room don't belong to you. Why don't you go to your ownstudy?' Vernon replied.

'Because Mullins is there waitin' for the victim,' said Stalkydelicately, and they all laughed. 'You ought to have shaken thatmouse out of your trouser-leg, Pater. That's the way I didin my youth. Pater's revertin' to his second childhood. Never mind,Pater, we all respect you and your future caree-ah.'

Winton, still writhing, growled. Vernon leaning on the desksomehow shook it again. Then he laughed.

'What are you grinning at?' Winton asked.

'I was only thinkin' of you being sent up to take alickin' from Pot. I swear I don't think it's fair. You've nevershirked a game in your life, and you're as good as in the FirstFifteen already. Your Cap ought to have been delivered last week,oughtn't it?'

It was law in the school that no man could by any means enjoythe privileges and immunities of the First Fifteen till the blackvelvet cap with the gold tassel, made by dilatory Exeteroutfitters, had been actually set on his head. Ages ago, alarge-built and unruly Second Fifteen had attempted to change thislaw, but the prefects of that age were still larger, and the livelyexperiment had never been repeated.

'Will you,' said Winton very slowly, 'kindly mind your owndamned business, you cursed, clumsy, fat-headed fool?'

The form-room was as silent as the empty field in the darknessoutside. Vernon shifted his feet uneasily.

'Well, I shouldn't like to take a lickin' from Pot,' hesaid.

'Wouldn't you?' Winton asked, as he paged the sheets of lineswith hands that shook.

'No, I shouldn't,' said Vernon, his freckles growing moredistinct on the bridge of his white nose.

'Well, I'm going to take it'--Winton moved clear of the desk ashe spoke. 'But you're going to take a lickin' from mefirst.' Before any one realised it, he had flung himself neighingagainst Vernon. No decencies were observed on either side, and therest looked on amazed. The two met confusedly, Vernon trying to dowhat he could with his longer reach; Winton, insensible to blows,only concerned to drive his enemy into a corner and batter him topulp. This he managed over against the fire-place, where Vernondropped half-stunned. 'Now I'm going to give you your lickin','said Winton. 'Lie there till I get a ground-ash and I'll cut you topieces. If you move, I'll chuck you out of the window.' He woundhis hands into the boy's collar and waistband, and had actuallyheaved him half off the ground before the others with one accorddropped on his head, shoulders, and legs. He fought them crazily inan awful hissing silence. Stalky's sensitive nose was rubbed alongthe floor; Beetle received a jolt in the wind that sent himwhistling and crowing against the wall; Perowne's forehead was cut,and Malpass came out with an eye that explained itself like a dyingrainbow through a whole week.

'Mad! Quite mad!' said Stalky, and for the third time wriggledback to Winton's throat. The door opened and King came in,Hartopp's little figure just behind him. The mound on the floorpanted and heaved but did not rise, for Winton still squirmedvengefully. 'Only a little play, sir,' said Perowne. ''Only hit myhead against a form.' This was quite true.

'Oh,' said King. 'Dimovit obstantes propinquos. You, Ipresume, are the populus delaying Winton's returnto--Mullins, eh?'

'No, sir,' said Stalky behind his claret-coloured handkerchief.'We're the maerentes amicos.'

'Not bad! You see, some of it sticks after all,' King chuckledto Hartopp, and the two masters left without further inquiries.

The boys sat still on the now-passive Winton.

'Well,' said Stalky at last, 'of all the putrid he-asses, Pater,you are the--'

'I'm sorry. I'm awfully sorry,' Winton began, and they let himrise. He held out his hand to the bruised and bewildered Vernon.'Sorry, Paddy. I--I must have lost my temper. I--I don't knowwhat's the matter with me.'

''Fat lot of good that'll do my face at tea,' Vernon grunted.'Why couldn't you say there was something wrong with you instead oflamming out like a lunatic? Is my lip puffy?'

'Just a trifle. Look at my beak! Well, we got all these prettymarks at footer--owin' to the zeal with which we played the game,'said Stalky, dusting himself. 'But d'you think you're fit to be letloose again, Pater? 'Sure you don't want to kill anothersub-prefect? I wish I was Pot. I'd cut your sprightly youngsoul out.'

'I s'pose I ought to go to Pot now,' said Winton.

'And let all the other asses see you lookin' like this! Notmuch. We'll all come up to Number Five Study and wash off in hotwater. Beetle, you aren't damaged. Go along and light thegas-stove.'

'There's a tin of cocoa in my study somewhere,' Perowne shoutedafter him. 'Rootle round till you find it, and take it up.'

Separately, by different roads, Vernon's jersey pulled half overhis head, the boys repaired to Number Five Study. Little Hartoppand King, I am sorry to say, leaned over the banisters of King'slanding and watched.

'Ve-ry human,' said little Hartopp. 'Your virtuous Winton,having got himself into trouble, takes it out of my poor old Paddy.I wonder what precise lie Paddy will tell about his face.'

'But surely you aren't going to embarrass him by asking?' saidKing.

'Your boy won,' said Hartopp.

'To go back to what we were discussing,' said King quickly, 'doyou pretend that your modern system of inculcating unrelated factsabout chlorine, for instance, all of which may be proved fallaciesby the time the boys grow up, can have any real bearing oneducation--even the low type of it that examiners expect?'

'I maintain nothing. But is it any worse than your Chinesereiteration of uncomprehended syllables in a dead tongue?'

'Dead, forsooth!' King fairly danced. 'The only living tongue onearth! Chinese! On my word, Hartopp!'

'And at the end of seven years--how often have I said it?'Hartopp went on,--'seven years of two hundred and twenty days ofsix hours each, your victims go away with nothing, absolutelynothing, except, perhaps, if they've been very attentive, adozen--no, I'll grant you twenty--one score of totally unrelatedLatin tags which any child of twelve could have absorbed in twoterms.'

'But--but can't you realise that if our system brings later--atany rate--at a pinch--a simple understanding--grammar and Latinityapart--a mere glimpse of the significance (foul word!) of, we'llsay, one Ode of Horace, one twenty lines of Virgil, we've got whatwe poor devils of ushers are striving after?'

'And what might that be?' said Hartopp.

'Balance, proportion, perspective--life. Your scientific man isthe unrelated animal--the beast without background. Haven't youever realised that in your atmosphere of stinks?'

'Meantime you make them lose life for the sake of living,eh?'

'Blind again, Hartopp! I told you about Paddy's quotation thismorning. (But he made probrosis a verb, he did!) Youyourself heard young Corkran's reference to maerentesamicos. It sticks--a little of it sticks among thebarbarians.'

'Absolutely and essentially Chinese,' said little Hartopp, who,alone of the common-room, refused to be outfaced by King. 'But Idon't yet understand how Paddy came to be licked by Winton. Paddy'ssupposed to be something of a boxer.'

'Beware of vinegar made from honey,' King replied. 'Pater, likesome other people, is patient and long-suffering, but he has hislimits. The Head is oppressing him damnably, too. As I pointed out,the boy has practically been in the First Fifteen since termbegan.'

'But, my dear fellow, I've known you give a boy an impot andrefuse him leave off games, again and again.'

'Ah, but that was when there was real need to get at some oafwho couldn't be sensitised in any other way. Now, in our esteemedHead's action I see nothing but--'

The conversation from this point does not concern us.

Meantime Winton, very penitent and especially polite towardsVernon, was being cheered with cocoa in Number Five Study. They hadsome difficulty in stemming the flood of his apologies. He himselfpointed out to Vernon that he had attacked a sub-prefect for noreason whatever, and, therefore, deserved official punishment.

'I can't think what was the matter with me to-day,' he mourned.'Ever since that blasted mouse-business--'

'Well, then, don't think,' said Stalky. 'Or do you want Paddy tomake a row about it before all the school?'

Here Vernon was understood to say that he would see Winton andall the school somewhere else.

'And if you imagine Perowne and Malpass and me are goin' to giveevidence at a prefects' meeting just to soothe your beastlyconscience, you jolly well err,' said Beetle. 'I know what youdid.'

'What?' croaked Pater, out of the valley of his humiliation.

'You went Berserk. I've read all about it inHypatia.'

'What's "going Berserk"?' Winton asked.

'Never you mind,' was the reply. 'Now, don't you feel awfullyweak and seedy?'

'I am rather tired,' said Winton, sighing.

'That's what you ought to be. You've gone Berserk and prettysoon you'll go to sleep. But you'll probably be liable to fits ofit all your life,' Beetle concluded. ''Shouldn't wonder if youmurdered some one some day.'

'Shut up--you and your Berserks!' said Stalky. 'Go to Mullinsnow and get it over, Pater.'

'I call it filthy unjust of the Head,' said Vernon. 'Anyhow,you've given me my lickin', old man. I hope Pot'll give youyours.'

'I'm awfully sorry--awfully sorry,' was Winton's last word.

It was the custom in that consulship to deal with games'defaulters between five o'clock call-over and tea. Mullins, who wasold enough to pity, did not believe in letting boys wait throughthe night till the chill of the next morning for their punishments.He was finishing off the last of the small fry and their excuseswhen Winton arrived.

'But, please, Mullins'--this was Babco*ck tertius, a dear littletwelve-year-old mother's darling--'I had an awful hack on the knee.I've been to the Matron about it and she gave me some iodine. I'vebeen rubbing it in all day. I thought that would be an excuseoff.'

'Let's have a look at it,' said the impassive Mullins. 'That's ashin-bruise--about a week old. Touch your toes. I'll give you theiodine.'

Babco*ck yelled loudly as he had many times before. The face ofJevons, aged eleven, a new boy that dark wet term, low in theHouse, low in the Lower School, and lowest of all in his home-sicklittle mind turned white at the horror of the sight. They couldhear his working lips part stickily as Babco*ck wailed his way outof hearing.

'Hullo, Jevons! What brings you here?' said Mullins.

'Pl-ease, sir, I went for a walk with Babco*ck tertius.'

'Did you? Then I bet you went to the tuck-shop--and you paid,didn't you?'

A nod. Jevons was too terrified to speak.

'Of course, and I bet Babco*ck told you that old Pot 'ud let youoff because it was the first time.'

Another nod with a ghost of a smile in it.

'All right.' Mullins picked Jevons up before he could guess whatwas coming, laid him on the table with one hand, with the othergave him three emphatic spanks, then held him high in air.

'Now you tell Babco*ck tertius that he's got you a licking fromme, and see you jolly well pay it back to him. And when you'reprefect of games don't you let any one shirk his footer without awritten excuse. Where d'you play in your game?'

'Forward, sir.'

'You can do better than that. I've seen you run like a youngbuck-rabbit. Ask Dickson from me to try you as three-quarter nextgame, will you? Cut along.'

Jevons left, warm for the first time that day, enormously set upin his own esteem, and very hot against the deceitful Babco*ck.

Mullins turned to Winton. 'Your name's on the list, Pater.'Winton nodded.

'I know it. The Head landed me with an impot for thatmouse-business at mechanical drawing. No excuse.'

'He meant it then?' Mullins jerked his head delicately towardsthe ground-ash on the table. 'I heard something about it.'

Winton nodded. 'A rotten thing to do,' he said. 'Can't thinkwhat I was doing ever to do it. It counts against a fellow so; andthere's some more too--'

'All right, Pater. Just stand clear of our photo-bracket, willyou?'

The little formality over, there was a pause. Winton swunground, yawned in Pot's astonished face and staggered towards thewindow-seat.

'What's the matter with you, Dick? Ill?'

'No. Perfectly all right, thanks. Only--only a little sleepy.'Winton stretched himself out, and then and there fell deeply andplacidly asleep.

'It isn't a faint,' said the experienced Mullins, 'or his pulsewouldn't act. 'Tisn't a fit or he'd snort and twitch. It can't besunstroke, this term, and he hasn't been over-training foranything.' He opened Winton's collar, packed a cushion under hishead, threw a rug over him and sat down to listen to the regularbreathing. Before long Stalky arrived, on pretence of borrowing abook. He looked at the window-seat.

''Noticed anything wrong with Winton lately?' said Mullins.

''Notice anything wrong with my beak?' Stalky replied. 'Paterwent Berserk after call-over, and fell on a lot of us for jestingwith him about his impot. You ought to see Malpass's eye.'

'You mean that Pater fought?' said Mullins.

'Like a devil. Then he nearly went to sleep in our study justnow. I expect he'll be all right when he wakes up. Rummy business!Conscientious old bargee. You ought to have heard hisapologies.'

'But Pater can't fight one little bit,' Mullins repeated.

''Twasn't fighting. He just tried to murder every one.' Stalkydescribed the affair, and when he left Mullins went off to takecounsel with the Head, who, out of a cloud of blue smoke, told himthat all would yet be well.

'Winton,' said he, 'is a little stiff in his moral joints. He'llget over that. If he asks you whether to-day's doings will countagainst him in his--'

'But you know it's important to him, sir. His peoplearen't--very well off,' said Mullins.

'That's why I'm taking all this trouble. You must reassure him,Pot. I have overcrowded him with new experiences. Oh, by the way,has his Cap come?'

'It came at dinner, sir.' Mullins laughed.

Sure enough, when he waked at tea-time, Winton proposed to takeMullins all through every one of his day's lapses from grace, and'Do you think it will count against me?' said he.

'Don't you fuss so much about yourself and your silly career,'said Mullins. 'You're all right. And oh--here's your First Cap atlast. Shove it up on the bracket and come on to tea.'

They met King on their way, stepping statelily and rubbing hishands. 'I have applied,' said he, 'for the services of anadditional sub-prefect in Carton's unlamented absence. Your name,Winton, seems to have found favour with the powers that be,and--and all things considered--I am disposed to give my support tothe nomination. You are therefore a quasi-lictor.'

'Then it didn't count against me,' Winton gasped as soon as theywere out of hearing.

A Captain of Games can jest with a sub-prefect publicly.

'You utter ass!' said Mullins, and caught him by the back of hisstiff neck and ran him down to the hall where the sub-prefects, whosit below the salt, made him welcome with the economicalbloater-paste of mid-term.

King and little Hartopp were sparring in the Reverend JohnGillett's study at 10 P.M.--classical versus modern asusual.

'Character--proportion--background,' snarled King. 'That is theessence of the Humanities.'

'Analects of Confucius,' little Hartopp answered.

'Time,' said the Reverend John behind the soda-water. 'You menoppress me. Hartopp, what did you say to Paddy in your dormitoriesto-night? Even you couldn't have overlooked his face.'

'But I did,' said Hartopp calmly. 'I wasn't even humorous aboutit as some clerics might have been. I went straight through andsaid naught.'

'Poor Paddy! Now, for my part,' said King, 'and you know I amnot lavish in my praises, I consider Winton a first-class type;absolutely first-class.'

'Ha-ardly,' said the Reverend John. 'First-class of the secondclass, I admit. The very best type of second class but'--he shookhis head--'it should have been a rat. Pater'll never be anythingmore than a Colonel of Engineers.'

'What do you base that verdict on?' said King stiffly.

'He came to me after prayers--with all his conscience.'

'Poor old Pater. Was it the mouse?' said little Hartopp.

'That, and what he called his uncontrollable temper, and hisresponsibilities as sub-prefect.'

'And you?'

'If we had had what is vulgarly called a pi-jaw he'd have hadhysterics. So I recommended a dose of Epsom salts. He'll take it,too--conscientiously. Don't eat me, King. Perhaps, he'll be aK.C.B.'

Ten o'clock struck and the Army class boys in the furtherstudies coming to their houses after an hour's extra work passedalong the gravel path below. Some one was chanting, to the tune of'White sand and grey sand,' Dis te minorem quod gerisimperas. He stopped outside Mullins' study. They heard Mullins'window slide up and then Stalky's voice:

'Ah! Good-evening, Mullins, my barbarus tortor. We're thewaits. We have come to inquire after the local Berserk. Is he doin'as well as can be expected in his new caree-ah?'

'Better than you will, in a sec, Stalky,' Mullins grunted.

'Glad of that. We thought he'd like to know that Paddy has beencarried to the sick-house in ravin' delirium. They think it'sconcussion of the brain.'

'Why, he was all right at prayers,' Winton began earnestly, andthey heard a laugh in the background as Mullins slammed down thewindow.

''Night, Regulus,' Stalky sang out, and the light footsteps wenton.

'You see. It sticks. A little of it sticks among thebarbarians,' said King.

'Amen,' said the Reverend John. 'Go to bed.'

The Edge of the Evening

(1913)

'Hi! Hi! Hold your horses! Stop!... Well! Well!' A lean man in asable-lined overcoat leaped from a private car and barred my way upPall Mall. 'You don't know me? You're excusable. I wasn't wearingmuch of anything last time we met--in South Africa.'

The scales fell from my eyes, and I saw him once more in asky-blue army shirt, behind barbed wire, among Dutch prisonersbathing at Simonstown, more than a dozen years ago[3]. 'Why, it'sZigler--Laughton O. Zigler!' I cried. 'Well, I am glad tosee you.'

[3]'The Captive': Traffics and Discoveries.

'Oh no! You don't work any of your English on me. "So glad tosee you, doncher know--an' ta-ta!" Do you reside in thisvillage?'

'No. I'm up here buying stores.'

'Then you take my automobile. Where to?... Oh, I knowthem! My Lord Marshalton is one of the Directors. Pigott,drive to the Army and Navy Cooperative Supply Association Limited,Victoria Street, Westminister.'

He settled himself on the deep dove-colour pneumatic cushions,and his smile was like the turning on of all the electrics. Histeeth were whiter than the ivory fittings. He smelt of rare soapand cigarettes--such cigarettes as he handed me from a golden boxwith an automatic lighter. On my side of the car was a gold-mountedmirror, card and toilette case. I looked at him inquiringly.

'Yes,' he nodded, 'two years after I quit the Cape. She's not anOhio girl, though. She's in the country now. Is that right? She'sat our little place in the country. We'll go there as soon asyou're through with your grocery-list. Engagements? The onlyengagement you've got is to grab your grip--get your bag from yourhotel, I mean--and come right along and meet her. You are thecaptive of my bow and spear now.'

'I surrender,' I said meekly. 'Did the Zigler automatic gun doall this?' I pointed to the car fittings.

'Psha! Think of your rememberin' that! Well, no. The Zigler is agreat gun--the greatest ever--but life's too short, an' toointerestin', to squander on pushing her in military society. I'veleased my rights in her to a Pennsylvanian-Transylvanian citizenfull of mentality and moral uplift. If those things weigh with theChancelleries of Europe, he will make good and--I shall besurprised. Excuse me!'

He bared his head as we passed the statue of the Great Queenoutside Buckingham Palace.

'A very great lady!' said he. 'I have enjoyed her hospitality.She represents one of the most wonderful institutions in the world.The next is the one we are going to. Mrs. Zigler uses 'em, and theybreak her up every week on returned empties.'

'Oh, you mean the Stores?' I said.

'Mrs. Zigler means it more. They are quite ambassadorial intheir outlook. I guess I'll wait outside and pray while you wrestlewith 'em.'

My business at the Stores finished, and my bag retrieved fromthe hotel, his moving palace slid us into the country.

'I owe it to you,' Zigler began as smoothly as the car, 'to tellyou what I am now. I represent the business end of the AmericanInvasion. Not the blame cars themselves--I wouldn't be found deadin one--but the tools that make 'em. I am the Zigler Higher-SpeedTool and Lathe Trust. The Trust, sir, is entirely my own--in my owninventions. I am the Renzalaer ten-cylinder aërial--thelightest aeroplane-engine on the market--one price, one power, oneguarantee. I am the Orlebar Paper-welt, Pulp-panel Company foraeroplane bodies; and I am the Rush Silencer for militaryaeroplanes--absolutely silent--which the Continent leases underroyalty. With three exceptions, the British aren't wise to it yet.That's all I represent at present. You saw me take off my hat toyour late Queen? I owe every cent I have to that great an' goodLady. Yes, sir, I came out of Africa, after my eighteen months'rest-cure and open-air treatment and sea-bathing, as her prisonerof war, like a giant refreshed. There wasn't anything could holdme, when I'd got my hooks into it, after that experience. And toyou as a representative British citizen, I say here and now that Iregard you as the founder of the family fortune--Tommy's andmine.'

'But I only gave you some papers and tobacco.'

'What more does any citizen need? The Cullinan diamond wouldn'thave helped me as much then; an'--talking about South Africa, tellme--'

We talked about South Africa till the car stopped at theGeorgian lodge of a great park.

'We'll get out here. I want to show you a rather sightly view,'said Zigler.

We walked, perhaps, half a mile, across timber-dotted turf, pasta lake, entered a dark rhododendron-planted wood, ticking with thenoise of pheasants' feet, and came out suddenly, where five ridesmet, at a small classic temple between lichened stucco statueswhich faced a circle of turf, several acres in extent. Irish yews,of a size that I had never seen before, walled the sunless circlelike cliffs of riven obsidian, except at the lower end, where itgave on to a stretch of undulating bare ground ending in a timberedslope half-a-mile away.

'That's where the old Marshalton race-course used to be,' saidZigler. 'That ice-house is called Flora's Temple. Nell Gwynne andMrs. Siddons an' Taglioni an' all that crowd used to act plays herefor King George the Third. Wasn't it? Well, George is the only kingI play. Let it go at that. This circle was the stage, I guess. Thekings an' the nobility sat in Flora's Temple. I forget who sculpedthese statues at the door. They're the Comic and Tragic Muse. Butit's a sightly view, ain't it?'

The sunlight was leaving the park. I caught a glint of silver tothe southward beyond the wooded ridge.

'That's the ocean--the Channel, I mean,' said Zigler. 'It'stwenty-three miles as a man flies. A sightly view, ain't it?'

I looked at the severe yews, the dumb yelling mouths of the twostatues, at the blue-green shadows on the unsunned grass, and atthe still bright plain in front where some deer were feeding.

'It's a most dramatic contrast, but I think it would be betteron a summer's day,' I said, and we went on, up one of the noiselessrides, a quarter of a mile at least, till we came to the porticoedfront of an enormous Georgian pile. Four footmen revealedthemselves in a hall hung with pictures.

'I hired this off of my Lord Marshalton,' Zigler explained,while they helped us out of our coats under the severe eyes ofruffed and periwigged ancestors. 'Ya-as. They always look atme too, as if I'd blown in from the gutter. Which, ofcourse, I have. That's Mary, Lady Marshalton. Old man Joshuapainted her. Do you see any likeness to my Lord Marshalton? Why,haven't you ever met up with him? He was Captain Mankeltow--myRoyal British Artillery captain that blew up my gun in the war, an'then tried to bury me against my religious principles[4]. Ya-as. His fatherdied and he got the lordship. That was about all he got by the timethat your British death-duties were through with him. So he saidI'd oblige him by hiring his ranch. It's a hell an' a half of aproposition to handle, but Tommy--Mrs. Laughton--understands it.Come right in to the parlour and be very welcome.'

[4]"The Captive": Traffics and Discoveries.

He guided me, hand on shoulder, into a babble of high-pitchedtalk and laughter that filled a vast drawing-room. He introduced meas the founder of the family fortunes to a little, lithe, dark-eyedwoman whose speech and greeting were of the soft-lipped South. Shein turn presented me to her mother, a black-browed snowy-haired oldlady with a cap of priceless Venetian point, hands that must haveheld many hearts in their time, and a dignity as unquestioned andunquestioning as an empress. She was, indeed, a Burton of Savannah,who, on their own ground, out-rank the Lees of Virginia. The restof the company came from Buffalo, Cincinnati, Cleveland andChicago, with here and there a softening southern strain. A partyof young folk popped corn beneath a mantelpiece surmounted by aGainsborough. Two portly men, half hidden by a cased harp,discussed, over sheaves of typewritten documents, the terms of somecontract. A knot of matrons talked servants--Irish versusGerman--across the grand piano. A youth ravaged an old bookcase,while beside him a tall girl stared at the portrait of a woman ofmany loves, dead three hundred years, but now leaping to life andwarning under the shaded frame-light. In a corner half-a-dozengirls examined the glazed tables that held the decorations--Englishand foreign--of the late Lord Marshalton.

'See heah! Would this be the Ordeh of the Gyartah?' one said,pointing.

'I presoom likely. No! The Garter has "Honey swore"--Iknow that much. This is "Tria juncta" something.'

'Oh, what's that cunning little copper cross with "For Valurr"?'a third cried.

'Say! Look at here!' said the young man at the bookcase. 'Here'sa first edition of Handley Cross and a Beewick'sBirds right next to it--just like so many best sellers.Look, Maidie!'

The girl beneath the picture half turned her body but not hereyes.

'You don't tell me!' she said slowly. 'Their womenamounted to something after all.'

'But Woman's scope, and outlook was vurry limmutted in thosedays,' one of the matrons put in, from the piano.

'Limmutted? For her? If they whurr, I guess she was thelimmut. Who was she? Peters, whurr's the cat'log?'

A thin butler, in charge of two footmen removing thetea-batteries, slid to a table and handed her a blue-and-qilt book.He was button-holed by one of the men behind the harp, who wishedto get a telephone call through to Edinburgh.

'The local office shuts at six,' said Peters. 'But I can getthrough to'--he named some town--'in ten minutes, sir.'

'That suits me. You'll find me here when you've hitched up. Oh,say, Peters! We--Mister Olpherts an' me--ain't goin' by that earlymorning train to-morrow--but the other one--on the otherline--whatever they call it.'

'The nine twenty-seven, sir. Yes, sir. Early breakfast will beat half-past eight and the car will be at the door at nine.'

'Peters!' an imperious young voice called. 'What's the mattehwith Lord Marshalton's Ordeh of the Gyartah? We cyan't find itanyweah.'

'Well, miss, I have heard that that Order is usuallyreturned to His Majesty on the death of the holder. Yes, miss.'Then in a whisper to a footman, 'More butter for the pop-corn inKing Charles's Corner.' He stopped behind my chair. 'Your room isNumber Eleven, sir. May I trouble you for your keys?'

He left the room with a six-year-old maiden called Alice who hadannounced she would not go to bed ''less Peter, Peter, Punkin-eatertakes me--so there!'

He very kindly looked in on me for a moment as I was dressingfor dinner. 'Not at all, sir,' he replied to some compliment I paidhim. 'I valeted the late Lord Marshalton for fifteen years. He wasvery abrupt in his movements, sir. As a rule I never received morethan an hour's notice of a journey. We used to go to Syriafrequently. I have been twice to Babylon. Mr. and Mrs. Zigler'srequirements are, comparatively speaking, few.'

'But the guests?'

'Very little out of the ordinary as soon as one knows theirordinaries. Extremely simple, if I may say so, sir.'

I had the privilege of taking Mrs. Burton in to dinner, and wasrewarded with an entirely new, and to me rather shocking view, ofAbraham Lincoln, who, she said, had wasted the heritage of his landby blood and fire, and had surrendered the remnant to aliens. 'Mybrother, suh,' she said, 'fell at Gettysburg in order thatArmenians should colonise New England to-day. If I took anyinterest in any dam-Yankee outside of my son-in-law Laughtonyondah, I should say that my brother's death had been amplyavenged.'

The man at her right took up the challenge, and the war spread.Her eyes twinkled over the flames she had lit.

'Don't these folk,' she said a little later, 'remind you ofArabs picnicking under the Pyramids?'

'I've never seen the Pyramids,' I replied.

'Hm! I didn't know you were as English as all that.' And when Ilaughed, 'Are you?'

'Always. It saves trouble.'

'Now that's just what I find so significant among theEnglish'--this was Alice's mother, I think, with one elbow wellforward among the salted almonds. 'Oh, I know how you feel,Madam Burton, but a Northerner like myself--I'm Buffalo--eventhough we come over every year--notices the desire for comfort inEngland. There's so little conflict or uplift in Britishsociety.'

'But we like being comfortable,' I said.

'I know it. It's very characteristic. But ain't it a little,just a little, lacking in adaptability an' imagination?'

'They haven't any need for adaptability,' Madam Burton struckin. 'They haven't any Ellis Island standards to live up to.'

'But we can assimilate,' the Buffalo woman charged on.

'Now you have done it!' I whispered to the old lady asthe blessed word 'assimilation' woke up all the old arguments forand against.

There was not a dull moment in that dinner for me--norafterwards when the boys and girls at the piano played the rag-timetunes of their own land, while their elders, inexhaustiblyinterested, replunged into the discussion of that land's future,till there was talk of coon-can. When all the company had been setto tables Zigler led me into his book-lined study, where I noticedhe kept his golf-clubs, and spoke simply as a child, gravely as abishop, of the years that were past since our last meeting.

'That's about all, I guess--up to date,' he said when he hadunrolled the bright map of his fortunes across three continents.'Bein' rich suits me. So does your country, sir. My own country?You heard what that Detroit man said at dinner. "A Government ofthe alien, by the alien, for the alien." Mother's right, too.Lincoln killed us. From the highest motives--but he killed us. Oh,say, that reminds me. 'J'ever kill a man from the highestmotives?'

'Not from any motive--as far as I remember.'

'Well, I have. It don't weigh on my mind any, but it wasinteresting. Life is interesting for a rich--for any--man inEngland. Ya-as! Life in England is like settin' in the front row atthe theatre and never knowin' when the whole blame drama won'tspill itself into your lap. I didn't always know that. I lie abednow, and I blush to think of some of the breaks I made in SouthAfrica. About the British. Not your official method of doin'business. But the Spirit. I was 'way, 'way off on the Spirit. Areyou acquainted with any other country where you'd have to kill aman or two to get at the National Spirit?'

'Well,' I answered, 'next to marrying one of its women, killingone of its men makes for pretty close intimacy with any country. Itake it you killed a British citizen.'

'Why, no. Our syndicate confined its operations toaliens--dam-fool aliens.... 'J'ever know an English lord calledLundie[5]? Lookslike a frame-food and soap advertisem*nt. I imagine he was in yourSupreme Court before he came into his lordship.'

[5]'The Puzzler': Actions and Reactions.

'He is a lawyer--what we call a Law Lord--a Judge of Appeal--nota real hereditary lord.'

'That's as much beyond me as this!' Zigler slapped a fatDebrett on the table. 'But I presoom this unreal Law Lord Lundie iskind o' real in his decisions? I judged so. And--one more question.'Ever meet a man called Walen?'

'D'you mean Burton-Walen, the editor of--?' I mentioned thejournal.

'That's him. 'Looks like a tough, talks like a Maxim, and trainswith kings.'

'He does,' I said. 'Burton-Walen knows all the crowned heads ofEurope intimately. It's his hobby.'

'Well, there's the whole outfit for you--exceptin' my LordMarshalton, né Mankeltow, an' me. All activemurderers--specially the Law Lord--or accessories after the fact.And what do they hand you out for that, in thiscountry?'

'Twenty years, I believe,' was my reply.

He reflected a moment.

'No-o-o,' he said, and followed it with a smoke-ring. 'Twentymonths at the Cape is my limit. Say, murder ain't thesoul-shatterin' event those nature-fakers in the magazines makeout. It develops naturally like any other proposition.... Say,'j'ever play this golf game? It's come up in the States from Maineto California, an' we're prodoocin' all the champions in sight. Nota business man's play, but interestin'. I've got a golf-links inthe park here that they tell me is the finest inland course ever. Ihad to pay extra for that when I hired the ranche--last year. Itwas just before I signed the papers that our murder eventuated. MyLord Marshalton he asked me down for the week-end to fix upsomething or other--about Peters and the linen, I think 'twas. Mrs.Zigler took a holt of the proposition. She understood Peters fromthe word "go." There wasn't any house-party; only fifteen or twentyfolk. A full house is thirty-two, Tommy tells me. 'Guess we must benear on that to-night. In the smoking-room here, my LordMarshalton--Mankeltow that was--introduces me to this Walen manwith the nose. He'd been in the War too, from start to finish. Heknew all the columns and generals that I'd battled with in the daysof my Zigler gun. We kinder fell into each other's arms an' let theharsh world go by for a while.

'Walen he introduces me to your Lord Lundie. He was a newproposition to me. If he hadn't been a lawyer he'd have made alovely cattle-king. I thought I had played poker some. Another ofmy breaks. Ya-as! It cost me eleven hundred dollars besides whatTommy said when I retired. I have no fault to find with yourhereditary aristocracy, or your judiciary, or your press.

'Sunday we all went to Church across the Park here.... Psha!Think o' your rememberin' my religion! I've become an Episcopaliansince I married. Ya-as.... After lunch Walen did hiscrowned-heads-of-Europe stunt in the smokin'-room here. He was longon Kings. And Continental crises. I do not pretend to followBritish domestic politics, but in the aeroplane business a man hasto know something of international possibilities. At present, youBritish are settin' in kimonoes on dynamite kegs. Walen's talk putme wise on the location and size of some of the kegs. Ya-as!

'After that, we four went out to look at those golf-links I washirin'. We each took a club. Mine'--he glanced at a great tan bagby the fire-place--'was the beginner's friend--the cleek. Well,sir, this golf proposition took a holt of me as quick as--quick asdeath. They had to prise me off the greens when it got too dark tosee, and then we went back to the house. I was walkin' ahead withmy Lord Marshalton talkin' beginners' golf. (I was the manwho ought to have been killed by rights.) We cut 'cross lotsthrough the woods to Flora's Temple--that place I showed you thisafternoon. Lundie and Walen were, maybe, twenty or thirty rodbehind us in the dark. Marshalton and I stopped at the theatre toadmire at the ancestral yew-trees. He took me right under thebiggest--King Somebody's Yew--and while I was spannin' it with myhandkerchief, he says, "Look heah!" just as if it was a rabbit--anddown comes a bi-plane into the theatre with no more noise than thedead. My Rush Silencer is the only one on the market that allowsthat sort of gumshoe work.... What? A bi-plane--with two men in it.Both men jump out and start fussin' with the engines. I wasstarting to tell Mankeltow--I can't remember to call him Marshaltonany more--that it looked as if the Royal British Flying Corps hadgot on to my Rush Silencer at last; but he steps out from under theyew to these two Stealthy Steves and says, "What's the trouble? CanI be of any service?" He thought--so did I--'twas some of the boysfrom Aldershot or Salisbury. Well, sir, from there on, thesituation developed like a motion-picture in Hell. The man on thenigh side of the machine whirls round, pulls his gun and fires intoMankeltow's face. I laid him out with my cleek automatically. Anyone who shoots a friend of mine gets what's comin' to him if I'mwithin reach. He drops. Mankeltow rubs his neck with hishandkerchief. The man the far side of the machine starts to run.Lundie down the ride, or it might have been Walen, shouts, "What'shappened?" Mankeltow says, "Collar that chap."

'The second man runs ring-a-ring-o'-roses round the machine, onehand reachin' behind him. Mankeltow heads him off to me. He breaksblind for Walen and Lundie, who are runnin' up the ride. There'ssome sort of mix-up among 'em, which it's too dark to see, and athud. Walen says, "Oh, well collared!" Lundie says, "That's theonly thing I never learned at Harrow!"... Mankeltow runs up to 'em,still rubbin' his neck, and says, "He didn't fire at me. Itwas the other chap. Where is he?"

'"I've stretched him alongside his machine," I says.

'"Are they poachers?" says Lundie.

'"No. Airmen. I can't make it out," says Mankeltow.

'"Look at here," says Walen, kind of brusque. "This man ain'tbreathin' at all. Didn't you hear somethin' crack when he lit,Lundie?"

'"My God!" says Lundie. "Did I? I thought it was mysuspenders"--no, he said "braces."

'Right there I left them and sort o' tiptoed back to my man,hopin' he'd revived and quit. But he hadn't. That darned cleek hadhit him on the back of the neck just where his helmet stopped. He'dgot his. I knew it by the way the head rolled in my hands.Then the others came up the ride totin' their load. Nomistakin' that shuffle on grass. D'you remember it--in SouthAfrica? Ya-as.

'"Hsh!" says Lundie. "Do you know I've broken this man'sneck?"

'"Same here," I says.

'"What? Both?" says Mankeltow.

'"Nonsense!" says Lord Lundie. "Who'd have thought he was thatout of training? A man oughtn't to fly if he ain't fit."

'"What did they want here, anyway?" said Walen; and Mankeltowsays, "We can't leave them in the open. Some one'll come. Carry 'emto Flora's Temple."

We toted 'em again and laid 'em out on a stone bench. They werestill dead in spite of our best attentions. We knew it, but we wentthrough the motions till it was quite dark. 'Wonder if allmurderers do that? "We want a light on this," says Walen after aspell. "There ought to be one in the machine. Why didn't they lightit?"

'We came out of Flora's Temple, and shut the doors behind us.Some stars were showing then--same as when Cain did his little act,I guess. I climbed up and searched the machine. She was very wellequipped, I found two electric torches in clips alongside herbarometers by the rear seat.

'"What make is she?" says Mankeltow.

'"Continental Renzalaer," I says. "My engines and my RushSilencer."

'Walen whistles. "Here--let me look," he says, and grabs theother torch. She was sure well equipped. We gathered up an armfulof cameras an' maps an' note-books an' an album of mountedphotographs which we took to Flora's Temple and spread on amarble-topped table (I'll show you to-morrow) which the King ofNaples had presented to grandfather Marshalton. Walen starts to gothrough 'em. We wanted to know why our friends had been soprejudiced against our society.

'"Wait a minute," says Lord Lundie. "Lend me ahandkerchief."

'He pulls out his own, and Walen contributes his green-and-redbandanna, and Lundie covers their faces. "Now," he says, "we'll gointo the evidence."

'There wasn't any flaw in that evidence. Walen read out theirlast observations, and Mankeltow asked questions, and Lord Lundiesort o' summarised, and I looked at the photos in the album.'J'ever see a bird's-eye telephoto-survey of England for militarypurposes? It's interestin' but indecent--like turnin' a man upsidedown. None of those close-range panoramas of forts could have beentaken without my Rush Silencer.

'"I wish we was as thorough as they are," says Mankeltow,when Walen stopped translatin'.

'"We've been thorough enough," says Lord Lundie. "The evidenceagainst both accused is conclusive. Any other country would give'em seven years in a fortress. We should probably give 'em eighteenmonths as first-class misdemeanants. But their case," he says, "isout of our hands. We must review our own. Mr. Zigler," he said,"will you tell us what steps you took to bring about the death ofthe first accused?" I told him. He wanted to know specially whetherI'd stretched first accused before or after he had fired atMankeltow. Mankeltow testified he'd been shot at, and exhibited hisneck as evidence. It was scorched.

'"Now, Mr. Walen," says Lord Lundie. "Will you kindly tell uswhat steps you took with regard to the second accused?"

'"The man ran directly at me, me lord," says Walen. "I said, 'Ohno, you don't,' and hit him in the face."

'Lord Lundie lifts one hand and uncovers second accused's face.There was a bruise on one cheek and the chin was all greened withgrass. He was a heavy-built man.

'"What happened after that?" says Lord Lundie.

'"To the best of my remembrance he turned from me towards yourlordship."

'Then Lundie goes ahead. "I stooped, and caught the man roundthe ankles," he says. "The sudden check threw him partially over myleft shoulder. I jerked him off that shoulder, still holding hisankles, and he fell heavily on, it would appear, the point of hischin, death being instantaneous."

'"Death being instantaneous," says Walen.

'Lord Lundie takes off his gown and wig--you could see him doit--and becomes our fellow-murderer. "That's our case," he says. "Iknow how I should direct the jury, but it's an undignifiedbusiness for a Lord of Appeal to lift his hand to, and some of mylearned brothers," he says, "might be disposed to befacetious."

'I guess I can't be properly sensitised. Any one who steered meout of that trouble might have had the laugh on me for generations.But I'm only a millionaire. I said we'd better search secondaccused in case he'd been carryin' concealed weapons.

'"That certainly is a point," says Lord Lundie. "But thequestion for the jury would be whether I exercised more force thanwas necessary to prevent him from usin' them." I didn't sayanything. He wasn't talkin' my language. Second accused had his gunon him sure enough, but it had jammed in his hip-pocket. He was toofleshy to reach behind for business purposes, and he didn't look agun-man anyway. Both of 'em carried wads of private letters. By thetime Walen had translated, we knew how many children the fat onehad at home and when the thin one reckoned to be married. Too bad!Ya-as.

'Says Walen to me while we was rebuttonin' their jackets (theywas not in uniform): "Ever read a book called The Wreckers,Mr. Zigler?"

'"Not that I recall at the present moment," I says.

'"Well, do," he says. "You'd appreciate it. You'd appreciate itnow, I assure you."

'"I'll remember," I says. "But I don't see how this song anddance helps us any. Here's our corpses, here's their machine, anddaylight's bound to come."

'"Heavens! That reminds me," says Lundie. "What time'sdinner?"

'"Half-past eight," says Mankeltow. "It's half-past five now. Weknocked off golf at twenty to, and if they hadn't been such sillyasses, firin' pistols like civilians, we'd have had them to dinner.Why, they might be sitting with us in the smoking-room this veryminute," he says. Then he said that no man had a right to take hisprofession so seriously as these two mountebanks.

'"How interestin'!" says Lundie. "I've noticed this impatientattitude toward their victim in a good many murderers. I neverunderstood it before. Of course, it's the disposal of the body thatannoys 'em. Now, I wonder," he says, "who our case will come upbefore? Let's run through it again."

'Then Walen whirls in. He'd been bitin' his nails in a corner.We was all nerved up by now.... Me? The worst of the bunch. I hadto think for Tommy as well.

'"We can't be tried," says Walen. "We mustn't betried! It'll make an infernal international stink. What did I tellyou in the smoking-room after lunch? The tension's atbreaking-point already. This 'ud snap it. Can't you see that?"

'"I was thinking of the legal aspect of the case," says Lundie."With a good jury we'd likely be acquitted."

'"Acquitted!" says Walen. "Who'd dare acquit us in the face ofwhat 'ud be demanded by--the other party? Did you ever hear of theWar of Jenkins' ear? 'Ever hear of Mason and Slidel? 'Ever hear ofan ultimatum? You know who these two idiots are; you knowwho we are--a Lord of Appeal, a Viscount of the Englishpeerage, and me--me knowing all I know, which the men whoknow dam' well know that I do know! It's our necks orArmageddon. Which do you think this Government would choose? Wecan't be tried!" he says.

'"Then I expect I'll have to resign me club," Lundie goes on. "Idon't think that's ever been done before by an ex-officiomember. I must ask the secretary." I guess he was kinder bunkeredfor the minute, or maybe 'twas the lordship comin' out on him.

'"Rot!" says Mankeltow. "Walen's right. We can't afford to betried. We'll have to bury them; but my head-gardener locks up allthe tools at five o'clock."

'"Not on your life!" says Lundie. He was on deck again--as thehigh-class lawyer. "Right or wrong, if we attempt concealment ofthe bodies we're done for."

"'I'm glad of that," says Mankeltow, "because, after all, itain't cricket to bury 'em."

'Somehow--but I know I ain't English--that consideration didn'tworry me as it ought. An' besides, I was thinkin'--I had to--an'I'd begun to see a light 'way off--a little glimmerin' light o'salvation.

'"Then what are we to do?" says Walen. "Zigler, what doyou advise? Your neck's in it too."

'"Gentlemen," I says, "something Lord Lundie let fall a whileback gives me an idea. I move that this committee empowers BigClaus and Little Claus, who have elected to commit suicide in ourmidst, to leave the premises as they came. I'm asking you totake big chances," I says, "but they're all we've got," and then Ibroke for the bi-plane.

'Don't tell me the English can't think as quick as the next manwhen it's up to them! They lifted 'em out o' Flora'sTemple--reverent, but not wastin' time--whilst I found out what hadbrought her down. One cylinder was misfirin'. I didn't stop to fixit. My Renzalaer will hold up on six. We've proved that. If hercrew had relied on my guarantees, they'd have been half-way home bythen, instead of takin' their seats with hangin' heads like theywas ashamed. They ought to have been ashamed too, playin' gun-menin a British peer's park! I took big chances startin' her withoutcontrols, but 'twas a dead still night an' a clear run--you sawit--across the Theatre into the park, and I prayed she'd risebefore she hit high timber. I set her all I dared for a quick lift.I told Mankeltow that if I gave her too much nose she'd be liableto up-end and flop. He didn't want another inquest on his estate.No, sir! So I had to fix her up in the dark. Ya-as!

'I took big chances, too, while those other three held on to herand I worked her up to full power. My Renzalaer's noventilation-fan to pull against. But I climbed out just in time.I'd hitched the signallin' lamp to her tail so's we could trackher. Otherwise, with my Rush Silencer, we might's well have shooedan owl out of a barn. She left just that way when we let her go. Nosound except the propellers--Whoo-oo-oo! Whoo-oo-oo! Therewas a dip in the ground ahead. It hid her lamp for a second--butthere's no such thing as time in real life. Then that lamptravelled up the far slope slow--too slow. Then it kinder lifted,we judged. Then it sure was liftin'. Then it lifted good. D'youknow why? Our four naked perspirin' souls was out there underneathher, hikin' her heavens high. Yes, sir. We did it!... Andthat lamp kept liftin' and liftin'. Then she side-slipped! My God,she side-slipped twice, which was what I'd been afraid of allalong! Then she straightened up, and went away climbin' to glory,for that blessed star of our hope got smaller and smaller till wecouldn't track it any more. Then we breathed. We hadn't breathedany since their arrival, but we didn't know it till we breathedthat time--all together. Then we dug our finger-nails out of ourpalms an' came alive again--in instalments.

'Lundie spoke first. "We therefore commit their bodies to theair," he says, an' puts his cap on.

'"The deep--the deep," says Walen. "It's just twenty-three milesto the Channel."

'"Poor chaps! Poor chaps!" says Mankeltow. "We'd have had 'em todinner if they hadn't lost their heads. I can't tell you how thisdistresses me, Laughton."

'"Well, look at here, Arthur," I says. "It's only God's OwnMercy you an' me ain't lyin' in Flora's Temple now, and if that fatman had known enough to fetch his gun around while he was runnin',Lord Lundie and Walen would have been alongside us."

'"I see that," he says. "But we're alive and they're dead, don'tye know."

'"I know it," I says. "That's where the dead are always sodamned unfair on the survivors."

'"I see that too," he says. "But I'd have given a good deal ifit hadn't happened, poor chaps!"

'"Amen!" says Lundie. Then? Oh, then we sorter walked back twoan' two to Flora's Temple an' lit matches to see we hadn't leftanything behind. Walen, he had confiscated the note-books beforethey left. There was the first man's pistol which we'd forgot toreturn him, lyin' on the stone bench. Mankeltow puts his hand onit--he never touched the trigger--an', bein' an automatic, ofcourse the blame thing jarred off--spiteful as a rattler!

'"Look out! They'll have one of us yet," says Walen in the dark.But they didn't--the Lord hadn't quit being our shepherd--and weheard the bullet zip across the veldt--quite like old times.Ya-as!

'"Swine!" says Mankeltow.

'After that I didn't hear any more "Poor chap" talk.... Me? Inever worried about killing my man. I was too busy figurin'how a British jury might regard the proposition. I guess Lundiefelt that way too.

'Oh, but say! We had an interestin' time at dinner. Folks wasexpected whose auto had hung up on the road. They hadn't wired, andPeters had laid two extra places. We noticed 'em as soon as we satdown. I'd hate to say how noticeable they were. Mankeltow with hisneck bandaged (he'd caught a relaxed throat golfin') sent forPeters and told him to take those empty places away--if youplease. It takes something to rattle Peters. He was rattledthat time. Nobody else noticed anything. And now...'

'Where did they come down?' I asked, as he rose.

'In the Channel, I guess. There was nothing in the papers about'em. Shall we go into the drawin'-room, and see what these boys andgirls are doin?' But say, ain't life in Englandinterestin'?"

The Horse Marines

(1911)

The Rt. Hon. R.B. Haldane, Secretary of State forWar[6], wasquestioned in the House of Commons on April 8th about therocking-horses which the War Office is using for the purpose ofteaching recruits to ride. Lord Ronaldshay asked the War Secretaryif rocking-horses were to be supplied to all the cavalry regimentsfor teaching recruits to ride. 'The noble Lord,' replied Mr.Haldane, 'is doubtless alluding to certain dummy horses on rockerswhich have been tested with very satisfactory results.'... Themechanical steed is a wooden horse with an astonishing tail. It ispainted brown and mounted on swinging rails. The recruit leaps intothe saddle and pulls at the reins while the riding-instructor rocksthe animal to and fro with his foot. The rocking-horses are beingmade at Woolwich. They are quite cheap.

--Daily Paper.

[6]Now Viscount Haldane of Cloan.

My instructions to Mr. Leggatt, my engineer, had been accuratelyobeyed. He was to bring my car on completion of annual overhaul,from Coventry via London, to Southampton Docks to await myarrival; and very pretty she looked, under the steamer's side amongthe railway lines, at six in the morning. Next to her new paint andvarnish I was most impressed by her four brand-new tyres.

'But I didn't order new tyres,' I said as we moved away. 'Theseare Irresilients, too.'

'Treble-ribbed,' said Leggatt. 'Diamond-stud sheathing.'

'Then there has been a mistake.'

'Oh no, sir; they're gratis.'

The number of motor manufacturers who give away complete sets oftreble-ribbed Irresilient tyres is so limited that I believe Iasked Leggatt for an explanation.

'I don't know that I could very well explain, sir,' was theanswer. 'It 'ud come better from Mr. Pyecroft. He's on leaf atPortsmouth--staying with his uncle. His uncle 'ad the body allnight. I'd defy you to find a scratch on her even with amicroscope.'

'Then we will go home by the Portsmouth road,' I said.

And we went at those speeds which are allowed before theworking-day begins or the police are thawed out. We were blockednear Portsmouth by a battalion of Regulars on the move.

'Whitsuntide manoeuvres just ending,' said Leggatt. 'They've hada fortnight in the Downs.'

He said no more until we were in a narrow street somewherebehind Portsmouth Town Railway Station, where he slowed at agreen-grocery shop. The door was open, and a small old man sat onthree potato-baskets swinging his feet over a stooping blueback.

'You call that shinin' 'em?' he piped. 'Can you see your face in'em yet? No! Then shine 'em, or I'll give you a beltin' you'llremember!'

'If you stop kickin' me in the mouth perhaps I'd do better,'said Pyecroft's voice meekly.

We blew the horn.

Pyecroft arose, put away the brushes, and received us nototherwise than as a king in his own country.

'Are you going to leave me up here all day?' said the oldman.

Pyecroft lifted him down and he hobbled into the back room.

'It's his corns,' Pyecroft explained. 'You can't shine cornyfeet--and he hasn't had his breakfast.'

'I haven't had mine either,' I said.

'Breakfast for two more, uncle,' Pyecroft sang out.

'Go out an' buy it then,' was the answer, 'or else it'shalf-rations.'

Pyecroft turned to Leggatt, gave him his marketing orders, anddespatched him with the coppers.

'I have got four new tyres on my car,' I began impressively.

'Yes,' said Mr. Pyecroft. 'You have, and I will say'--hepatted my car's bonnet--'you earned 'em.'

'I want to know why--,' I went on.

'Quite justifiable. You haven't noticed anything in the papers,have you?'

'I've only just landed. I haven't seen a paper for weeks.'

'Then you can lend me a virgin ear. There's been a scandal inthe Junior Service--the Army, I believe they call 'em.'

A bag of coffee-beans pitched on the counter. 'Roast that,' saidthe uncle from within.

Pyecroft rigged a small coffee-roaster, while I took down theshutters, and sold a young lady in curl-papers two bunches of mixedgreens and one soft orange.

'Sickly stuff to handle on an empty stomach, ain't it?' saidPyecroft.

'What about my new tyres?' I insisted.

'Oh, any amount. But the question is'--he looked at mesteadily--'is this what you might call a court-martial or apost-mortem inquiry?'

'Strictly a post-mortem,' said I.

'That being so,' said Pyecroft, 'we can rapidly arrive at facts.Last Thursday--the shutters go behind those baskets--last Thursdayat five bells in the forenoon watch, otherwise ten-thirty A.M.,your Mr. Leggatt was discovered on Westminster Bridge laying hiscourse for the Old Kent Road.'

'But that doesn't lead to Southampton,' I interrupted.

'Then perhaps he was swinging the car for compasses. Be that asit may, we found him in that latitude, simultaneous as Jules and mewas ong route for Waterloo to rejoin our respectiveships--or Navies I should say. Jules was a permissionaire,which meant being on leaf, same as me, from a Frenchcassowary-cruiser at Portsmouth. A party of her trusty andwell-beloved petty officers 'ad been seeing London, chaperoned bythe R.C. Chaplain. Jules 'ad detached himself from the squadron andwas cruisin' on his own when I joined him, in company of copiouslady-friends. But, mark you, your Mr. Leggatt drew the lineat the girls. Loud and long he drew it.'

'I'm glad of that,' I said.

'You may be. He adopted the puristical formation from the first."Yes," he said, when we was annealing him at--but you wouldn't knowthe pub--"I am going to Southampton," he says, "and I'llstretch a point to go via Portsmouth; but," says he,"seeing what sort of one hell of a time invariably trarnspires whenwe cruise together, Mr. Pyecroft, I do not feel myselfjustified towards my generous and long-suffering employer in takin'on that kind of ballast as well." I assure you he considered yourinterests.'

'And the girls?' I asked.

'Oh, I left that to Jules. I'm a monogomite by nature. So weembarked strictly ong garçong. But I should tell you,in case he didn't, that your Mr. Leggatt's care for your interests'ad extended to sheathing the car in matting and gunny-bags topreserve her paint-work. She was all swathed up like an I-talianbaby.'

'He is careful about his paint-work,' I said.

'For a man with no Service experience I should say he was fairhomicidal on the subject. If we'd been Marines he couldn't havebeen more pointed in his allusions to our hob-nailed socks.However, we reduced him to a malleable condition, and embarked forPortsmouth. I'd seldom rejoined my vaisseau ong automobile,avec a fur coat and goggles. Nor 'ad Jules.'

'Did Jules say much?' I asked, helplessly turning the handle ofthe coffee-roaster.

'That's where I pitied the pore beggar. He 'adn't the language,so to speak. He was confined to heavings and shruggin's and copiousMong Jews! The French are very badly fitted withrelief-valves. And then our Mr. Leggatt drove. He drove.'

'Was he in a very malleable condition?'

'Not him! We recognised the value of his cargo from the outset.He hadn't a chance to get more than moist at the edges. After whichwe went to sleep; and now we'll go to breakfast.'

We entered the back room where everything was in order, and ascreeching canary made us welcome. The uncle had added sausages andpiles of buttered toast to the kippers. The coffee, cleared with apiece of fish-skin, was a revelation.

Leggatt, who seemed to know the premises, had run the car intothe tiny backyard where her mirror-like back almost blocked up thewindows. He minded shop while we ate. Pyecroft passed him hisrations through a flap in the door. The uncle ordered him in, afterbreakfast, to wash up, and he jumped in his gaiters at the oldman's commands as he has never jumped to mine.

'To resoom the post-mortem,' said Pyecroft, lighting his pipe.'My slumbers were broken by the propeller ceasing to revolve, andby vile language from your Mr. Leggatt.'

'I--I--' Leggatt began, a blue-checked duster in one hand and acup in the other.

'When you're wanted aft you'll be sent for, Mr. Leggatt,' saidPyecroft amiably. 'It's clean mess decks for you now. Resoomingonce more, we was on a lonely and desolate ocean near Portsdown,surrounded by gorse bushes, and a Boy Scout was stirring my stomachwith his little copper-stick.'

'"You count ten," he says.

'"Very good, Boy Jones," I says, "count 'em," and I hauled himin over the gunnel, and ten I gave him with my large flat hand. Theremarks he passed, lying face down tryin' to bite my leg, wouldhave reflected credit on any Service. Having finished I dropped himoverboard again, which was my gross political error. I ought to'ave killed him; because he began signalling--rapid andaccurate--in a sou'westerly direction. Few equatorial calms are tobe apprehended when B.P.'s little pets take to signallin'. Make anote o' that! Three minutes later we were stopped and boarded byScouts--up our backs, down our necks, and in our boots! The last Iheard from your Mr. Leggatt as he went under, brushin' 'em off hiscap, was thanking Heaven he'd covered up the new paint-work withmats. An 'eroic soul!'

'Not a scratch on her body,' said Leggatt, pouring out thecoffee-grounds.

'And Jules?' said I.

'Oh, Jules thought the much advertised Social Revolution hadbegun, but his mackintosh hampered him.

'You told me to bring the mackintosh,' Leggatt whispered tome.

'And when I 'ad 'em half convinced he was a French vicomtecoming down to visit the Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth, he triedto take it off. Seeing his uniform underneath, some suckingSherlock Holmes of the Pink Eye Patrol (they called him Eddy)deduced that I wasn't speaking the truth. Eddy said I was tryin' tosneak into Portsmouth unobserved--unobserved mark you!--and joinhands with the enemy. It trarnspired that the Scouts was conductinga field-day against opposin' forces, ably assisted by all branchesof the Service, and they was so afraid the car wouldn't count tenpoints to them in the fray, that they'd have scalped us, but forthe intervention of an umpire--also in short under-drawers. Afleshy sight!'

Here Mr. Pyecroft shut his eyes and nodded. 'That umpire,' hesaid suddenly, 'was our Mr. Morshed--a gentleman whose acquaintanceyou have already made and profited by, if I mistakenot[7].'

[7]'Their Lawful Occasions,' Traffics andDiscoveries.

'Oh, was the Navy in it too?' I said; for I had read of wilddoings occasionally among the Boy Scouts on the Portsmouth Road, inwhich Navy, Army, and the world at large seemed to have takenpart.

'The Navy was in it. I was the only one out of it--forseveral seconds. Our Mr. Morshed failed to recognise me in my furboa, and my appealin' winks at 'im behind your goggles didn'tarrive. But when Eddy darling had told his story, I saluted, whichis difficult in furs, and I stated I was bringin' him dispatchesfrom the North. My Mr. Morshed cohered on the instant. I've neverknown his ethergram installations out of order yet. "Go and guardyour blessed road," he says to the Fratton Orphan Asylum standingat attention all round him, and, when they was removed--"Pyecroft,"he says, still sotte voce, "what in Hong-Kong are you doingwith this dun-coloured sampan?"

'It was your Mr. Leggatt's paint-protective matting which caughthis eye. She did resemble a sampan, especially aboutthe stern-works. At these remarks I naturally threw myself on 'isbosom, so far as Service conditions permitted, and revealed himall, mentioning that the car was yours. You know his way of workinghis lips like a rabbit? Yes, he was quite pleased. "Hiscar!" he kept murmuring, working his lips like a rabbit. "I owe 'immore than a trifle for things he wrote about me. I'll keep thecar."

'Your Mr. Leggatt now injected some semi-mutinous remarks to theeffect that he was your chauffeur in charge of your car, and, assuch, capable of so acting. Mr. Morshed threw him a glarnce. Itsufficed. Didn't it suffice, Mr. Leggatt?'

'I knew if something didn't happen, something worse would,' saidLeggatt. 'It never fails when you're aboard.'

'And Jules?' I demanded.

'Jules was, so to speak, panicking in a water-tight flat throughhis unfortunate lack of language. I had to introduce him as part ofthe entente cordiale, and he was put under arrest, too. Thenwe sat on the grass and smoked, while Eddy and Co. violentlyannoyed the traffic on the Portsmouth Road, till the umpires, allin short panties, conferred on the valuable lessons of thefield-day and added up points, same as at target-practice. I didn'thear their conclusions, but our Mr. Morshed delivered a farewelladdress to Eddy and Co., tellin' 'em they ought to have deducedfrom a hundred signs about me, that I was a friendly bringin' indispatches from the North. We left 'em tryin' to find those signsin the Scout book, and we reached Mr. Morshed's hotel at Portsmouthat 6.27 P.M. ong automobile. Here endeth the firstchapter.'

'Begin the second,' I said.

The uncle and Leggatt had finished washing up and were seated,smoking, while the damp duster dried at the fire.

'About what time was it,' said Pyecroft to Leggatt, 'when ourMr. Morshed began to talk about uncles?'

'When he came back to the bar, after he'd changed into thoserat-catcher clothes,' said Leggatt.

'That's right. "Pye," said he, "have you an uncle?" "I have," Isays. "Here's santy to him," and I finished my sherry and bittersto you, uncle.'

'That's right,' said Pyecroft's uncle sternly. 'If you hadn'tI'd have belted you worth rememberin', Emmanuel. I had the body allnight.'

Pyecroft smiled affectionately. 'So you 'ad, uncle, an'beautifully you looked after her. But as I was saying, "I have anuncle, too," says Mr. Morshed, dark and lowering. "Yet somehow Ican't love him. I want to mortify the beggar. Volunteers to mortifymy uncle, one pace to the front."

'I took Jules with me the regulation distance. Jules was gettinginterested. Your Mr. Leggatt preserved a strictly nootralattitude.

'"You're a pressed man," says our Mr. Morshed. "I owe your lateemployer much, so to say. The car will manoeuvre all night, asrequisite."

'Mr. Leggatt come out noble as your employee, and, by 'Eaven'sdivine grace, instead of arguing, he pleaded his new paint andvarnish which was Mr. Morshed's one vital spot (he's lootenant onone of the new catch-'em-alive-o's now). "True," says he, "paint'san 'oly thing. I'll give you one hour to arrange a modusvivendi. Full bunkers and steam ready by 9 P.M. to-night,if you please."

'Even so, Mr. Leggatt was far from content. I 'ad toarrange the details. We run her into the yard here.' Pyecroftnodded through the window at my car's glossy back-panels. 'We tookoff the body with its mats and put it in the stable, substitooting(and that yard's a tight fit for extensive repairs) the body ofuncle's blue delivery cart. It overhung a trifle, but after I'dlashed it I knew it wouldn't fetch loose. Thus, in our compositecruiser, we repaired once more to the hotel, and was immediatelydispatched to the toy-shop in the High Street where we took aboardone rocking-horse which was waiting for us.'

'Took aboard what?' I cried.

'One fourteen-hand dapple-grey rocking-horse, with pure greenrockers and detachable tail, pair gashly glass eyes, complete set'orrible grinnin' teeth, and two bloody-red nostrils which,protruding from the brown papers, produced the tout ensembleof a Ju-ju sacrifice in the Benin campaign. Do I make myselfcomprehensible?'

'Perfectly. Did you say anything?' I asked.

'Only to Jules. To him, I says, wishing to try him. "Allezà votre bateau. Je say mon Lootenong. Eel voo donnerayporkwor." To me, says he, "Vous ong ate hurroo! Jamay de lavee!" and I saw by his eye he'd taken on for the full term ofthe war. Jules was a blue-eyed, brindle-haired beggar of a usefulmake and inquirin' habits. Your Mr. Leggatt he only groaned.'

Leggatt nodded. 'It was like nightmares,' he said. 'It was likenightmares.'

'Once more, then,' Pyecroft swept on, 'we returned to the hoteland partook of a sumptuous repast, under the able and genialchairmanship of our Mr. Morshed, who laid his projecks unreservedlybefore us. "In the first place," he says, opening out bicycle-maps,"my uncle, who, I regret to say, is a brigadier-general, has soldhis alleged soul to Dicky Bridoon for a feathery hat and a pair o'gilt spurs. Jules, conspuez l'oncle!" So Jules, you'll beglad to hear--'

'One minute, Pye,' I said. 'Who is Dicky Bridoon?'

'I don't usually mingle myself up with the bickerings of theJunior Service, but it trarnspired that he was Secretary o' Statefor Civil War, an' he'd been issuing mechanical leather-bellygee-gees which doctors recommend for tumour--to the British cavalryin loo of real meat horses, to learn to ride on. Don't you rememberthere was quite a stir in the papers owing to the cavalry notappreciatin' 'em? But that's a minor item. The main point was thatour uncle, in his capacity of brigadier-general, mark you, hadwrote to the papers highly approvin' o' Dicky Bridoon's mechanicalsubstitutes an 'ad thus obtained promotion--all same as aagnosticle stoker psalm-singin' 'imself up the Service under apious captain. At that point of the narrative we caught aphosphorescent glimmer why the rocking-horse might have beenissued; but none the less the navigation was intricate. Omittingthe fact it was dark and cloudy, our brigadier-uncle lay somewherein the South Downs with his brigade, which was manoeuvrin' atWhitsum manoeuvres on a large scale--Red Army versus Blue,et cetera; an' all we 'ad to go by was those flapping bicycle-mapsand your Mr. Leggatt's groans.'

'I was thinking what the Downs mean after dark,' said Leggattangrily.

'They was worth thinkin' of,' said Pyecroft. 'When we hadstudied the map till it fair spun, we decided to sally forth andcreep for uncle by hand in the dark, dark night, an' present 'imwith the rocking-horse. So we embarked at 8.57 P.M.'

'One minute again, please. How much did Jules understand by thattime?' I asked.

'Sufficient unto the day--or night, perhaps I should say. Hetold our Mr. Morshed he'd follow him more sang frays, whichis French for dead, drunk, or damned. Barrin' 'is paucity o'language, there wasn't a blemish on Jules. But what I wished toimply was, when we climbed into the back parts of the car, ourLootenant Morshed says to me, "I doubt if I'd flick my cigar-endsabout too lavish, Mr. Pyecroft. We ought to be sitting on fivepounds' worth of selected fireworks, and I think the rockets areyour end." Not being able to smoke with my 'ead over the side Ithrew it away; and then your Mr. Leggatt, 'aving been as nearlymutinous as it pays to be with my Mr. Morshed, arched his back anddrove.'

'Where did he drive to, please?' said I.

'Primerrily, in search of any or either or both armies;seconderrily, of course, in search of our brigadier-uncle. Notfinding him on the road, we ran about the grass looking for him.This took us to a great many places in a short time. Ow 'eavenlythat lilac did smell on top of that first Down--stinkin' itsblossomin' little heart out!'

'I 'adn't leesure to notice,' said Mr. Leggatt. 'The Downs werefull o' chalk-pits, and we'd no lights.'

'We 'ad the bicycle-lamp to look at the map by. Didn't younotice the old lady at the window where we saw the man in thenight-gown? I thought night-gowns as sleepin' rig was extinck, soto speak.'

'I tell you I 'adn't leesure to notice,' Leggatt repeated.

'That's odd. Then what might 'ave made you tell the sentry atthe first camp we found that you was the Daily Expressdelivery-waggon?'

'You can't touch pitch without being defiled,' Leggatt answered.''Oo told the officer in the bath we were umpires?'

'Well, he asked us. That was when we found the Territorialbattalion undressin' in slow time. It lay on the left flank o' theBlue Army, and it cackled as it lay, too. But it gave us ourposition as regards the respective armies. We wandered a littlemore, and at 11.7 P.M., not having had a road under us for twentyminutes, we scaled the heights of something or other--which areabout six hundred feet high. Here we 'alted to tighten the lashingsof the superstructure, and we smelt leather and horses threecounties deep all round. We was, as you might say, in the thick ofit.'

'"Ah!" says my Mr. Morshed. "My 'orizon has indeed broadened.What a little thing is an uncle, Mr. Pyecroft, in the presence o'these glitterin' constellations! Simply ludicrous!" he says, "towaste a rocking-horse on an individual. We must socialise it. Butwe must get their 'eads up first. Touch off one rocket, if youplease."

'I touched off a green three-pounder which rose several thousandmetres, and burst into gorgeous stars. "Reproduce the manoeuvre,"he says, "at the other end o' this ridge--if it don't end inanother cliff." So we steamed down the ridge a mile and a halfeast, and then I let Jules touch off a pink rocket, or he'd ha'kissed me. That was his only way to express his emotions, so tospeak. Their heads come up then all around us to the extent o'thousands. We hears bugles like co*cks crowing below, and on the topof it a most impressive sound which I'd never enjoyed beforebecause 'itherto I'd always been an inteegral part of it, so tosay--the noise of 'ole armies gettin' under arms. They must 'aveanticipated a night attack, I imagine. Most impressive. Then we'eard a threshin'-machine. "Tutt! Tutt! This is childish!" saysLootenant Morshed. "We can't wait till they've finished cuttingchaff for their horses. We must make 'em understand we're not to betrifled with. Expedite 'em with another rocket, Mr. Pyecroft."

'"It's barely possible, sir," I remarks, "that that's asearchlight churnin' up," and by the time we backed into aprovidential chalk cutting (which was where our first tyre wentpungo) she broke out to the northward, and began searching theridge. A smart bit o' work.'

''Twasn't a puncture. The inner tube had nipped because weskidded so,' Leggatt interrupted.

'While your Mr. Leggatt was effectin' repairs, anothersearchlight broke out to the southward, and the two of 'em sweptour ridge on both sides. Right at the west end of it they showed usthe ground rising into a hill, so to speak, crowned with whatlooked like a little fort. Morshed saw it before the beams shutoff. "That's the key of the position!" he says. "Occupy it at allhazards."

'"I haven't half got occupation for the next twenty minutes,"says your Mr. Leggatt, rootin' and blasphemin' in the dark. Mark,now, 'ow Morshed changed his tactics to suit 'is environment."Right!" says he. "I'll stand by the ship. Mr. Pyecroft and Jules,oblige me by doubling along the ridge to the east with all themaroons and crackers you can carry without spilling. Read thedirections careful for the maroons, Mr. Pyecroft, and touch themoff at half-minute intervals. Jules represents musketry an' maximfire under your command. Remember, it's death or Salisbury Gaol!Prob'ly both!"

'By these means and some moderately 'ard runnin', we distracted'em to the eastward. Maroons, you may not be aware, are same asbombs, with the anarchism left out. In confined spots likechalk-pits, they knock a four-point-seven silly. But you shouldread the directions before'and. In the intervals of the slow butwell-directed fire of my cow-guns, Jules, who had found asheep-pond in the dark a little lower down, gave what you mightcall a cinematograph reproduction o' sporadic musketry. They waslarge size crackers, and he concluded with the dull, sickenin' thudo' blind shells burstin' on soft ground.'

'How did he manage that?' I said.

'You throw a lighted squib into water and you'll see,' saidPyecroft. 'Thus, then, we improvised till supplies was exhaustedand the surrounding landscapes fair 'owled and 'ummed at us. TheJun or Service might 'ave 'ad their doubts about the rockets butthey couldn't overlook our gunfire. Both sides tumbled out full ofinitiative. I told Jules no two flat-feet 'ad any right to be ashappy as us, and we went back along the ridge to the derelict, andthere was our Mr. Morshed apostrophin' his 'andiwork over fiftysquare mile o' country with "Attend, all ye who list to hear!" outof the Fifth Reader. He'd got as far as "And roused the shepherdso' Stonehenge, the rangers o' Beaulieu" when we come up, and hedrew our attention to its truth as well as its beauty. That's rarein poetry, I'm told. He went right on to--"The red glare on Skiddawroused those beggars at Carlisle"--which he pointed out was poeticlicense for Leith Hill. This allowed your Mr. Leggatt time tofinish pumpin' up his tyres. I 'eard the sweat 'op off hisnose.'

'You know what it is, sir,' said poor Leggatt to me.

'It warfted across my mind, as I listened to what wastrarnspirin', that it might be easier to make the mess than to wipeit up, but such considerations weighed not with our valiantleader.

'"Mr. Pyecroft," he says, "it can't have escaped your noticethat we 'ave one angry and 'ighly intelligent army in front of us,an' another 'ighly angry and equally intelligent army in our rear.What 'ud you recommend?"

'Most men would have besought 'im to do a lateral glide whilethere was yet time, but all I said was: "The rocking-horse isn'texpended yet, sir."

'He laid his hand on my shoulder. "Pye," says he, "there's worsem*n than you in loftier places. They shall 'ave it. None the less,"he remarks, "the ice is undeniably packing."

'I may 'ave omitted to point out that at this juncture two largearmies, both deprived of their night's sleep, was awake, as youmight say, and hurryin' into each other's arms. Here endeth thesecond chapter.'

He filled his pipe slowly. The uncle had fallen asleep. Leggattlit another cigarette.

'We then proceeded ong automobile along the ridge in awesterly direction towards the miniature fort which had been sokindly revealed by the searchlight, but which on inspection (yourMr. Leggatt bumped into an outlyin' reef of it) proved to be awurzel-clump; c'est-à-dire, a parallelogrammatic pileof about three million mangold-wurzels, brought up there for thesheep, I suppose. On all sides, excep' the one we'd come by, theground fell away moderately quick, and down at the bottom there wasa large camp lit up an' full of harsh words of command.

'"I said it was the key to the position," Lootenant Morshedremarks. "Trot out Persimmon!" which we rightly took to read,"Un-wrap the rocking-horse."

'"Houp la!" says Jules in a insubordinate tone, an' slapsPersimmon on the flank.

'"Silence!" says the Lootenant. "This is the Royal Navy, notNewmarket"; and we carried Persimmon to the top of themangel-wurzel clump as directed.

'Owing to the inequalities of the terrain (I do thinkyour Mr. Leggatt might have had a spirit-level in his kit) hewouldn't rock free on the bed-plate, and while adjustin' him, hisdetachable tail fetched adrift. Our Lootenant was quick to seizethe advantage.

'"Remove that transformation," he says. "Substitute one Romancandle. Gas-power is superior to manual propulsion."

'So we substituted. He arranged the pièce deresistarnce in the shape of large drums--not saucers, markyou--drums of coloured fire, with printed instructions, at properdistances round Persimmon. There was a brief interregnum while wedug ourselves in among the wurzels by hand. Then he touched off thefires, not omitting the Roman candle, and, you may take itfrom me, all was visible. Persimmon shone out in his nakedsplendour, red to port, green to starboard, and one white light athis bows, as per Board o' Trade regulations. Only he didn't so muchrock, you might say, as shrug himself, in a manner of speaking,every time the candle went off. One can't have everything. But therest surpassed our highest expectations. I think Persimmon wasnoblest on the starboard or green side--more like when a man thinkshe's seeing mackerel in hell, don't you know? And yet I'd be thelast to deprecate the effect of the port light on his teeth, orthat blood-shot look in his left eye. He knew there was somethinggoing on he didn't approve of. He looked worried.'

'Did you laugh?' I said.

'I'm not much of a wag myself; nor it wasn't as if we 'ad timeto allow the spectacle to sink in. The coloured fires was supposedto burn ten minutes, whereas it was obvious to the meanest capacitythat the Junior Service would arrive by forced marches in about twoand a half. They grarsped our topical allusion as soon as it wasacross the foot-lights, so to speak. They were quite chafed at it.Of course, 'ad we reflected, we might have known that exposin'illuminated rockin'-horses to an army that was learnin' to ride on'em partook of the nature of a double entender, as theFrench say--same as waggling the tiller lines at a man who's had ahanging in the family. I knew the cox of the Archimandrite'sgalley 'arf killed for a similar plaisan-teree. But we neveranticipated lobsters being so sensitive. That was why we shifted.We could 'ardly tear our commandin' officer away. He put his headon one side, and kept cooin'. The only thing he 'ad neglected toprovide was a line of retreat; but your Mr. Leggatt--an 'eroic soulin the last stage of wet prostration--here took command of the van,or, rather, the rear-guard. We walked downhill beside him, holdingon to the superstructure to prevent her capsizing. These technicaldetails, 'owever, are beyond me.' He waved his pipe towardsLeggatt.

'I saw there was two deepish ruts leadin' down 'ill somewhere,'said Leggatt. 'That was when the soldiers stopped laughin', andbegun to run uphill.'

'Stroll, lovey, stroll!' Pyecroft corrected. 'The Dervish rushtook place later.'

'So I laid her in these ruts. That was where she must 'avescraped her silencer a bit. Then they turned sharp right--the rutsdid--and then she stopped bonnet-high in a manure-heap, sir; butI'll swear it was all of a one in three gradient. I think it was abarnyard. We waited there,' said Leggatt.

'But not for long,' said Pyecroft. 'The lights were towering outof the drums on the position we 'ad so valiantly abandoned; and theJunior Service was escaladin' it en masse. When numerousbodies of 'ighly trained men arrive simultaneous in the samelatitude from opposite directions, each remarking briskly, "Whatthe 'ell did you do that for?" detonation, as you might say,is practically assured. They didn't ask for extraneous aids. Ifwe'd come out with sworn affidavits of what we'd done they wouldn't'ave believed us. They wanted each other's company exclusive. Suchwas the effect of Persimmon on their clarss feelings. Idol'try,I call it! Events transpired with the utmost velocity andrapidly increasing pressures. There was a few remarks about DickyBridoon and mechanical horses, and then some one was smacked--hardby the sound--in the middle of a remark.'

'That was the man who kept calling for the Forty-fifthDragoons,' said Leggatt. 'He got as far as Drag ...'

'Was it?' said Pyecroft dreamily. 'Well, he couldn't say theydidn't come. They all came, and they all fell to arguin' whetherthe Infantry should 'ave Persimmon for a regimental pet or theCavalry should keep him for stud purposes. Hence the issue was soonclouded with mangold-wurzels. Our commander said we 'ad sowed thegood seed, and it was bearing abundant fruit. (They weigh betweenfour and seven pounds apiece.) Seein' the children 'ad got overtheir shyness, and 'ad really begun to play games, we backed out o'the pit and went down, by steps, to the camp below, no man, as youmight say, making us afraid. Here we enjoyed a front view of thebattle, which rolled with renewed impetus, owing to both sidesreceiving strong reinforcements every minute. All arms were freelyrepresented; Cavalry, on this occasion only, acting in concert withArtillery. They argued the relative merits of horses versusfeet, so to say, but they didn't neglect Persimmon. The woundedrolling downhill with the wurzels informed us that he had long agobeen socialised, and the smallest souvenirs were worth a man'slife. Speaking broadly, the Junior Service appeared to be a shadeout of 'and, if I may venture so far. They did not payprompt and unhesitating obedience to the "Retires" or the "CeaseFires" or the "For 'Eaven's sake come to bed, ducky" of theirofficers, who, I regret to say, were 'otly embroiled at the headsof their respective units.'

'How did you find that out?' I asked.

'On account of Lootenant Morshed going to the Mess tent to callon his uncle and raise a drink; but all hands had gone to thefront. We thought we 'eard somebody bathing behind the tent, and wefound an oldish gentleman tryin' to drown a boy in knickerbockersin a horse-trough. He kept him under with a bicycle, so to speak.He 'ad nearly accomplished his fell design, when we frustrated him.He was in a highly malleable condition and full o' juice despree. "Arsk not what I am," he says. "My wife 'll tell me thatquite soon enough. Arsk rather what I've been," he says. "I've beendinin' here," he says. "I commanded 'em in the Eighties," he says,"and, Gawd forgive me," he says, sobbin' 'eavily, "I've spent thisholy evening telling their Colonel they was a set of educatedinefficients. Hark to 'em!" We could, without strainin' ourselves;but how he picked up the gentle murmur of his own corps inthat on-the-knee party up the hill I don't know. "They've marchedand fought thirty mile to-day," he shouts, "and now they're tearin'the intestines out of the Cavalry up yonder! They won't stopthis side the gates o' Delhi," he says. "I commanded theirancestors. There's nothing wrong with the Service," he says,wringing out his trousers on his lap. "'Eaven pardon me fordoubtin' 'em! Same old game--same young beggars."

'The boy in the knickerbockers, languishing on a chair, puts ina claim for one drink. "Let him go dry," says our friend inshirt-tails. "He's a reporter. He run into me on his filthy bicycleand he asked me if I could furnish 'im with particulars about themutiny in the Army. You false-'earted proletarian publicist," hesays, shakin' his finger at 'im--for he was reelly annoyed--"I'llteach you to defile what you can't comprebend! When my regiment'sin a state o' mutiny, I'll do myself the honour of informing youpersonally. You particularly ignorant and very narsty little man,"he says, "you're no better than a dhobi's donkey! If there wasn'tdirty linen to wash, you'd starve," he says, "and why I haven'tdrowned you will be the lastin' regret of my life."

'Well, we sat with 'em and 'ad drinks for about half-an-hour infront of the Mess tent. He'd ha' killed the reporter if therehadn't been witnesses, and the reporter might have taken notes ofthe battle; so we acted as two-way buffers, in a sense. I don'thold with the Press mingling up with Service matters. They drawfalse conclusions. Now, mark you, at a moderate estimate, therewere seven thousand men in the fighting line, half of 'em hurt intheir professional feelings, an' the other half rubbin' in theliniment, as you might say. All due to Persimmon! If you 'adn'tseen it you wouldn't 'ave believed it. And yet, mark you, not onesingle unit of 'em even resorted to his belt. They confinedthemselves to natural producks--hands and the wurzels. I thoughtJules was havin' fits, till it trarnspired the same thought hadimpressed him in the French language. He called itincroyable, I believe. Seven thousand men, with seventhousand rifles, belts, and bayonets, in a violently agitatedcondition, and not a ungenteel blow struck from first to last. Theold gentleman drew our attention to it as well. It was quitenoticeable.

'Lack of ammunition was the primerry cause of the battleceasin'. A Brigade-Major came in, wipin' his nose on both cuffs,and sayin' he 'ad 'ad snuff. The brigadier-uncle followed. He was,so to speak, sneezin'. We thought it best to shift our mooringswithout attractin' attention; so we shifted. They 'ad called thecows 'ome by then. The Junior Service was going to bye-bye allround us, as happy as the ship's monkey when he's been playin' withthe paints, and Lootenant Morshed and Jules kept bowin' to port andstarboard of the superstructure, acknowledgin' the unstintedapplause which the multitude would 'ave given 'em if they'd knownthe facts. On the other 'and, as your Mr. Leggatt observed, theymight 'ave killed us.

'That would have been about five bells in the middle watch, sayhalf-past two. A well-spent evening. There was but little to begained by entering Portsmouth at that hour, so we turned off on thegrass (this was after we had found a road under us), and we castanchors out at the stern and prayed for the day.

'But your Mr. Leggatt he had to make and mend tyres all ourwatch below. It trarnspired she had been running on the rim o' twoor three wheels, which, very properly, he hadn't reported till theclose of the action. And that's the reason of your four new tyres.Mr. Morshed was of opinion you'd earned 'em. Do you dissent?'

I stretched out my hand, which Pyecroft crushed to pulp. 'No,Pye,' I said, deeply moved, 'I agree entirely. But what happened toJules?'

'We returned him to his own Navy after breakfast. He wouldn'thave kept much longer without some one in his own language to tellit to. I don't know any man I ever took more compassion on thanJules. 'Is sufferings swelled him up centimetres, and all he coulddo on the Hard was to kiss Lootenant Morshed and me, andyour Mr. Leggatt. He deserved that much. A cordial beggar.'

Pyecroft looked at the washed cups on the table, and the lowsunshine on my car's back in the yard.

'Too early to drink to him,' he said. 'But I feel it just thesame.'

The uncle, sunk in his chair, snored a little; the canaryanswered with a shrill lullaby. Pyecroft picked up the duster,threw it over the cage, put his finger to his lips, and we tiptoedout into the shop, while Leggatt brought the car round.

'I'll look out for the news in the papers,' I said, as I gotin.

'Oh, we short-circuited that! Nothing trarnspired excep' astatement to the effect that some Territorial battalions had playedabout with turnips at the conclusion of the manoeuvres The taxpayerdon't know all he gets for his money. Farewell!'

We moved off just in time to be blocked by a regiment comingtowards the station to entrain for London.

'Beg your pardon, sir,' said a sergeant in charge of thebaggage, 'but would you mind backin' a bit till we get the waggonspast?'

'Certainly,' I said. 'You don't happen to have a rocking-horseamong your kit, do you?'

The rattle of our reverse drowned his answer, but I saw hiseyes. One of them was blackish-green, about four days old.

'My Son's Wife'

(1913)

He had suffered from the disease of the century since his earlyyouth, and before he was thirty he was heavily marked with it. Heand a few friends had rearranged Heaven very comfortably, but thereorganisation of Earth, which they called Society, was evengreater fun. It demanded Work in the shape of many taxi-ridesdaily; hours of brilliant talk with brilliant talkers; somesparkling correspondence; a few silences (but on the understandingthat their own turn should come soon) while other people expoundedphilosophies; and a fair number of picture-galleries, tea-fights,concerts, theatres, music-halls, and cinema shows; the wholetrimmed with love-making to women whose hair smelt ofcigarette-smoke. Such strong days sent Frankwell Midmore back tohis flat assured that he and his friends had helped the World astep nearer the Truth, the Dawn, and the New Order.

His temperament, he said, led him more towards concrete datathan abstract ideas. People who investigate detail are apt to betired at the day's end. The same temperament, or it may have been awoman, made him early attach himself to the Immoderate Left of hisCause in the capacity of an experimenter in Social Relations. Andsince the Immoderate Left contains plenty of women anxious to helpearnest inquirers with large independent incomes to arrive atevaluations of essentials, Frankwell Midmore's lot was far fromcontemptible.

At that hour Fate chose to play with him. A widowed aunt, widelyseparated by nature, and more widely by marriage, from all thatMidmore's mother had ever been or desired to be, died and left himpossessions. Mrs. Midmore, having that summer embraced a creedwhich denied the existence of death, naturally could not stoop toburial; but Midmore had to leave London for the dank country at aseason when Social Regeneration works best through long, cushionedconferences, two by two, after tea. There he faced the bracingritual of the British funeral, and was wept at across the raw graveby an elderly coffin-shaped female with a long nose, who called him'Master Frankie'; and there he was congratulated behind an echoingtop-hat by a man he mistook for a mute, who turned out to be hisaunt's lawyer. He wrote his mother next day, after a bright accountof the funeral:

'So far as I can understand, she has left me between four andfive hundred a year. It all comes from Ther Land, as they call itdown here. The unspeakable attorney, Sperrit, and a green-eyeddaughter, who hums to herself as she tramps but is silent on allsubjects except "huntin'," insisted on taking me to see it. TherLand is brown and green in alternate slabs like chocolate andpistachio cakes, speckled with occasional peasants who do notutter. In case it should not be wet enough there is a wet brook inthe middle of it. Ther House is by the brook. I shall look into itlater. If there should be any little memento of Jenny that you carefor, let me know. Didn't you tell me that mid-Victorian furnitureis coming into the market again? Jenny's old maid--it is calledRhoda Dolbie--tells me that Jenny promised it thirty pounds a year.The will does not. Hence, I suppose, the tears at the funeral. Butthat is close on ten per cent of the income. I fancy Jenny hasdestroyed all her private papers and records of her vieintime, if, indeed, life be possible in such a place. TheSperrit man told me that if I had means of my own I might come andlive on Ther Land. I didn't tell him how much I would pay not to! Icannot think it right that any human being should exercise masteryover others in the merciless fashion our tom-fool social systempermits; so, as it is all mine, I intend to sell it whenever theunholy Sperrit can find a purchaser.'

And he went to Mr. Sperrit with the idea next day, just beforereturning to town.

'Quite so,' said the lawyer. 'I see your point, of course. Butthe house itself is rather old-fashioned--hardly the typepurchasers demand nowadays. There's no park, of course, and thebulk of the land is let to a life-tenant, a Mr. Sidney. As long ashe pays his rent, he can't be turned out, and even if hedidn't'--Mr. Sperrit's face relaxed a shade--'you might have adifficulty.'

'The property brings four hundred a year, I understand,' saidMidmore.

'Well, hardly--ha-ardly. Deducting land and income tax, tithes,fire insurance, cost of collection and repairs of course, itreturned two hundred and eighty-four pounds last year. The repairsare rather a large item--owing to the brook. I call it Liris--outof Horace, you know.'

Midmore looked at his watch impatiently.

'I suppose you can find somebody to buy it?' he repeated.

'We will do our best, of course, if those are your instructions.Then, that is all except'--here Midmore half rose, but Mr.Sperrit's little grey eyes held his large brown onesfirmly--'except about Rhoda Dolbie, Mrs. Werf's maid. I may tellyou that we did not draw up your aunt's last will. She grewsecretive towards the last--elderly people often do--and had itdone in London. I expect her memory failed her, or she mislaid hernotes. She used to put them in her spectacle-case.... My motor onlytakes eight minutes to get to the station, Mr. Midmore ... but, asI was saying, whenever she made her will with us, Mrs. Werfalways left Rhoda thirty pounds per annum. Charlie, the wills!' Aclerk with a baldish head and a long nose dealt documents on to thetable like cards, and breathed heavily behind Midmore. 'It's in nosense a legal obligation, of course,' said Mr. Sperrit. 'Ah, thatone is dated January the 11th, eighteen eighty-nine.'

Midmore looked at his watch again and found himself saying withno good grace: 'Well, I suppose she'd better have it--for thepresent at any rate.'

He escaped with an uneasy feeling that two hundred andfifty-four pounds a year was not exactly four hundred, and thatCharlie's long nose annoyed him. Then he returned, first-class, tohis own affairs.

Of the two, perhaps three, experiments in Social Relations whichhe had then in hand, one interested him acutely. It had run forsome months and promised most variegated and interestingdevelopments, on which he dwelt luxuriously all the way to town.When he reached his flat he was not well prepared for a twelve-pageletter explaining, in the diction of the Immoderate Left whichrubricates its I's and illuminates its T's, that the lady hadrealised greater attractions in another Soul. She re-stated, ratherthan pleaded, the gospel of the Immoderate Left as herjustification, and ended in an impassioned demand for her right toexpress herself in and on her own life, through which, she pointedout, she could pass but once. She added that if, later, she shoulddiscover Midmore was 'essentially complementary to her needs,' shewould tell him so. That Midmore had himself written much the samesort of epistle--barring the hint of return--to a woman of whom hisneeds for self-expression had caused him to weary three yearsbefore, did not assist him in the least. He expressed himself tothe gas-fire in terms essential but not complimentary. Then hereflected on the detached criticism of his best friends and herbest friends, male and female, with whom he and she and others hadtalked so openly while their gay adventure was in flower. Herecalled, too--this must have been about midnight--her analysisfrom every angle, remote and most intimate, of the mate to whom shehad been adjudged under the base convention which is styledmarriage. Later, at that bad hour when the cattle wake for alittle, he remembered her in other aspects and went down into thehell appointed; desolate, desiring, with no God to call upon. Abouteleven o'clock next morning Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad theShuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite called upon him 'for they hadmade appointment together' to see how he took it; but the janitortold them that Job had gone--into the country, he believed.

Midmore's relief when he found his story was not written acrosshis aching temples for Mr. Sperrit to read--the defeated lover,like the successful one, believes all earth privy to his soul--wasput down by Mr. Sperrit to quite different causes. He led him intoa morning-room. The rest of the house seemed to be full of people,singing to a loud piano idiotic songs about cows, and the hallsmelt of damp cloaks.

'It's our evening to take the winter cantata,' Mr. Sperritexplained. 'It's "High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire." I hopedyou'd come back. There are scores of little things to settle. Asfor the house, of course, it stands ready for you at any time. Icouldn't get Rhoda out of it--nor could Charlie for that matter.She's the sister, isn't she, of the nurse who brought you down herewhen you were four, she says, to recover from measles?'

'Is she? Was I?' said Midmore through the bad tastes in hismouth. 'D'you suppose I could stay there the night?'

Thirty joyous young voices shouted appeal to some one to leavetheir 'pipes of parsley 'ollow--'ollow--'ollow!' Mr. Sperrit had toraise his voice above the din.

'Well, if I asked you to stay here, I should never hearthe last of it from Rhoda. She's a little cracked, of course, butthe soul of devotion and capable of anything. Ne sitancillae, you know.'

'Thank you. Then I'll go. I'll walk.' He stumbled out dazed andsick into the winter twilight, and sought the square house by thebrook.

It was not a dignified entry, because when the door wasunchained and Rhoda exclaimed, he took two valiant steps into thehall and then fainted--as men sometimes will after twenty-two hoursof strong emotion and little food.

'I'm sorry,' he said when he could speak. He was lying at thefoot of the stairs, his head on Rhoda's lap.

'Your 'ome is your castle, sir,' was the reply in his hair. 'Ismelt it wasn't drink. You lay on the sofa till I get yoursupper.'

She settled him in a drawing-room hung with yellow silk, heavywith the smell of dead leaves and oil lamp. Something murmuredsoothingly in the background and overcame the noises in his head.He thought he heard horses' feet on wet gravel and a voice singingabout ships and flocks and grass. It passed close to the shutteredbay-window.

But each will mourn his own, she saith,
And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
Than my son's wife, Elizabeth ...
Cusha--cusha--cusha--calling.

The hoofs broke into a canter as Rhoda entered with the tray.'And then I'll put you to bed,' she said. 'Sidney's coming in themorning.' Midmore asked no questions. He dragged his poor bruisedsoul to bed and would have pitied it all over again, but the foodand warm sherry and water drugged him to instant sleep.

Rhoda's voice wakened him, asking whether he would have ''ip,foot, or sitz,' which he understood were the baths of theestablishment. 'Suppose you try all three,' she suggested. 'They'reall yours, you know, sir.'

He would have renewed his sorrows with the daylight, but herwords struck him pleasantly. Everything his eyes opened upon washis very own to keep for ever. The carved four-post Chippendalebed, obviously worth hundreds; the wavy walnut William and Marychairs--he had seen worse ones labelled twenty guineas apiece; theoval medallion mirror; the delicate eighteenth-century wirefireguard; the heavy brocaded curtains were his--all his. So, too,a great garden full of birds that faced him when he shaved; amulberry tree, a sun-dial, and a dull, steel-coloured brook thatmurmured level with the edge of a lawn a hundred yards away.Peculiarly and privately his own was the smell of sausages andcoffee that he sniffed at the head of the wide square landing, allset round with mysterious doors and Bartolozzi prints. He spent twohours after breakfast in exploring his new possessions. His heartleaped up at such things as sewing-machines, a rubber-tyredbath-chair in a tiled passage, a malachite-headed Malacca cane,boxes and boxes of unopened stationery, seal-rings, bunches ofkeys, and at the bottom of a steel-net reticule a little leatherpurse with seven pounds ten shillings in gold and eleven shillingsin silver.

'You used to play with that when my sister brought you down hereafter your measles,' said Rhoda as he slipped the money into hispocket. 'Now, this was your pore dear auntie's business-room.' Sheopened a low door. 'Oh, I forgot about Mr. Sidney! There he is.' Anenormous old man with rheumy red eyes that blinked under downywhite eyebrows sat in an Empire chair, his cap in his hands. Rhodawithdrew sniffing. The man looked Midmore over in silence, thenjerked a thumb towards the door. 'I reckon she told you who I be,'he began. 'I'm the only farmer you've got. Nothin' goes off myplace 'thout it walks on its own feet. What about mypig-pound?'

'Well, what about it?' said Midmore.

'That's just what I be come about. The County Councils aregetting more particular. Did ye know there was swine fever atPashell's? There be. It'll 'ave to be in brick.'

'Yes,' said Midmore politely.

'I've bin at your aunt that was, plenty times about it. I don'tsay she wasn't a just woman, but she didn't read the lease same wayI did. I be used to bein' put upon, but there's no doing any longer'thout that pig-pound.'

'When would you like it?' Midmore asked. It seemed the easiestroad to take.

'Any time or other suits me, I reckon. He ain't thrivin' wherehe is, an' I paid eighteen shillin' for him.' He crossed his handson his stick and gave no further sign of life.

'Is that all?' Midmore stammered.

'All now--excep''--he glanced fretfully at the table besidehim--'excep' my usuals. Where's that Rhoda?'

Midmore rang the bell. Rhoda came in with a bottle and a glass.The old man helped himself to four stiff fingers, rose in onepiece, and stumped out. At the door he cried ferociously: 'Don'tsuppose it's any odds to you whether I'm drowned or not, but themfloodgates want a wheel and winch, they do. I be too old forliftin' 'em with the bar--my time o' life.'

'Good riddance if 'e was drowned,' said Rhoda. 'But don't youmind him. He's only amusin' himself. Your pore dear auntie used togive 'im 'is usual--'tisn't the whisky you drink--an' send'im about 'is business.'

'I see. Now, is a pig-pound the same thing as a pig-sty?'

Rhoda nodded. ''E needs one, too, but 'e ain't entitled to it.You look at 'is lease--third drawer on the left in that Bombaycab'net--an' next time 'e comes you ask 'im to read it. That'llchoke 'im off, because 'e can't!'

There was nothing in Midmore's past to teach him the message andsignificance of a hand-written lease of the late 'eighties, butRhoda interpreted.

'It don't mean anything reelly,' was her cheerful conclusion,'excep' you mustn't get rid of him anyhow, an' 'e can do what 'elikes always. Lucky for us 'e do farm; and if it wasn't for'is woman--'

'Oh, there's a Mrs. Sidney, is there?'

'Lor, no!' The Sidneys don't marry. They keep. That's hisfourth since--to my knowledge. He was a takin' man from thefirst.'

'Any families?'

'They'd be grown up by now if there was, wouldn't they? But youcan't spend all your days considerin' 'is interests. That's whatgave your pore aunt 'er indigestion. 'Ave you seen thegun-room?'

Midmore held strong views on the immorality of taking life forpleasure. But there was no denying that the late Colonel Werf'sseventy-guinea breechloaders were good at their filthy job. Heloaded one, took it out and pointed--merely pointed--it at aco*ck-pheasant which rose out of a shrubbery behind the kitchen, andthe flaming bird came down in a long slant on the lawn, stone dead.Rhoda from the scullery said it was a lovely shot, and told himlunch was ready.

He spent the afternoon gun in one hand, a map in the other,beating the bounds of his lands. They lay altogether in a shallow,uninteresting valley, flanked with woods and bisected by a brook.Up stream was his own house; down stream, less than half a mile, alow red farm-house squatted in an old orchard, beside what lookedlike small lock-gates on the Thames. There was no doubt as toownership. Mr. Sidney saw him while yet far off, and bellowed athim about pig-pounds and floodgates. These last were two greatsliding shutters of weedy oak across the brook, which were prisedup inch by inch with a crowbar along a notched strip of iron, andwhen Sidney opened them they at once let out half the water.Midmore watched it shrink between its aldered banks like someconjuring trick. This, too, was his very own.

'I see,' he said. 'How interesting! Now, what's that bell for?'he went on, pointing to an old ship's bell in a rude belfry at theend of an outhouse. 'Was that a chapel once?' The red-eyed giantseemed to have difficulty in expressing himself for the moment andblinked savagely.

'Yes,' he said at last. 'My chapel. When you 'ear that bell ringyou'll 'ear something. Nobody but me 'ud put up with it--but Ireckon it don't make any odds to you.' He slammed the gates downagain, and the brook rose behind them with a suck and a grunt.

Midmore moved off, conscious that he might be safer with Rhodato hold his conversational hand. As he passed the front of thefarm-house a smooth fat woman, with neatly parted grey hair under awidow's cap, curtsied to him deferentially through the window. Byevery teaching of the Immoderate Left she had a perfect right toexpress herself in any way she pleased, but the curtsey revoltedhim. And on his way home he was hailed from behind a hedge by amanifest idiot with no roof to his mouth, who hallooed and dancedround him.

'What did that beast want?' he demanded of Rhoda at tea.

'Jimmy? He only wanted to know if you 'ad any telegrams to send.'E'll go anywhere so long as 'tisn't across running water. Thatgives 'im 'is seizures. Even talkin' about it for fun like makes'im shake.'

'But why isn't he where he can be properly looked after?'

'What 'arm's 'e doing? E's a love-child, but 'is family can payfor 'im. If 'e was locked up 'e'd die all off at once, like a wildrabbit. Won't you, please, look at the drive, sir?'

Midmore looked in the fading light. The neat gravel was pittedwith large roundish holes, and there was a punch or two of the samesort on the lawn.

'That's the 'unt comin' 'ome,' Rhoda explained. 'Your pore dearauntie always let 'em use our drive for a short cut after theColonel died. The Colonel wouldn't so much because he preserved;but your auntie was always an 'orsewoman till 'er sciatica.'

'Isn't there some one who can rake it over or--or something?'said Midmore vaguely.

'Oh yes. You'll never see it in the morning, but--you was outwhen they came 'ome an' Mister Fisher--he's the Master--told me totell you with 'is compliments that if you wasn't preservin' andcared to 'old to the old understanding', is gravel-pit is at yourservice same as before. 'E thought, perhaps, you mightn't know, andit 'ad slipped my mind to tell you. It's good gravel, MisterFisher's, and it binds beautiful on the drive. We 'ave to draw it,o' course, from the pit, but--'

Midmore looked at her helplessly.

'Rhoda,' said he, 'what am I supposed to do?'

'Oh, let 'em come through,' she replied. 'You never know. Youmay want to 'unt yourself some day.'

That evening it rained and his misery returned on him, the worsefor having been diverted. At last he was driven to paw over a fewscore books in a panelled room called the library, and realisedwith horror what the late Colonel Werf's mind must have been in itsprime. The volumes smelt of a dead world as strongly as they did ofmildew. He opened and thrust them back, one after another, tillcrude coloured illustrations of men on horses held his eye. Hebegan at random and read a little, moved into the drawing-room withthe volume, and settled down by the fire still reading. It was afoul world into which he peeped for the first time--a heavy-eating,hard-drinking hell of horse-copers, swindlers, matchmaking mothers,economically dependent virgins selling themselves blushingly forcash and lands: Jews, tradesmen, and an ill-considered spawn ofDickens-and-horsedung characters (I give Midmore's own criticism),but he read on, fascinated, and behold, from the pages leaped, asit were, the brother to the red-eyed man of the brook, bellowing ata landlord (here Midmore realised that he was that veryanimal) for new barns; and another man who, like himself again,objected to hoof-marks on gravel. Outrageous as thought andconception were, the stuff seemed to have the rudiments ofobservation. He dug out other volumes by the same author, tillRhoda came in with a silver candlestick.

'Rhoda,' said he, 'did you ever hear about a character calledJames Pigg--and Batsey?'

'Why, o' course,' said she. 'The Colonel used to come into thekitchen in 'is dressin'-gown an' read us all those Jorrockses.'

'Oh, Lord!' said Midmore, and went to bed with a book calledHandley Cross under his arm, and a lonelier Columbus into astranger world the wet-ringed moon never looked upon.

Here we omit much. But Midmore never denied that for the epicurein sensation the urgent needs of an ancient house, as interpretedby Rhoda pointing to daylight through attic-tiles held in place bymoss, gives an edge to the pleasure of Social Research elsewhere.Equally he found that the reaction following prolonged researchloses much of its grey terror if one knows one can at will bathethe soul in the society of plumbers (all the water-pipes hadchronic appendicitis), village idiots (Jimmy had taken Midmoreunder his weak wing and camped daily at the drive-gates), and agiant with red eyelids whose every action is an unpredictableoutrage.

Towards spring Midmore filled his house with a few friends ofthe Immoderate Left. It happened to be the day when, all things andRhoda working together, a cartload of bricks, another of sand, andsome bags of lime had been despatched to build Sidney his almostdaily-demanded pig-pound. Midmore took his friends across the flatfields with some idea of showing them Sidney as a type of 'thepeasantry.' They hit the minute when Sidney, hoarse with rage, wasordering bricklayer, mate, carts and all off his premises. Thevisitors disposed themselves to listen.

'You never give me no notice about changin' the pig,' Sidneyshouted. The pig--at least eighteen inches long--reared on end inthe old sty and smiled at the company.

'But, my good man--' Midmore opened.

'I ain't! For aught you know I be a dam' sight worse than yoube. You can't come and be'ave arbit'ry with me. You arebe'avin' arbit'ry! All you men go clean away an' don't set foot onmy land till I bid ye.'

'But you asked'--Midmore felt his voice jump up--'to have thepig-pound built.'

''Spose I did. That's no reason you shouldn't send me notice tochange the pig. 'Comin' down on me like this 'thout warnin'! Thatpig's got to be got into the cowshed an' all.'

'Then open the door and let him run in,' said Midmore.

'Don't you be'ave arbit'ry with me! Take all your dam'men 'ome off my land. I won't be treated arbit'ry.'

The carts moved off without a word, and Sidney went into thehouse and slammed the door.

'Now, I hold that is enormously significant,' said a visitor.'Here you have the logical outcome of centuries of feudaloppression--the frenzy of fear.' The company looked at Midmore withgrave pain.

'But he did worry my life out about his pig-sty,' was allMidmore found to say.

Others took up the parable and proved to him if he only heldtrue to the gospels of the Immoderate Left the earth would soon becovered with 'jolly little' pig-sties, built in the intervals ofmorris-dancing by 'the peasant' himself.

Midmore felt grateful when the door opened again and Mr. Sidneyinvited them all to retire to the road which, he pointed out, waspublic. As they turned the corner of the house, a smooth-facedwoman in a widow's cap curtsied to each of them through thewindow.

Instantly they drew pictures of that woman's lot, deprived ofall vehicle for self-expression--'the set grey life and apatheticend,' one quoted--and they discussed the tremendous significance ofvillage theatricals. Even a month ago Midmore would have told themall that he knew and Rhoda had dropped about Sidney's forms ofself-expression. Now, for some strange reason, he was content tolet the talk run on from village to metropolitan and worlddrama.

Rhoda advised him after the visitors left that 'if he wanted todo that again' he had better go up to town.

'But we only sat on cushions on the floor,' said her master.

'They're too old for romps,' she retorted, 'an' it's only thebeginning of things. I've seen what I've seen. Besides, theytalked and laughed in the passage going to their baths--such astook 'em.'

'Don't be a fool, Rhoda,' said Midmore. No man--unless he hasloved her--will casually dismiss a woman on whose lap he has laidhis head.

'Very good,' she snorted, 'but that cuts both ways. An' now, yougo down to Sidney's this evenin' and put him where he ought to be.He was in his right about you givin' 'im notice about changin' thepig, but he 'adn't any right to turn it up before your company. Nomanners, no pig-pound. He'll understand.'

Midmore did his best to make him. He found himself reviling theold man in speech and with a joy quite new in all his experience.He wound up--it was a plagiarism from a plumber--by telling Mr.Sidney that he looked like a turkey-co*ck, had the morals of aparish bull, and need never hope for a new pig-pound as long as heor Midmore lived.

'Very good,' said the giant. 'I reckon you thought you 'adsomething against me, and now you've come down an' told it me likeman to man. Quite right. I don't bear malice. Now, you send alongthose bricks an' sand, an' I'll make a do to build the pig-poundmyself. If you look at my lease you'll find out you're bound toprovide me materials for the repairs. Only--only I thought there'dbe no 'arm in my askin' you to do it throughout like.'

Midmore fairly gasped. 'Then, why the devil did you turn mycarts back when--when I sent them up here to do it throughout foryou?'

Mr. Sidney sat down on the floodgates, his eyebrows knitted inthought.

'I'll tell you,' he said slowly. ''Twas too dam' like cheatin' asuckin' baby. My woman, she said so too.'

For a few seconds the teachings of the Immoderate Left, whosehumour is all their own, wrestled with those of Mother Earth, whohas her own humours. Then Midmore laughed till he could scarcelystand. In due time Mr. Sidney laughed too--crowing and wheezingcrescendo till it broke from him in roars. They shook hands, andMidmore went home grateful that he had held his tongue among hiscompanions.

When he reached his house he met three or four men and women onhorse-back, very muddy indeed, coming down the drive. Feelinghungry himself, he asked them if they were hungry. They said theywere, and he bade them enter. Jimmy took their horses, who seemedto know him. Rhoda took their battered hats, led the women upstairsfor hairpins, and presently fed them all with tea-cakes, poachedeggs, anchovy toast, and drinks from a coromandel-wood liqueur casewhich Midmore had never known that he possessed.

'And I will say,' said Miss Connie Sperrit, her spurredfoot on the fender and a smoking muffin in her whip hand, 'Rhodadoes one top-hole. She always did since I was eight.'

'Seven, Miss, was when you began to 'unt,' said Rhoda, settingdown more buttered toast.

'And so,' the M.F.H. was saying to Midmore, 'when he got to yourbrute Sidney's land, we had to whip 'em off. It's a regular Alsatiafor 'em. They know it. Why'--he dropped his voice--'I don't want tosay anything against Sidney as your tenant, of course, but I dobelieve the old scoundrel's perfectly capable of putting downpoison.'

'Sidney's capable of anything,' said Midmore with immensefeeling; but once again he held his tongue. They were a queercommunity; yet when they had stamped and jingled out to theirhorses again, the house felt hugely big and disconcerting.

This may be reckoned the conscious beginning of his double life.It ran in odd channels that summer--a riding school, for instance,near Hayes Common and a shooting ground near Wormwood Scrubs. A manwho has been saddle-galled or shoulder-bruised for half the day isnot at his London best of evenings; and when the bills for hisamusem*nts come in he curtails his expenses in other directions. Soa cloud settled on Midmore's name. His London world talked of ahardening of heart and a tightening of purse-strings whichsignified disloyalty to the Cause. One man, a confidant of the oldexpressive days, attacked him robustiously and demanded account ofhis soul's progress. It was not furnished, for Midmore wascalculating how much it would cost to repave stables so dilapidatedthat even the village idiot apologised for putting visitors' horsesinto them. The man went away, and served up what he had heard ofthe pig-pound episode as a little newspaper sketch, calculated toannoy. Midmore read it with an eye as practical as a woman's, andsince most of his experiences had been among women, at once soughtout a woman to whom he might tell his sorrow at the disloyalty ofhis own familiar friend. She was so sympathetic that he went on toconfide how his bruised heart--she knew all about it--had foundso-lace, with a long O, in another quarter which he indicatedrather carefully in case it might be betrayed to other loyalfriends. As his hints pointed directly towards facile Hampstead,and as his urgent business was the purchase of a horse from adealer, Beckenham way, he felt he had done good work. Later, whenhis friend, the scribe, talked to him alluringly of 'secretgardens' and those so-laces to which every man who follows theWider Morality is entitled, Midmore lent him a five-pound notewhich he had got back on the price of a ninety-guinea bay gelding.So true it is, as he read in one of the late Colonel Werf's books,that 'the young man of the present day would sooner lie under animputation against his morals than against his knowledge ofhorse-flesh.'

Midmore desired more than he desired anything else at thatmoment to ride and, above all, to jump on a ninety-guinea baygelding with black points and a slovenly habit of hitting hisfences. He did not wish many people except Mr. Sidney, who verykindly lent his soft meadow behind the floodgates, to be privy tothe matter, which he rightly foresaw would take him to the autumn.So he told such friends as hinted at country week-end visits thathe had practically let his newly inherited house. The rent, hesaid, was an object to him, for he had lately lost large sumsthrough ill-considered benevolences. He would name no names, butthey could guess. And they guessed loyally all round the circle ofhis acquaintance as they spread the news that explained somuch.

There remained only one couple of his once intimate associatesto pacify. They were deeply sympathetic and utterly loyal, ofcourse, but as curious as any of the apes whose diet they hadadopted. Midmore met them in a suburban train, coming up to town,not twenty minutes after he had come off two hours' advancedtuition (one guinea an hour) over hurdles in a hall. He had, ofcourse, changed his kit, but his too heavy bridle-hand shook alittle among the newspapers. On the inspiration of the moment,which is your natural liar's best hold, he told them that he wascondemned to a rest-cure. He would lie in semi-darkness drinkingmilk, for weeks and weeks, cut off even from letters. He wasastonished and delighted at the ease with which the usual lieconfounds the unusual intellect. They swallowed it as swiftly asthey recommended him to live on nuts and fruit; but he saw in thewoman's eyes the exact reason she would set forth for hisretirement. After all, she had as much right to express herself ashe purposed to take for himself; and Midmore believed strongly inthe fullest equality of the sexes.

That retirement made one small ripple in the strenuous world.The lady who had written the twelve-page letter ten months beforesent him another of eight pages, analysing all the motives thatwere leading her back to him--should she come?--now that he was illand alone. Much might yet be retrieved, she said, out of the wasteof jarring lives and piteous misunderstandings. It needed only ahand.

But Midmore needed two, next morning very early, for a devil'sdiversion, among wet coppices, called 'cubbing.'

'You haven't a bad seat,' said Miss Sperrit through themorning-mists. 'But you're worrying him.'

'He pulls so,' Midmore grunted.

'Let him alone, then. Look out for the branches,' she shouted,as they whirled up a splashy ride. Cubs were plentiful. Most of thehounds attached themselves to a straight-necked youngster ofeducation who scuttled out of the woods into the open fieldsbelow.

'Hold on!' some one shouted. 'Turn 'em, Midmore. That's yourbrute Sidney's land. It's all wire.'

'Oh, Connie, stop!' Mrs. Sperrit shrieked as her daughtercharged at a boundary-hedge.

'Wire be damned! I had it all out a fortnight ago. Come on!'This was Midmore, buffeting into it a little lower down.

'Iknew that!' Connie cried over her shoulder, and sheflitted across the open pasture, humming to herself.

'Oh, of course! If some people have private information, theycan afford to thrust.' This was a snuff-coloured habit into whichMiss Sperrit had cannoned down the ride.

'What! 'Midmore got Sidney to heel? You never did that,Sperrit.' This was Mr. Fisher, M.F.H., enlarging the breach Midmorehad made.

'No, confound him!' said the father testily. 'Go on, sir!Injecto ter pulvere--you've kicked half the ditch into myeye already.'

They killed that cub a little short of the haven his mother hadtold him to make for--a two-acre Alsatia of a gorse-patch to whichthe M.F.H. had been denied access for the last fifteen seasons. Heexpressed his gratitude before all the field and Mr. Sidney, at Mr.Sidney's farm-house door.

'And if there should be any poultry claims--' he went on.

'There won't be,' said Midmore. 'It's too like cheating asucking child, isn't it, Mr. Sidney?'

'You've got me!' was all the reply. 'I be used to bein' putupon, but you've got me, Mus' Midmore.'

Midmore pointed to a new brick pig-pound built in strictdisregard of the terms of the life-tenant's lease. The gesture toldthe tale to the few who did not know, and they shouted.

Such pagan delights as these were followed by pagan sloth ofevenings when men and women elsewhere are at their brightest. ButMidmore preferred to lie out on a yellow silk couch, reading worksof a debasing vulgarity; or, by invitation, to dine with theSperrits and savages of their kidney. These did not expect flightsof fancy or phrasing. They lied, except about horses, grudginglyand of necessity, not for art's sake; and, men and women alike,they expressed themselves along their chosen lines with the sereneindifference of the larger animals. Then Midmore would go home andidentify them, one by one, out of the natural-history books by Mr.Surtees, on the table beside the sofa. At first they looked uponhim coolly, but when the tale of the removed wire and therecaptured gorse had gone the rounds, they accepted him for aperson willing to play their games. True, a faction suspendedjudgment for a while, because they shot, and hoped that Midmorewould serve the glorious mammon of pheasant-raising rather than theunkempt god of fox-hunting. But after he had shown his choice, theydid not ask by what intellectual process he had arrived at it. Hehunted three, sometimes four, times a week, which necessitated notonly one bay gelding (£94: 10s.), but a mannerlywhite-stockinged chestnut (£114), and a black mare, ratherlong in the back but with a mouth of silk (£150), who soevidently preferred to carry a lady that it would have been cruelto have baulked her. Besides, with that handling she could be soldat a profit. And besides, the hunt was a quiet, intimate, kindlylittle hunt, not anxious for strangers, of good report in theField, the servant of one M.F.H., given to hospitality,riding well its own horses, and, with the exception of Midmore, notnovices. But as Miss Sperrit observed, after the M.F.H. had saidsome things to him at a gate: 'It is a pity you don't knowas much as your horse, but you will in time. It takes years andyee-ars. I've been at it for fifteen and I'm only just learning.But you've made a decent kick-off.'

So he kicked off in wind and wet and mud, wondering quitesincerely why the bubbling ditches and sucking pastures held himfrom day to day, or what so-lace he could find on off days inchasing grooms and brick-layers round outhouses.

To make sure he up-rooted himself one week-end of heavymid-winter rain, and re-entered his lost world in the character ofGalahad fresh from a rest-cure. They all agreed, with an eye overhis shoulder for the next comer, that he was a different man; butwhen they asked him for the symptoms of nervous strain, and led himall through their own, he realised he had lost much of his oldskill in lying. His three months' absence, too, had put himhopelessly behind the London field. The movements, the allusions,the slang of the game had changed. The couples had rearrangedthemselves or were re-crystallizing in fresh triangles, whereby heput his foot in it badly. Only one great soul (he who had writtenthe account of the pig-pound episode) stood untouched by the vastflux of time, and Midmore lent him another fiver for his integrity.A woman took him, in the wet forenoon, to a pronouncement on theOneness of Impulse in Humanity, which struck him as a polysyllabicrésumé of Mr. Sidney's domestic arrangements,plus a clarion call to 'shock civilisation into common-sense.'

'And you'll come to tea with me to-morrow?' she asked, afterlunch, nibbling cashew nuts from a saucer. Midmore replied thatthere were great arrears of work to overtake when a man had beenput away for so long.

'But you've come back like a giant refreshed.... I hope thatDaphne'--this was the lady of the twelve and the eight-pageletter--'will be with us too. She has misunderstood herself, likeso many of us,' the woman murmured, 'but I think eventually ...'she flung out her thin little hands. 'However, these are thingsthat each lonely soul must adjust for itself.'

'Indeed, yes,' said Midmore with a deep sigh. The old trickswere sprouting in the old atmosphere like mushrooms in a dung-pit.He passed into an abrupt reverie, shook his head, as though stungby tumultuous memories, and departed without any ceremony offarewell to--catch a mid-afternoon express where a man meetsassociates who talk horse, and weather as it affects the horse, allthe way down. What worried him most was that he had missed a daywith the hounds.

He met Rhoda's keen old eyes without flinching; and thedrawing-room looked very comfortable that wet evening at tea. Afterall, his visit to town had not been wholly a failure. He had burnedquite a bushel of letters at his flat. A flat--here he reachedmechanically towards the worn volumes near the sofa--a flat was aconsuming animal. As for Daphne ... he opened at random on thewords: 'His lordship then did as desired and disclosed atableau of considerable strength and variety.' Midmorereflected: 'And I used to think.... But she wasn't.... We were allbabblers and skirters together.... I didn't babble much--thankgoodness--but I skirted.' He turned the pages backward for moreSortes Surteesianae, and read: 'When at length they rose togo to bed it struck each man as he followed his neighbour upstairs,that the man before him walked very crookedly.' He laughed aloud atthe fire.

'What about to-morrow?' Rhoda asked, entering with garments overher shoulder. 'It's never stopped raining since you left. You'll beplastered out of sight an' all in five minutes. You'd better wearyour next best, 'adn't you? I'm afraid they've shrank. 'Adn't youbest try 'em on?'

'Here?' said Midmore.

''Suit yourself. I bathed you when you wasn't larger than a lego' lamb,' said the ex-ladies'-maid.

'Rhoda, one of these days I shall get a valet, and a marriedbutler.'

'There's many a true word spoke in jest. But nobody's huntin'to-morrow.'

'Why? Have they cancelled the meet?'

'They say it only means slipping and over-reaching in the mud,and they all 'ad enough of that to-day. Charlie told me so justnow.'

'Oh!' It seemed that the word of Mr. Sperrit's confidentialclerk had weight.

'Charlie came down to help Mr. Sidney lift the gates,' Rhodacontinued.

'The floodgates? They are perfectly easy to handle now. I've putin a wheel and a winch.'

'When the brook's really up they must be took clean out onaccount of the rubbish blockin' 'em. That's why Charlie camedown.'

Midmore grunted impatiently. 'Everybody has talked to me aboutthat brook ever since I came here. It's never done anythingyet.'

'This 'as been a dry summer. If you care to look now, sir, I'llget you a lantern.'

She paddled out with him into a large wet night. Half-way downthe lawn her light was reflected on shallow brown water, prickedthrough with grass blades at the edges. Beyond that light, thebrook was strangling and kicking among hedges and tree-trunks.

'What on earth will happen to the big rose-bed?' was Midmore'sfirst word.

'It generally 'as to be restocked after a flood. Ah!' she raisedher lantern. 'There's two garden-seats knockin' against thesun-dial. Now, that won't do the roses any good.'

'This is too absurd. There ought to be some decently thought-outsystem--for--for dealing with this sort of thing.' He peered intothe rushing gloom. There seemed to be no end to the moisture andthe racket. In town he had noticed nothing.

'It can't be 'elped,' said Rhoda. 'It's just what it does doonce in just so often. We'd better go back.'

All earth under foot was sliding in a thousand liquid noisestowards the hoarse brook. Somebody wailed from the house: ''Fraido' the water! Come 'ere! 'Fraid o' the water!'

'That's Jimmy. Wet always takes 'im that way,' she explained.The idiot charged into them, shaking with terror.

'Brave Jimmy! How brave of Jimmy! Come into the hall. What Jimmygot now?' she crooned. It was a sodden note which ran: 'DearRhoda--Mr. Lotten, with whom I rode home this afternoon, told methat if this wet keeps up, he's afraid the fish-pond he built lastyear, where Coxen's old mill-dam was, will go, as the dam did oncebefore, he says. If it does it's bound to come down the brook. Itmay be all right, but perhaps you had better look out. C.S.'

'If Coxen's dam goes, that means.... I'll 'ave the drawing-roomcarpet up at once to be on the safe side. The claw-'ammer is in thelibery.'

'Wait a minute. Sidney's gates are out, you said?'

'Both. He'll need it if Coxen's pond goes.... I've seen itonce.'

'I'll just slip down and have a look at Sidney. Light thelantern again, please, Rhoda.'

'You won't get him to stir. He's been there since he wasborn. But she don't know anything. I'll fetch yourwaterproof and some top-boots.'

''Fraid o' the water! 'Fraid o' the water!' Jimmy sobbed,pressed against a corner of the hall, his hands to his eyes.

'All right, Jimmy. Jimmy can help play with the carpet,' Rhodaanswered, as Midmore went forth into the darkness and the roaringsall round. He had never seen such an utterly unregulated state ofaffairs. There was another lantern reflected on the streamingdrive.

'Hi! Rhoda! Did you get my note? I came down to make sure. Ithought, afterwards, Jimmy might funk the water!'

'It's me--Miss Sperrit,' Midmore cried. 'Yes, we got it,thanks.'

'You're back, then. Oh, good!... Is it bad down with you?'

'I'm going to Sidney's to have a look.'

'You won't get him out. 'Lucky I met Bob Lotten. I toldhim he hadn't any business impounding water for his idiotic troutwithout rebuilding the dam.'

'How far up is it? I've only been there once.'

'Not more than four miles as the water will come. He says he'sopened all the sluices.'

She had turned and fallen into step beside him, her hooded headbowed against the thinning rain. As usual she was humming toherself.

'Why on earth did you come out in this weather?' Midmoreasked.

'It was worse when you were in town. The rain's taking off now.If it wasn't for that pond, I wouldn't worry so much. There'sSidney's bell. Come on!' She broke into a run. A cracked bell wasjangling feebly down the valley.

'Keep on the road!' Midmore shouted. The ditches were snortingbank-full on either side, and towards the brook-side the fieldswere afloat and beginning to move in the darkness.

'Catch me going off it! There's his light burning all right.'She halted undistressed at a little rise. 'But the flood's in theorchard. Look!' She swung her lantern to show a front rank of oldapple-trees reflected in still, out-lying waters beyond thehalf-drowned hedge. They could hear above the thud-thud of thegorged floodgates, shrieks in two keys as monotonous as asteam-organ.

'The high one's the pig.' Miss Sperrit laughed.

'All right! I'll get her out. You stay where you are, andI'll see you home afterwards.'

'But the water's only just over the road,' she objected.

'Never mind. Don't you move. Promise?'

'All right. You take my stick, then, and feel for holes in caseanything's washed out anywhere. This is a lark!'

Midmore took it, and stepped into the water that movedsluggishly as yet across the farm road which ran to Sidney's frontdoor from the raised and metalled public road. It was half way upto his knees when he knocked. As he looked back Miss Sperrit'slantern seemed to float in mid-ocean.

'You can't come in or the water'll come with you. I've bunged upall the cracks,' Mr. Sidney shouted from within. 'Who be ye?'

'Take me out! Take me out!' the woman shrieked, and the pig fromhis sty behind the house urgently seconded the motion.

'I'm Midmore! Coxen's old mill-dam is likely to go, they say.Come out!'

'I told 'em it would when they made a fish-pond of it. 'Twasn'tever puddled proper. But it's a middlin' wide valley. She's gotroom to spread.... Keep still, or I'll take and duck you in thecellar!... You go 'ome, Mus' Midmore, an' take the law o' Mus'Lotten soon's you've changed your socks.'

'Confound you, aren't you coming out?'

'To catch my death o' cold? I'm all right where I be. I've seenit before. But you can take her. She's no sort o' use orsense.... Climb out through the window. Didn't I tell you I'dplugged the door-cracks, you fool's daughter?' The parlour windowopened, and the woman flung herself into Midmore's arms, nearlyknocking him down. Mr. Sidney leaned out of the window, pipe inmouth.

'Take her 'ome,' he said, and added oracularly:

'Two women in one house,
Two cats an' one mouse,
Two dogs an' one bone--
Which I will leave alone.

I've seen it before.' Then he shut and fastened the window.

'A trap! A trap! You had ought to have brought a trap for me.I'll be drowned in this wet,' the woman cried.

'Hold up! You can't be any wetter than you are. Come along!'Midmore did not at all like the feel of the water over hisboot-tops.

'Hooray! Come along!' Miss Sperrit's lantern, not fifty yardsaway, waved cheerily.

The woman threshed towards it like a panic-stricken goose, fellon her knees, was jerked up again by Midmore, and pushed on tillshe collapsed at Miss Sperrit's feet.

'But you won't get bronchitis if you go straight to Mr.Midmore's house,' said the unsympathetic maiden.

'O Gawd! O Gawd! I wish our 'eavenly Father 'ud forgive me mysins an' call me 'ome,' the woman sobbed. 'But I won't go to'is 'ouse! I won't.'

'All right, then. Stay here. Now, if we run,' Miss Sperritwhispered to Midmore, 'she'll follow us. Not too fast!'

They set off at a considerable trot, and the woman lumberedbehind them, bellowing, till they met a third lantern--Rhodaholding Jimmy's hand. She had got the carpet up, she said, and wasescorting Jimmy past the water that he dreaded.

'That's all right,' Miss Sperrit pronounced. 'Take Mrs. Sidneyback with you, Rhoda, and put her to bed. I'll take Jimmy with me.You aren't afraid of the water now, are you, Jimmy?'

'Not afraid of anything now.' Jimmy reached for her hand. 'Butget away from the water quick.'

'I'm coming with you,' Midmore interrupted.

'You most certainly are not. You're drenched. She threw youtwice. Go home and change. You may have to be out again all night.It's only half-past seven now. I'm perfectly safe.' She flungherself lightly over a stile, and hurried uphill by the foot-path,out of reach of all but the boasts of the flood below.

Rhoda, dead silent, herded Mrs. Sidney to the house.

'You'll find your things laid out on the bed,' she said toMidmore as he came up. I'll attend to--to this. She's gotnothing to cry for.'

Midmore raced into dry kit, and raced uphill to be rewarded bythe sight of the lantern just turning into the Sperrits' gate. Hecame back by way of Sidney's farm, where he saw the light twinklingacross three acres of shining water, for the rain had ceased andthe clouds were stripping overhead, though the brook was noisierthan ever. Now there was only that doubtful mill-pond to lookafter--that and his swirling world abandoned to himself alone.

'We shall have to sit up for it,' said Rhoda after dinner. Andas the drawing-room commanded the best view of the rising flood,they watched it from there for a long time, while all the clocks ofthe house bore them company.

''Tisn't the water, it's the mud on the skirting-board after itgoes down that I mind,' Rhoda whispered. 'The last time Coxen'smill broke, I remember it came up to the second--no, third--step o'Mr. Sidney's stairs.'

'What did Sidney do about it?'

'He made a notch on the step. 'E said it was a record. Just like'im.'

'It's up to the drive now,' said Midmore after another longwait. 'And the rain stopped before eight, you know.'

'Then Coxen's dam 'as broke, and that's the first of theflood-water.' She stared out beside him. The water was rising insudden pulses--an inch or two at a time, with great sweeps andlagoons and a sudden increase of the brook's proper thunder.

'You can't stand all the time. Take a chair,' Midmore saidpresently.

Rhoda looked back into the bare room. 'The carpet bein' updoes make a difference. Thank you, sir, I will 'ave aset-down.'

''Right over the drive now,' said Midmore. He opened the windowand leaned out. 'Is that wind up the valley, Rhoda?'

'No, that's it! But I've seen it before.'

There was not so much a roar as the purposeful drive of a tideacross a jagged reef, which put down every other sound for twentyminutes. A wide sheet of water hurried up to the little terrace onwhich the house stood, pushed round either corner, rose again andstretched, as it were, yawning beneath the moonlight, joined othersheets waiting for them in unsuspected hollows, and lay out all inone. A puff of wind followed.

'It's right up to the wall now. I can touch it with my finger.'Midmore bent over the window-sill.

'I can 'ear it in the cellars,' said Rhoda dolefully. 'Well,we've done what we can! I think I'll 'ave a look.' She left theroom and was absent half an hour or more, during which time he sawa full-grown tree hauling itself across the lawn by its nakedroots. Then a hurdle knocked against the wall, caught on an ironfoot-scraper just outside, and made a square-headed ripple. Thecascade through the cellar-windows diminished.

'It's dropping,' Rhoda cried, as she returned. 'It's onlytricklin' into my cellars now.'

'Wait a minute. I believe--I believe I can see the scraper onthe edge of the drive just showing!'

In another ten minutes the drive itself roughened and becamegravel again, tilting all its water towards the shrubbery.

'The pond's gone past,' Rhoda announced. 'We shall only 'ave thecommon flood to contend with now. You'd better go to bed.'

'I ought to go down and have another look at Sidney beforedaylight.'

'No need. You can see 'is light burnin' from all the upstairswindows.'

'By the way. I forgot about her. Where've you puther?'

'In my bed.' Rhoda's tone was ice. 'I wasn't going to undo aroom for that stuff.'

'But it--it couldn't be helped,' said Midmore. 'She was halfdrowned. One mustn't be narrow-minded, Rhoda, even if her positionisn't quite--er--regular.'

'Pfff! I wasn't worryin' about that.' She leaned forward to thewindow. 'There's the edge of the lawn showin' now. It falls as fastas it rises. Dearie'--the change of tone made Midmore jump--'didn'tyou know that I was 'is first? That's what makes it so hardto bear.' Midmore looked at the long lizard-like back and had nowords.

She went on, still talking through the black window-pane:

'Your pore dear auntie was very kind about it. She said she'dmake all allowances for one, but no more. Never any more.... Then,you didn't know 'oo Charlie was all this time?'

'Your nephew, I always thought.'

'Well, well,' she spoke pityingly. 'Everybody's business beingnobody's business, I suppose no one thought to tell you. ButCharlie made 'is own way for 'imself from the beginnin'!... Buther upstairs, she never produced anything. Just an'ousekeeper, as you might say. 'Turned over an' went to sleepstraight off. She 'ad the impudence to ask me for 'otsherry-gruel.'

'Did you give it to her,' said Midmore.

'Me? Your sherry? No!'

The memory of Sidney's outrageous rhyme at the window, andCharlie's long nose (he thought it looked interested at the time)as he passed the copies of Mrs. Werf's last four wills, overcameMidmore without warning.

'This damp is givin' you a cold,' said Rhoda, rising. 'There yougo again! Sneezin's a sure sign of it. Better go to bed. You can'tdo any thin' excep''--she stood rigid, with crossed arms--'aboutme.'

'Well. What about you?' Midmore stuffed the handkerchief intohis pocket.

'Now you know about it, what are you goin' to do--sir?'

She had the answer on her lean cheek before the sentence wasfinished.

'Go and see if you can get us something to eat, Rhoda. Andbeer.'

'I expec' the larder'll be in a swim,' she replied, 'but oldbottled stuff don't take any harm from wet.' She returned with atray, all in order, and they ate and drank together, and tookobservations of the falling flood till dawn opened its bleared eyeson the wreck of what had been a fair garden. Midmore, cold andannoyed, found himself humming:

'That flood strewed wrecks upon the grass,
That ebb swept out the flocks to sea.

There isn't a rose left, Rhoda!

An awesome ebb and flow it was
To many more than mine and me.
But each will mourn his ...

It'll cost me a hundred.'

'Now we know the worst,' said Rhoda, 'we can go to bed. I'll layon the kitchen sofa. His light's burnin' still.'

'And she?'

'Dirty old cat! You ought to 'ear 'er snore!'

At ten o'clock in the morning, after a maddening hour in his owngarden on the edge of the retreating brook, Midmore went off toconfront more damage at Sidney's. The first thing that met him wasthe pig, snowy white, for the water had washed him out of his newsty, calling on high heaven for breakfast. The front door had beenforced open, and the flood had registered its own height in a browndado on the walls. Midmore chased the pig out and called up thestairs.

'I be abed o' course. Which step 'as she rose to?' Sidney criedfrom above. 'The fourth? Then it's beat all records. Come up.'

'Are you ill?' Midmore asked as he entered the room. The redeyelids blinked cheerfully. Mr. Sidney, beneath a sumptuouspatch-work quilt, was smoking.

'Nah! I'm only thankin' God I ain't my own landlord. Take thatcheer. What's she done?'

'It hasn't gone down enough for me to make sure.'

'Them floodgates o' yourn'll be middlin' far down the brook bynow; an' your rose-garden have gone after 'em. I saved my chickens,though. You'd better get Mus' Sperrit to take the law o' Lotten an''is fish-pond.'

'No, thanks. I've trouble enough without that.'

'Hev ye?' Mr. Sidney grinned. 'How did ye make out with thosetwo women o' mine last night? I lay they fought.'

'You infernal old scoundrel!' Midmore laughed.

'I be--an' then again I bain't,' was the placid answer. 'But,Rhoda, she wouldn't ha' left me last night. Fire or flood,she wouldn't.'

'Why didn't you ever marry her?' Midmore asked.

'Waste of good money. She was willin' without.'

There was a step on the gritty mud below, and a voice humming.Midmore rose quickly saying: 'Well, I suppose you're all rightnow.'

'I be. I ain't a landlord, nor I ain't young--nor anxious. Oh,Mus' Midmore! Would it make any odds about her thirty pounds comin'regular if I married her? Charlie said maybe 'twould.'

'Did he?' Midmore turned at the door. 'And what did Jimmy sayabout it?'

'Jimmy?' Mr. Sidney chuckled as the joke took him. 'Oh,he's none o' mine. He's Charlie's look-out.'

Midmore slammed the door and ran downstairs.

'Well, this is a--sweet--mess,' said Miss Sperrit in shortestskirts and heaviest riding-boots. 'I had to come down and have alook at it. "The old mayor climbed the belfry tower." 'Been up allnight nursing your family?'

'Nearly that! Isn't it cheerful?' He pointed through the door tothe stairs with small twig-drift on the last three treads.

'It's a record, though,' said she, and hummed to herself:

'That flood strewed wrecks upon the grass,
That ebb swept out the flocks to sea.'

'You're always singing that, aren't you?' Midmore said suddenlyas she passed into the parlour where slimy chairs had been strandedat all angles.

'Am I? Now I come to think of it I believe I do. They say Ialways hum when I ride. Have you noticed it?'

'Of course I have. I notice every--'

'Oh,' she went on hurriedly. 'We had it for the village cantatalast winter--"The Brides of Enderby."'

'No! "High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire."' For some reasonMidmore spoke sharply.

'Just like that.' She pointed to the befouled walls. 'I say....Let's get this furniture a little straight.... You know ittoo?'

'Every word, since you sang it of course.'

'When?'

'The first night I ever came down. You rode past thedrawing-room window in the dark singing it--"And sweeterwoman--"'

'I thought the house was empty then. Your aunt always let us usethat short cut. Ha-hadn't we better get this out into the passage?It'll all have to come out anyhow. You take the other side.' Theybegan to lift a heavyish table. Their words came jerkily betweengasps and their faces were as white as--a newly washed and veryhungry pig.

'Look out!' Midmore shouted. His legs were whirled from underhim, as the table, grunting madly, careened and knocked the girlout of sight.

The wild boar of Asia could not have cut down a couple morescientifically, but this little pig lacked his ancestor's nerve andfled shrieking over their bodies.

'Are you hurt, darling?' was Midmore's first word, and 'No--I'monly winded--dear,' was Miss Sperrit's, as he lifted her out of hercorner, her hat over one eye and her right cheek a smear ofmud.

They fed him a little later on some chicken-feed that they foundin Sidney's quiet barn, a pail of buttermilk out of the dairy, anda quantity of onions from a shelf in the back-kitchen.

'Seed-onions, most likely,' said Connie. 'You'll hear aboutthis.'

'What does it matter? They ought to have been gilded. We mustbuy him.'

'And keep him as long as he lives,' she agreed. 'But I think Iought to go home now. You see, when I came out I didn't expect ...Did you?'

'No! Yes.... It had to come.... But if any one had told me anhour ago!... Sidney's unspeakable parlour--and the mud on thecarpet.'

'Oh, I say! Is my cheek clean now?'

'Not quite. Lend me your hanky again a minute, darling.... Whata purler you came!'

'You can't talk. 'Remember when your chin hit that table and yousaid "blast"! I was just going to laugh.'

'You didn't laugh when I picked you up. You were going"oo-oo-oo" like a little owl.'

'My dear child--'

'Say that again!'

'My dear child. (Do you really like it? I keep it for my bestfriends.) My dee-ar child, I thought I was going to be sickthere and then. He knocked every ounce of wind out of me--theangel! But I must really go.'

They set off together, very careful not to join hands or takearms.

'Not across the fields,' said Midmore at the stile. 'Come roundby--by your own place.'

She flushed indignantly.

'It will be yours in a little time,' he went on, shaken with hisown audacity.

'Not so much of your little times, if you please!' She shiedlike a colt across the road; then instantly, like a colt, her eyeslit with new curiosity as she came in sight of the drive-gates.

'And not quite so much of your airs and graces, Madam,' Midmorereturned, 'or I won't let you use our drive as a short cut anymore.'

'Oh, I'll be good. I'll be good.' Her voice changed suddenly. 'Iswear I'll try to be good, dear. I'm not much of a thing at thebest. What made you....'

'I'm worse--worse! Miles and oceans worse. But what does itmatter now?'

They halted beside the gate-pillars.

'I see!' she said, looking up the sodden carriage sweep to thefront door porch where Rhoda was slapping a wet mat to and fro.'I see.... Now, I really must go home. No! Don't you come. Imust speak to Mother first all by myself.'

He watched her up the hill till she was out of sight.

The Vortex

(August 1914)

AL KORAN.

I have, to my grief and loss, suppressed several notable storiesof my friend, the Hon. A.M. Penfentenyou[8], once Minister ofWoods and Waysides in De Thouar's first administration; later,Premier in all but name of one of Our great and growing Dominions;and now, as always, the idol of his own Province, which is two andone-half the size of England.

[8]See 'The Puzzler,' Actions and Reactions.

For this reason I hold myself at liberty to deal with someportion of the truth concerning Penfentenyou's latest visit to Ourshores. He arrived at my house by car, on a hot summer day, in awhite waistcoat and spats, sweeping black frock-coat and glisteningtop-hat--a little rounded, perhaps, at the edges, but agile as everin mind and body.

'What is the trouble now?' I asked, for the last time we hadmet, Penfentenyou was floating a three-million pound loan for hisbeloved but unscrupulous Province, and I did not wish to entertainany more of his financial friends.

'We,' Penfentenyou replied ambassadorially, 'have come to have aVoice in Your Councils. By the way, the Voice is coming down on theevening train with my Agent-General. I thought you wouldn't mind ifI invited 'em. You know We're going to share Your burdenshenceforward. You'd better get into training.'

'Certainly,' I replied. 'What's the Voice like?'

'He's in earnest,' said Penfentenyou. 'He's got It, and he's gotIt bad. He'll give It to you,' he said.

'What's his name?'

'We call him all sorts of names, but I think you'd better callhim Mr. Lingnam. You won't have to do it more than once.'

'What's he suffering from?'

'The Empire. He's pretty nearly cured us all of Imperialism athome. P'raps he'll cure you.'

'Very good. What am I to do with him?'

'Don't you worry,' said Penfentenyou. 'He'll do it.'

And when Mr. Lingnam appeared half-an-hour later with theAgent-General for Penfentenyou's Dominion, he did just that.

He advanced across the lawn eloquent as all the tides. He saidhe had been observing to the Agent-General that it was bothpolitically immoral and strategically unsound that forty-fourmillion people should bear the entire weight of the defences of Ourmighty Empire, but, as he had observed (here the Agent-Generalevaporated), we stood now upon the threshold of a new era in whichthe self-governing and self-respecting (bis) Dominions wouldrightly and righteously, as co-partners in Empery, shoulder theirshare of any burden which the Pan-Imperial Council of the Futureshould allot. The Agent-General was already arranging for drinkswith Penfentenyou at the other end of the garden. Mr. Lingnam sweptme on to the most remote bench and settled to his theme.

We dined at eight. At nine Mr. Lingnam was only drawing abreastof things Imperial. At ten the Agent-General, who earns his salary,was shamelessly dozing on the sofa. At eleven he and Penfentenyouwent to bed. At midnight Mr. Lingnam brought down his big-bellieddespatch box with the newspaper clippings and set to federating theEmpire in earnest. I remember that he had three alternative plans.As a dealer in words, I plumped for the resonantthird--'Reciprocally co-ordinated Senatorial Hegemony'--which hethen elaborated in detail for three-quarters of an hour. Athalf-past one he urged me to have faith and to remember thatnothing mattered except the Idea. Then he retired to his room,accompanied by one glass of cold water, and I went into thedawn-lit garden and prayed to any Power that might be off duty forthe blood of Mr. Lingnam, Penfentenyou, and the Agent-General.

To me, as I have often observed elsewhere, the hour of earliestdawn is fortunate, and the wind that runs before it has ever beenmy most comfortable counsellor.

'Wait!' it said, all among the night's expectant rosebuds.'To-morrow is also a day. Wait upon the Event!'

I went to bed so at peace with God and Man and Guest that when Iwaked I visited Mr. Lingnam in pyjamas, and he talked to mePan-Imperially for half-an-hour before his bath. Later, theAgent-General said he had letters to write, and Penfentenyouinvented a Cabinet crisis in his adored Dominion which would keephim busy with codes and cables all the forenoon. But I said firmly,'Mr. Lingnam wishes to see a little of the country round here. Youare coming with us in your own car.'

'It's a hired one,' Penfentenyou objected.

'Yes. Paid for by me as a taxpayer,' I replied.

'And yours has a top, and the weather looks thundery,' said theAgent-General. 'Ours hasn't a wind-screen. Even our goggles werehired.'

'I'll lend you goggles,' I said. 'My car is under repairs.'

The hireling who had looked to be returned to London spat andgrowled on the drive. She was an open car, capable of some eighteenmiles on the flat, with tetanic gears and a perpetual palsy.

'It won't make the least difference,' sighed the Agent-General.'He'll only raise his voice. He did it all the way comingdown.'

'I say,' said Penfentenyou suspiciously, 'what are you doing allthis for?'

'Love of the Empire,' I answered, as Mr. Lingnam tripped up indust-coat and binoculars. 'Now, Mr. Lingnam will tell us exactlywhat he wants to see. He probably knows more about England than therest of us put together.'

'I read it up yesterday,' said Mr. Lingnam simply. While westowed the lunch-basket (one can never make too sure with a hiredcar) he outlined a very pretty and instructive little day'srun.

'You'll drive, of course?' said Penfentenyou to him. 'It's theonly thing you know anything about.'

This astonished me, for your greater Federationists are rarelymechanicians, but Mr. Lingnam said he would prefer to be inside forthe present and enjoy our conversation.

Well settled on the back seat, he did not once lift his eyes tothe mellow landscape around him, or throw a word at the life of theEnglish road which to me is one renewed and unreasoned orgy ofdelight. The mustard-coloured scouts of the Automobile Association;their natural enemies, the unjust police; our natural enemies, thedeliberate market-day cattle, broadside-on at all corners, thebicycling butcher-boy a furlong behind; road-engines that pulledgiddy-go-rounds, rifle galleries, and swings, and sucked snortinglyfrom wayside ponds in defiance of the notice-board;traction-engines, their trailers piled high with road metal;uniformed village nurses, one per seven statute miles, flitting byon their wheels; governess-carts full of pink children joggingunconcernedly past roaring, brazen touring-cars; the wayside rectorwith virgins in attendance, their faces screwed up against ourdust; motor-bicycles of every shape charging down at every angle;red flags of rifle-ranges; detachments of dusty-putteedTerritorials; coveys of flagrant children playing in mid-street,and the wise, educated English dog safe and quite silent on thepavement if his fool-mistress would but cease from trying to savehim, passed and repassed us in sunlit or shaded settings. But Mr.Lingnam only talked. He talked--we all sat together behind so thatwe could not escape him--and he talked above the worn gears and acertain maddening swish of one badly patched tire--and hetalked of the Federation of the Empire against all conceivabledangers except himself. Yet I was neither brutally rude likePenfentenyou, nor swooningly bored like the Agent-General. Iremembered a certain Joseph Finsbury who delighted the TregonwellArms on the borders of the New Forest with nine'--it should havebeen ten--'versions of a single income of two hundred pounds'placing the imaginary person in--but I could not recall the list oftowns further than 'London, Paris, Bagdad, and Spitsbergen.' Thislast I must have murmured aloud, for the Agent-General suddenlybecame human and went on: 'Bussorah, Heligoland, and the ScillyIslands--'

'What?' growled Penfentenyou.

'Nothing,' said the Agent-General, squeezing my handaffectionately. 'Only we have just found out that we arebrothers.'

'Exactly,' said Mr. Lingnam. 'That's what I've been trying tolead up to. We're all brothers. D'you realise that fifteenyears ago such a conversation as we're having would have beenunthinkable? The Empire wouldn't have been ripe for it. To go back,even ten years--'

'I've got it,' cried the Agent-General. '"Brighton, Cincinnati,and Nijni-Novgorod!" God bless R.L.S.! Go on, Uncle Joseph. I canendure much now.'

Mr. Lingnam went on like our shandrydan, slowly and loudly. Headmitted that a man obsessed with a Central Idea--and, after all,the only thing that mattered was the Idea--might become a bore, butthe World's Work, he pointed out, had been done by bores. So helaid his bones down to that work till we abandoned ourselves to thepassage of time and the Mercy of Allah, Who Alone closes the Mouthsof His Prophets. And we wasted more than fifty miles of summer'svivid own England upon him the while.

About two o'clock we topped Sumtner Rising and looked down onthe village of Sumtner Barton, which lies just across a singlerailway line, spanned by a red brick bridge. The thick, thunderousJune airs brought us gusts of melody from a giddy-go-roundsteam-organ in full blast near the pond on the village green.Drums, too, thumped and banners waved and regalia flashed at thefar end of the broad village street. Mr. Lingnam asked why.

'Nothing Imperial, I'm afraid. It looks like a Foresters'Fête--one of our big Mutual Benefit Societies,' Iexplained.

'The Idea only needs to be co-ordinated to Imperial scale--' hebegan.

'But it means that the pub. will be crowded,' I went on.

'What's the matter with lunching by the roadside here?' saidPenfentenyou. 'We've got the lunch-basket.'

'Haven't you ever heard of Sumtner Barton ales?' I demanded, andbe became the administrator at once, saying, 'I see! Lingnamcan drive us in and we'll get some, while Holford'--this was thehireling chauffeur, whose views on beer we knew not--'lays outlunch here. That'll be better than eating at the pub. We can takein the Foresters' Fête as well, and perhaps I can buy somenewspapers at the station.'

'True,' I answered. 'The railway station is just under thatbridge, and we'll come back and lunch here.'

I indicated a terrace of cool clean shade beneath kindly beechesat the head of Sumtner Rise. As Holford got out the lunch-basket, adetachment of Regular troops on manoeuvres swung down the bakingroad.

'Ah!' said Mr. Lingnam, the monthly-magazine roll in his voice.'All Europe is an armed camp, groaning, as I remember I once wrote,under the weight of its accoutrements.'

'Oh, hop in and drive,' cried Penfentenyou. 'We want thatbeer!'

It made no difference. Mr. Lingnam could have federated theEmpire from a tight rope. He continued his oration at the wheel aswe trundled.

'The danger to the Younger Nations is of being drawn into thisvortex of Militarism,' he went on, dodging the rear of thesoldiery.

'Slow past troops,' I hinted. 'It saves 'em dust. And weovertake on the right as a rule in England.'

'Thanks!' Mr. Lingnam slued over. 'That's another detail whichneeds to be co-ordinated throughout the Empire. But to go back towhat I was saying. My idea has always been that the component partsof the Empire should take counsel among themselves on the approachof war, so that, after we have decided on the merits of thecasus belli, we can co-ordinate what part each Dominionshall play whenever war is, unfortunately, a possibility.'

We neared the hog-back railway bridge, and the hireling knockedpiteously at the grade. Mr. Lingnam changed gears, and she hoistedherself up to a joyous Youp-i-addy-i-ay! from thesteam-organ. As we topped the arch we saw a Foresters' band withbanners marching down the street.

'That's all very fine,' said the Agent-General, 'but in reallife things have a knack of happening without approaching--'

(Some schools of Thought hold that Time is not; and that when weattain complete enlightenment we shall behold past, present, andfuture as One Awful Whole. I myself have nearly achieved this.)

We dipped over the bridge into the village. A boy on a bicycle,loaded with four paper bonnet-boxes, pedalled towards us, out of analley on our right. He bowed his head the better to overcome theascent, and naturally took his left. Mr. Lingnam swervedfrantically to the right. Penfentenyou shouted. The boy looked up,saw the car was like to squeeze him against the bridge wall, flunghimself off his machine and across the narrow pavement into thenearest house. He slammed the door at the precise moment when thecar, all brakes set, bunted the abandoned bicycle, shattering threeof the bonnet-boxes and jerking the fourth over the unscreeneddashboard into Mr. Lingnam's arms.

There was a dead stillness, then a hiss like that of escapingsteam, and a man who had been running towards us ran the otherway.

'Why! I think that those must be bees,' said Mr. Lingnam.

They were--four full swarms--and the first living objects whichhe had remarked upon all day.

Some one said, 'Oh, God!' The Agent-General went out over theback of the car, crying resolutely: 'Stop the traffic! Stop thetraffic, there!' Penfentenyou was already on the pavement ringing adoor-bell, so I had both their rugs, which--for I am an apiarist--Ithrew over my head. While I was tucking my trousers into mysocks--for I am an apiarist of experience--Mr. Lingnam picked upthe unexploded bonnet-box and with a single magnificent gesture (hetold us afterwards he thought there was a river beneath) hurled itover the parapet of the bridge, ere he ran across the road towardsthe village green. Now, the station platform immediately below wascrowded with Foresters and their friends waiting to welcome adelegation from a sister Court. I saw the box burst on the flintedging of the station garden and the contents sweep forwardcone-wise like shrapnel. But the result was stimulating rather thansedative. All those well-dressed people below shouted like Sodomand Gomorrah. Then they moved as a unit into the booking-office,the waiting-rooms, and other places, shut doors and windows anddeclaimed aloud, while the incoming train whistled far down theline.

I pivoted round cross-legged on the back seat, like a Circassianbeauty beneath her veil, and saw Penfentenyou, his coat-collar overhis ears, dancing before a shut door and holding up handfuls ofcurrency to a silver-haired woman at an upper window, who onlymouthed and shook her head. A little child, carrying a kitten, camesmiling round a corner. Suddenly (but these things moved me no morethan so many yards of three-penny cinematograph-film) the kittenleaped spitting from her arms, the child burst into tears,Penfentenyou, still dancing, snatched her up and tucked her underhis coat, the woman's countenance blanched, the front door opened,Penfentenyou and the child pressed through, and I was alone in aninhospitable world where every one was shutting windows and callingchildren home.

A voice cried: 'You've frowtened 'em! You've frowtened 'em!Throw dust on 'em and they'll settle!'

I did not desire to throw dust on any created thing. I neededboth hands for my draperies and two more for my stockings. Besides,the bees were doing me no hurt. They recognised me as a member ofthe County Bee-keepers' Association who had paid his annualsubscription and was entitled to a free seat at all apiculturalexhibitions. The quiver and the churn of the hireling car, or itmight have been the lurching banners and the arrogant big drum,inclined many of them to go up street, and pay court to theadvancing Foresters' band. So they went, such as had not followedMr. Lingnam in his flight toward the green, and I looked out of twogoggled eyes instead of half a one at the approaching musicians,while I listened with both ears to the delayed train's secondwhistle down the line beneath me.

The Forester's band no more knew what was coming than do troopsunder sudden fire. Indeed, there were the same extravagant gesturesand contortions as attend wounds and deaths in war; the very sameuncanny cessations of speech--for the trombone was cut off atmidslide, even as a man drops with a syllable on his tongue. Theyclawed, they slapped, they fled, leaving behind them a trophy ofbanners and brasses crudely arranged round the big drum. Then thatend of the street also shut its windows, and the village, strippedof life, lay round me like a reef at low tide. Though I am, as Ihave said, an apiarist in good standing, I never realised thatthere were so many bees in the world. When they had woven aflashing haze from one end of the desert street to the other, thereremained reserves enough to form knops and pendules on allwindow-sills and gutter-ends, without diminishing the multitudes inthe three oozing bonnet-boxes, or drawing on the Fourth (Railway)Battalion in charge of the station below. The prisoners in thewaiting-rooms and other places there cried out a great deal (Iargued that they were dying of the heat), and at regular intervalsthe stationmaster called and called to a signalman who was not onduty, and the train whistled as it drew nearer.

Then Penfentenyou, venal and adaptable politician of the typethat survives at the price of all the higher emotions, appeared atthe window of the house on my right, broken and congested withmirth, the woman beside him, and the child in his arms. I saw hismouth open and shut, he hollowed his hands round it, but the churrof the motor and the bees drowned his words. He pointeddramatically across the street many times and fell back, tearsrunning down his face. I turned like a hooded barbette in a heavyseaway (not knowing when my trousers would come out of my socksagain) through one hundred and eighty degrees, and in due time boreon the village green. There was a salmon in the pond, rising shortat a cloud of midges to the tune of Yip-i-addy; but therewas none to gaff him. The swing-boats were empty, cocoa-nuts satstill on their red sticks before white screens, and the gay-paintedhorses of the giddy-go-rounds revolved riderless. All was melody,green turf, bright water, and this greedy gambolling fish. When Ihad identified it by its grey gills and binoculars as Lingnam, Iprostrated myself before Allah in that mirth which is more trulylabour than any prayer. Then I turned to the purple Penfentenyou atthe window, and wiped my eyes on the rug edge.

He raised the window half one cautious inch and bellowed throughthe crack: 'Did you see him? Have they got you? I cansee lots of things from here. It's like a three-ring circus!'

'Can you see the station?' I replied, nodding toward the rightrear mudguard.

He twisted and craned sideways, but could not command thatbeautiful view.

'No! What's it like?' he cried.

'Hell!' I shouted. The silver-haired woman frowned; so didPenfentenyou, and, I think, apologised to her for my language.

'You're always so extreme,' he fluted reproachfully. 'You forgetthat nothing matters except the Idea. Besides, they are this lady'sbees.'

He closed the window, and introduced us through it in dumb show;but he contrived to give the impression that I was thespecimen under glass.

A spurt of damp steam saved me from apoplexy. The train had lostpatience at last, and was coming into the station directly beneathme to see what was the matter. Happy voices sang and heads werethrust out all along the compartments, but none answered theirsongs or greetings. She halted, and the people began to get out.Then they began to get in again, as their friends in thewaiting-rooms advised. All did not catch the warning, so there wascongestion at the doors, but those whom the bees caught got infirst.

Still the bees, more bent on their own business than wantontorture, kept to the south end of the platform by the bookstall,and that was why the completely exposed engine-driver at the northend of the train did not at first understand the hermeticallysealed stationmaster when the latter shouted to him many times to'get on out o' this.'

'Where are you?' was the reply. 'And what for?'

'It don't matter where I am, an' you'll get what-for in a minuteif you don't shift,' said the stationmaster. 'Drop 'em at Parson'sMeadow and they can walk up over the fields.'

That bare-armed, thin-shirted idiot, leaning out of the cab,took the stationmaster's orders as an insult to his dignity, androared at the shut offices: 'You'll give me what-for, will you?Look 'ere, I'm not in the 'abit of--' His outstretched hand flew tohis neck.... Do you know that if you sting an engine-driver it isthe same as stinging his train? She starts with a jerk that nearlysmashes the couplings, and runs, barking like a dog, till she isout of sight. Nor does she think about spilled people and partedfamilies on the platform behind her. I had to do all that. Therewas a man called Fred, and his wife Harriet--a cheery, full-bloodedcouple--who interested me immensely before they battered their wayinto a small detached building, already densely occupied. There wasalso a nameless bachelor who sat under a half-opened umbrella andtwirled it dizzily, which was so new a game that I applaudedaloud.

When they had thoroughly cleared the ground, the bees set aboutmaking comb for publication at the bookstall counter. Presentlysome bold hearts tiptoed out of the waiting-rooms over the loudgravel with the consciously modest air of men leaving church,climbed the wooden staircase to the bridge, and so reached mylevel, where the inexhaustible bonnet-boxes were still vomitingsquadrons and platoons. There was little need to bid them descend.They had wrapped their heads in handkerchiefs, so that they lookedlike the disappointed dead scuttling back to Purgatory. Only oneold gentleman, pontifically draped in a banner embroidered'Temperance and Fortitude,' ran the gauntlet up-street, shouting ashe passed me, 'It's night or Blücher, Mister.' They let him inat the White Hart, the pub. where I should have bought thebeer.

After this the day sagged. I fell to reckoning how long a man ina Turkish bath, weakened by excessive laughter, could live withoutfood, and specially drink; and how long a disenfranchised bee couldhold out under the same conditions.

Obviously, since her one practical joke costs her her life, thebee can have but small sense of humour; but her fundamentallydismal and ungracious outlook on life impressed me beyond words.She had paralysed locomotion, wiped out trade, social intercourse,mutual trust, love, friendship, sport, music (the lonelysteam-organ had run down at last), all that gives substance, colouror savour to life, and yet, in the barren desert she had created,was not one whit more near to the evolution of a saner order ofthings. The Heavens were darkened with the swarms' dividedcounsels; the street shimmered with their purposeless sallies. Theyclotted on tiles and gutter-pipes, and began frenziedly to build acell or two of comb ere they discovered that their queen was notwith them; then flung off to seek her, or whirled, dishevelled andinsane, into another hissing nebula on the false rumour that shewas there. I scowled upon them with disfavour, and a massy, bluethunder-head rose majestically from behind the elm-trees of SumtnerBarton Rectory, arched over and scowled with me. Then I realisedthat it was not bees nor locusts that had darkened the skies, butthe on-coming of the malignant English thunderstorm--the one thingbefore which even Deborah the bee cannot express her silly littleself.

'Aha! Now you'll catch it,' I said, as the herald gustsset the big drum rolling down the street like a box-kite. Up and upyearned the dark cloud, till the first lightning quivered and cut.Deborah cowered. Where she flew, there she fled; where she was,there she sat still; and the solid rain closed in on her as a bookthat is closed when the chapter is finished. By the time it hadsoaked to my second rug, Penfentenyou appeared at the window,wiping his false mouth on a napkin.

'Are you all right?' he inquired. 'Then that's all right!Mrs. Bellamy says that her bees don't sting in the wet. You'dbetter fetch Lingnam over. He's got to pay for them and thebicycle.'

I had no words which the silver-haired lady could listen to, butpaddled across the flooded street between flashes to the pond onthe green. Mr. Lingnam, scarcely visible through the sheetingdownpour, trotted round the edge. He bore himself nobly, and liedat the mere sight of me.

'Isn't this wet?' he cried. 'It has drenched me to the skin. Ishall need a change.'

'Come along,' I said. 'I don't know what you'll get, but youdeserve more.'

Penfentenyou, dry, fed, and in command, let us in. 'You,' hewhispered to me, 'are to wait in the scullery. Mrs. Bellamy didn'tlike the way you talked about her bees. Hsh! Hsh! She's akind-hearted lady. She's a widow, Lingnam, but she's kepthis clothes, and as soon as you've paid for the damageshe'll rent you a suit. I've arranged it all!'

'Then tell him he mustn't undress in my hall,' said a voice fromthe stair-head.

'Tell her--' Lingnam began.

'Come and look at the pretty suit I've chosen,' Penfentenyoucooed, as one cajoling a maniac.

I staggered out-of-doors again, and fell into the car, whoseever-running machinery masked my yelps and hiccups. When I raisedmy forehead from the wheel, I saw that traffic through the villagehad been resumed, after, as my watch showed, one and one-halfhour's suspension. There were two limousines, one landau, onedoctor's car, three touring-cars, one patent steam-laundry van,three tricars, one traction-engine, some motor-cycles, one with aside-car, and one brewery lorry. It was the allegory of my ownimperturbable country, delayed for a short time by unforeseenexternal events but now going about her business, and I blessed Herwith tears in my eyes, even though I knew She looked upon me asdrunk and incapable.

Then troops came over the bridge behind me--a company ofdripping wet Regulars without any expression. In their rear,carrying the lunch-basket, marched the Agent-General and Holfordthe hired chauffeur.

'I say,' said the Agent-General, nodding at the darkened khakibacks. 'If that's what we've got to depend on in event ofwar they're a broken reed. They ran like hares--ran like hares, Itell you.'

'And you?' I asked.

'Oh, I just sauntered back over the bridge and stopped thetraffic that end. Then I had lunch. 'Pity about the beer, though. Isay--these cushions are sopping wet!'

'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I haven't had time to turn 'em.'

'Nor there wasn't any need to 'ave kept the engine runnin' allthis time,' said Holford sternly. 'I'll 'ave to account for theexpenditure of petrol. It exceeds the mileage indicated, yousee.'

'I'm sorry,' I repeated. After all, that is the way thattaxpayers regard most crises.

The house-door opened and Penfentenyou and another came out intothe now thinning rain.

'Ah! There you both are! Here's Lingnam,' he cried. 'He's got alittle wet. He's had to change.'

'We saw that. I was too sore and weak to begin another laugh,but the Agent-General crumpled up where he stood. The late Mr.Bellamy must have been a man of tremendous personality, which hehad impressed on every angle of his garments. I was told later thathe had died in delirium tremens, which at once explained thepattern, and the reason why Mr. Lingnam, writhing inside it, sworeso inspiredly. Of the deliberate and diffuse Federationist thereremained no trace, save the binoculars and two damp whiskers. Westood on the pavement, before Elemental Man calling on ElementalPowers to condemn and incinerate Creation.

'Well, hadn't we better be getting back?' said theAgent-General.

'Look out!' I remarked casually. 'Those bonnet-boxes are full ofbees still!'

'Are they?' said the livid Mr. Lingnam, and tilted them overwith the late Mr. Bellamy's large boots. Deborah rolled out indrenched lumps into the swilling gutter. There was a muffled shriekat the window where Mrs. Bellamy gesticulated.

'It's all right. I've paid for them,' said Mr. Lingnam. Hedumped out the last dregs like mould from a pot-boundflower-pot.

'What? Are you going to take 'em home with you?' said theAgent-General.

'No!' He passed a wet hand over his streaky forehead. 'Wasn'tthere a bicycle that was the beginning of this trouble?' saidhe.

'It's under the fore-axle, sir,' said Holford promptly. 'I canfish it out from 'ere.'

'Not till I've done with it, please.' Before we could stop him,he had jumped into the car and taken charge. The hireling leapedinto her collar, surged, shrieked (less loudly than Mrs. Bellamy atthe window), and swept on. That which came out behind her was, asHolford truly observed, no joy-wheel. Mr. Lingnam swung round thebig drum in the market-place and thundered back, shouting: 'Leaveit alone. It's my meat!'

'Mince-meat, 'e means,' said Holford after this secondtrituration. 'You couldn't say now it 'ad ever been one,could you?'

Mrs. Bellamy opened the window and spoke. It appears she hadonly charged for damage to the bicycle, not for the entire machinewhich Mr. Lingnam was ruthlessly gleaning, spoke by spoke, from thehighway and cramming into the slack of the hood. At last heanswered, and I have never seen a man foam at the mouth before. 'Ifyou don't stop, I shall come into your house--in this car--anddrive upstairs and--kill you!'

She stopped; he stopped. Holford took the wheel, and we gotaway. It was time, for the sun shone after the storm, and Deborahbeneath the tiles and the eaves already felt its reviving influencecompel her to her interrupted labours of federation. We warned thevillage policeman at the far end of the street that he might haveto suspend traffic again. The proprietor of the giddy-go-round,swings, and cocoanut-shies wanted to know from whom, in this worldor another, he could recover damages. Mr. Lingnam referred him mostdirectly to Mrs. Bellamy.... Then we went home.

After dinner that evening Mr. Lingnam rose stiffly in his placeto make a few remarks on the Federation of the Empire on the linesof Co-ordinated, Offensive Operations, backed by the EntireEffective Forces, Moral, Military, and Fiscal, of PermanentlyMobilised Communities, the whole brought to bear, without anyrespect to the merits of any casus belli, instantaneously,automatically, and remorselessly at the first faint buzz ofwar.

'The trouble with Us,' said he, 'is that We take such aninfernally long time making sure that We are right that We don't goahead when things happen. For instance, I ought to have gone aheadinstead of pulling up when I hit that bicycle.'

'But you were in the wrong, Lingnam, when you turned to theright,' I put in.

'I don't want to hear any more of your damned, detached,mugwumping excuses for the other fellow,' he snapped.

'Now you're beginning to see things,' said Penfentenyou. 'I hopeyou won't backslide when the swellings go down.'

'Swept and Garnished'

(January 1915)

When the first waves of feverish cold stole over Frau Ebermannshe very wisely telephoned for the doctor and went to bed. Hediagnosed the attack as mild influenza, prescribed the appropriateremedies, and left her to the care of her one servant in hercomfortable Berlin flat. Frau Ebermann, beneath the thick coverlet,curled up with what patience she could until the aspirin shouldbegin to act, and Anna should come back from the chemist with theformamint, the ammoniated quinine, the eucalyptus, and the littletin steam-inhaler. Meantime, every bone in her body ached; her headthrobbed; her hot, dry hands would not stay the same size for aminute together; and her body, tucked into the smallest possiblecompass, shrank from the chill of the well-warmed sheets.

Of a sudden she noticed that an imitation-lace cover whichshould have lain mathematically square with the imitation-marbletop of the radiator behind the green plush sofa had slipped away sothat one corner hung over the bronze-painted steam pipes. Sherecalled that she must have rested her poor head against theradiator-top while she was taking off her boots. She tried to getup and set the thing straight, but the radiator at once recededtoward the horizon, which, unlike true horizons, slanteddiagonally, exactly parallel with the dropped lace edge of thecover. Frau Ebermann groaned through sticky lips and lay still.

'Certainly, I have a temperature,' she said. 'Certainly, I havea grave temperature. I should have been warned by that chill afterdinner.'

She resolved to shut her hot-lidded eyes, but opened them in alittle while to torture herself with the knowledge of thatungeometrical thing against the far wall. Then she saw a child--anuntidy, thin-faced little girl of about ten, who must have strayedin from the adjoining flat. This proved--Frau Ebermann groanedagain at the way the world falls to bits when one is sick--provedthat Anna had forgotten to shut the outer door of the flat when shewent to the chemist. Frau Ebermann had had children of her own, butthey were all grown up now, and she had never been a child-lover inany sense. Yet the intruder might be made to serve her scheme ofthings.

'Make--put,' she muttered thickly, 'that white thing straight onthe top of that yellow thing.'

The child paid no attention, but moved about the room,investigating everything that came in her way--the yellow cut-glasshandles of the chest of drawers, the stamped bronze hook to holdback the heavy puce curtains, and the mauve enamel, New Artfinger-plates on the door. Frau Ebermann watched indignantly.

'Aie! That is bad and rude. Go away!' she cried, though it hurther to raise her voice. 'Go away by the road you came!' The childpassed behind the bed-foot, where she could not see her. 'Shut thedoor as you go. I will speak to Anna, but--first, put that whitething straight.'

She closed her eyes in misery of body and soul. The outer doorclicked, and Anna entered, very penitent that she had stayed solong at the chemist's. But it had been difficult to find the propertype of inhaler, and--

'Where did the child go?' moaned Frau Ebermann--'the child thatwas here?'

'There was no child,' said startled Anna. 'How should any childcome in when I shut the door behind me after I go out? All the keysof the flats are different.'

'No, no! You forgot this time. But my back is aching, and up mylegs also. Besides, who knows what it may have fingered and upset?Look and see.'

'Nothing is fingered, nothing is upset,' Anna replied, as shetook the inhaler from its paper box.

'Yes, there is. Now I remember all about it. Put--put that whitething, with the open edge--the lace, I mean--quite straight onthat--' she pointed. Anna, accustomed to her ways, understood andwent to it.

'Now, is it quite straight?' Frau Ebermann demanded.

'Perfectly,' said Anna. 'In fact, in the very centre of theradiator.' Anna measured the equal margins with her knuckle, as shehad been told to do when she first took service.

'And my tortoise-shell hair brushes?' Frau Ebermann could notcommand her dressing-table from where she lay.

'Perfectly straight, side by side in the big tray, and the comblaid across them. Your watch also in the coralline watch-holder.Everything'--she moved round the room to make sure--'everything isas you have it when you are well.' Frau Ebermann sighed withrelief. It seemed to her that the room and her head had suddenlygrown cooler.

'Good!' said she. 'Now warm my night-gown in the kitchen, so itwill be ready when I have perspired. And the towels also. Make theinhaler steam, and put in the eucalyptus; that is good for thelarynx. Then sit you in the kitchen, and come when I ring. But,first, my hot-water bottle.'

It was brought and scientifically tucked in.

'What news?' said Frau Ebermann drowsily. She had not been outthat day.

'Another victory,' said Anna. 'Many more prisoners andguns.'

Frau Ebermann purred, one might almost say grunted,contentedly.

'That is good too,' she said; and Anna, after lighting theinhaler-lamp, went out.

Frau Ebermann reflected that in an hour or so the aspirin wouldbegin to work, and all would be well. To-morrow--no, the dayafter--she would take up life with something to talk over with herfriends at coffee. It was rare--every one knew it--that she shouldbe overcome by any ailment. Yet in all her distresses she had notallowed the minutest deviation from daily routine and ritual. Shewould tell her friends--she ran over their names one byone--exactly what measures she had taken against the lace cover onthe radiator-top and in regard to her two tortoise-shell hairbrushes and the comb at right angles. How she had set everything inorder--everything in order. She roved further afield as shewriggled her toes luxuriously on the hot-water bottle. If itpleased our dear God to take her to Himself, and she was not soyoung as she had been--there was that plate of the four lower onesin the blue tooth-glass, for instance--He should find all herbelongings fit to meet His eye. 'Swept and garnished' were thewords that shaped themselves in her intent brain. 'Swept andgarnished for--'

No, it was certainly not for the dear Lord that she had swept;she would have her room swept out to-morrow or the day after, andgarnished. Her hands began to swell again into huge pillows ofnothingness. Then they shrank, and so did her head, to minute dots.It occurred to her that she was waiting for some event, sometremendously important event, to come to pass. She lay with shuteyes for a long time till her head and hands should return to theirproper size.

She opened her eyes with a jerk.

'How stupid of me,' she said aloud, 'to set the room in orderfor a parcel of dirty little children!'

They were there--five of them, two little boys and threegirls--headed by the anxious-eyed ten-year-old whom she had seenbefore. They must have entered by the outer door, which Anna hadneglected to shut behind her when she returned with the inhaler.She counted them backward and forward as one counts scales--one,two, three, four, five.

They took no notice of her, but hung about, first on one footthen on the other, like strayed chickens, the smaller ones holdingby the larger. They had the air of utterly wearied passengers in arailway waiting-room, and their clothes were disgracefullydirty.

'Go away!' cried Frau Ebermann at last, after she had struggled,it seemed to her, for years to shape the words.

'You called?' said Anna at the living-room door.

'No,' said her mistress. 'Did you shut the flat door when youcame in?'

'Assuredly,' said Anna. 'Besides, it is made to catch shut ofitself.'

'Then go away,' said she, very little above a whisper. If Annapretended not to see the children, she would speak to Anna lateron.

'And now,' she said, turning toward them as soon as the doorclosed. The smallest of the crowd smiled at her, and shook his headbefore he buried it in his sister's skirts.

'Why--don't--you--go--away?' she whispered earnestly.

Again they took no notice, but, guided by the elder girl, setthemselves to climb, boots and all, on to the green plush sofa infront of the radiator. The little boys had to be pushed, as theycould not compass the stretch unaided. They settled themselves in arow, with small gasps of relief, and pawed the plushapprovingly.

'I ask you--I ask you why do you not go away--why do you not goaway?' Frau Ebermann found herself repeating the question twentytimes. It seemed to her that everything in the world hung on theanswer. 'You know you should not come into houses and rooms unlessyou are invited. Not houses and bedrooms, you know.'

'No,' a solemn little six-year-old repeated, 'not houses norbedrooms, nor dining-rooms, nor churches, nor all those places.Shouldn't come in. It's rude.'

'Yes, he said so,' the younger girl put in proudly. 'He said it.He told them only pigs would do that.' The line nodded and dimpledone to another with little explosive giggles, such as children usewhen they tell deeds of great daring against their elders.

'If you know it is wrong, that makes it much worse,' said FrauEbermann.

'Oh yes; much worse,' they assented cheerfully, till thesmallest boy changed his smile to a baby wail of weariness.

'When will they come for us?' he asked, and the girl at the headof the row hauled him bodily into her square little capablelap.

'He's tired,' she explained. 'He is only four. He only had hisfirst breeches this spring.' They came almost under his armpits,and were held up by broad linen braces, which, his sorrow divertedfor the moment, he patted proudly.

'Yes, beautiful, dear,' said both girls.

'Go away!' said Frau Ebermann. 'Go home to your father andmother!'

Their faces grew grave at once.

'H'sh! We can't,' whispered the eldest. 'There isn'tanything left.'

'All gone,' a boy echoed, and he puffed through pursed lips.'Like that, uncle told me. Both cows too.'

'And my own three ducks,' the boy on the girl's lap saidsleepily.

'So, you see, we came here.' The elder girl leaned forward alittle, caressing the child she rocked.

'I--I don't understand,' said Frau Ebermann 'Are you lost, then?You must tell our police.'

'Oh no; we are only waiting.'

'But what are you waiting for?'

'We are waiting for our people to come for us. They told us tocome here and wait for them. So we are waiting till they come,' theeldest girl replied.

'Yes. We are waiting till our people come for us,' said all theothers in chorus.

'But,' said Frau Ebermann very patiently--'but now tell me, forI tell you that I am not in the least angry, where do you comefrom? Where do you come from?'

The five gave the names of two villages of which she had read inthe papers,

'That is silly,' said Frau Ebermann. 'The people fired on us,and they were punished. Those places are wiped out, stampedflat.'

'Yes, yes, wiped out, stamped flat. That is why and--I have lostthe ribbon off my pigtail,' said the younger girl. She lookedbehind her over the sofa-back.

'It is not here,' said the elder. 'It was lost before. Don't youremember?'

'Now, if you are lost, you must go and tell our police. Theywill take care of you and give you food,' said Frau Ebermann. 'Annawill show you the way there.'

'No,'--this was the six-year-old with the smile,--'we must waithere till our people come for us. Mustn't we, sister?'

'Of course. We wait here till our people come for us. All theworld knows that,' said the eldest girl.

'Yes.' The boy in her lap had waked again. 'Little children,too--as little as Henri, and he doesn't wear trousers yet.As little as all that.'

'I don't understand,' said Frau Ebermann, shivering. In spite ofthe heat of the room and the damp breath of the steam-inhaler, theaspirin was not doing its duty.

The girl raised her blue eyes and looked at the woman for aninstant.

'You see,' she said, emphasising her statements with herringers, 'they told us to wait here tillour people came for us. So we came. We wait till our peoplecome for us.'

'That is silly again,' said Frau Ebermann. 'It is no good foryou to wait here. Do you know what this place is? You have been toschool? It is Berlin, the capital of Germany.'

'Yes, yes,' they all cried; 'Berlin, capital of Germany. We knowthat. That is why we came.'

'So, you see, it is no good,' she said triumphantly, 'becauseyour people can never come for you here.'

'They told us to come here and wait till our people came forus.' They delivered this as if it were a lesson in school. Thenthey sat still, their hands orderly folded on their laps, smilingas sweetly as ever.

'Go away! Go away!' Frau Ebermann shrieked.

'You called?' said Anna, entering.

'No. Go away! Go away!'

'Very good, old cat,' said the maid under her breath. 'Next timeyou may call,' and she returned to her friend in thekitchen.

'I ask you--ask you, please to go away,' Frau Ebermannpleaded. 'Go to my Anna through that door, and she will give youcakes and sweeties. It is not kind of you to come into my room andbehave so badly.'

'Where else shall we go now?' the elder girl demanded, turningto her little company. They fell into discussion. One preferred thebroad street with trees, another the railway station; but when shesuggested an Emperor's palace, they agreed with her.

'We will go then,' she said, and added half apologetically toFrau Ebermann, 'You see, they are so little they like to meet allthe others.'

'What others?' said Frau Ebermann.

'The others--hundreds and hundreds and thousands and thousandsof the others.'

'That is a lie. There cannot be a hundred even, much less athousand,' cried Frau Ebermann.

'So?' said the girl politely.

'Yes. I tell you; and I have very good information. Iknow how it happened. You should have been more careful. You shouldnot have run out to see the horses and guns passing. That is how itis done when our troops pass through. My son has written meso.'

They had clambered down from the sofa, and gathered round thebed with eager, interested eyes.

'Horses and guns going by--how fine!' some one whispered.

'Yes, yes; believe me, that is how the accidents to thechildren happen. You must know yourself that it is true. One runsout to look--'

'But I never saw any at all,' a boy cried sorrowfully. 'Only onenoise I heard. That was when Aunt Emmeline's house fell down.'

'But listen to me. I am telling you! One runs out tolook, because one is little and cannot see well. So one peepsbetween the man's legs, and then--you know how close those bighorses and guns turn the corners--then one's foot slips and onegets run over. That's how it happens. Several times it hadhappened, but not many times; certainly not a hundred, perhaps nottwenty. So, you see, you must be all. Tell me now that youare all that there are, and Anna shall give you the cakes.'

'Thousands,' a boy repeated monotonously. 'Then we all come hereto wait till our people come for us.'

'But now we will go away from here. The poor lady is tired,'said the elder girl, plucking his sleeve.

'Oh, you hurt, you hurt!' he cried, and burst into tears.

'What is that for?' said Frau Ebermann. 'To cry in a room wherea poor lady is sick is very inconsiderate.'

'Oh, but look, lady!' said the elder girl.

Frau Ebermann looked and saw.

'Au revoir, lady.' They made their little smiling bowsand curtseys undisturbed by her loud cries. 'Au revoir,lady. We will wait till our people come for us.'

When Anna at last ran in, she found her mistress on her knees,busily cleaning the floor with the lace cover from the radiator,because, she explained, it was all spotted with the blood of fivechildren--she was perfectly certain there could not be more thanfive in the whole world--who had gone away for the moment, but werenow waiting round the corner, and Anna was to find them and givethem cakes to stop the bleeding, while her mistress swept andgarnished that Our dear Lord when He came might find everything asit should be.

Mary Postgate

(1915)

Of Miss Mary Postgate, Lady McCausland wrote that she was'thoroughly conscientious, tidy, companionable, and ladylike. I amvery sorry to part with her, and shall always be interested in herwelfare.'

Miss Fowler engaged her on this recommendation, and to hersurprise, for she had had experience of companions, found that itwas true. Miss Fowler was nearer sixty than fifty at the time, butthough she needed care she did not exhaust her attendant'svitality. On the contrary, she gave out, stimulatingly and withreminiscences. Her father had been a minor Court official in thedays when the Great Exhibition of 1851 had just set its seal onCivilisation made perfect. Some of Miss Fowler's tales, none theless, were not always for the young. Mary was not young, and thoughher speech was as colourless as her eyes or her hair, she was nevershocked. She listened unflinchingly to every one; said at the end,'How interesting!' or 'How shocking!' as the case might be, andnever again referred to it, for she prided herself on a trainedmind, which 'did not dwell on these things.' She was, too, atreasure at domestic accounts, for which the village tradesmen,with their weekly books, loved her not. Otherwise she had noenemies; provoked no jealousy even among the plainest; neithergossip nor slander had ever been traced to her; she supplied theodd place at the Rector's or the Doctor's table at half an hour'snotice; she was a sort of public aunt to very many small childrenof the village street, whose parents, while accepting everything,would have been swift to resent what they called 'patronage'; sheserved on the Village Nursing Committee as Miss Fowler's nomineewhen Miss Fowler was crippled by rheumatoid arthritis, and came outof six months' fortnightly meetings equally respected by all thecliques.

And when Fate threw Miss Fowler's nephew, an unlovely orphan ofeleven, on Miss Fowler's hands, Mary Postgate stood to her share ofthe business of education as practised in private and publicschools. She checked printed clothes-lists, and unitemised bills ofextras; wrote to Head and House masters, matrons, nurses anddoctors, and grieved or rejoiced over half-term reports. YoungWyndham Fowler repaid her in his holidays by calling her'Gatepost,' 'Postey,' or 'Packthread,' by thumping her between hernarrow shoulders, or by chasing her bleating, round the garden, herlarge mouth open, her large nose high in air, at a stiff-neckedshamble very like a camel's. Later on he filled the house withclamour, argument, and harangues as to his personal needs, likesand dislikes, and the limitations of 'you women,' reducing Mary totears of physical fatigue, or, when he chose to be humorous, ofhelpless laughter. At crises, which multiplied as he grew older,she was his ambassadress and his interpretress to Miss Fowler, whohad no large sympathy with the young; a vote in his interest at thecouncils on his future; his sewing-woman, strictly accountable formislaid boots and garments; always his butt and his slave.

And when he decided to become a solicitor, and had entered anoffice in London; when his greeting had changed from 'Hullo,Postey, you old beast,' to Mornin', Packthread,' there came a warwhich, unlike all wars that Mary could remember, did not staydecently outside England and in the newspapers, but intruded on thelives of people whom she knew. As she said to Miss Fowler, it was'most vexatious.' It took the Rector's son who was going intobusiness with his elder brother; it took the Colonel's nephew onthe eve of fruit-farming in Canada; it took Mrs. Grant's son who,his mother said, was devoted to the ministry; and, very earlyindeed, it took Wynn Fowler, who announced on a postcard that hehad joined the Flying Corps and wanted a cardigan waistcoat.

'He must go, and he must have the waistcoat,' said Miss Fowler.So Mary got the proper-sized needles and wool, while Miss Fowlertold the men of her establishment--two gardeners and an odd man,aged sixty--that those who could join the Army had better do so.The gardeners left. Cheape, the odd man, stayed on, and waspromoted to the gardener's cottage. The cook, scorning to belimited in luxuries, also left, after a spirited scene with MissFowler, and took the housemaid with her. Miss Fowler gazettedNellie, Cheape's seventeen-year-old daughter, to the vacant post;Mrs. Cheape to the rank of cook, with occasional cleaning bouts;and the reduced establishment moved forward smoothly.

Wynn demanded an increase in his allowance. Miss Fowler, whoalways looked facts in the face, said, 'He must have it. Thechances are he won't live long to draw it, and if three hundredmakes him happy--'

Wynn was grateful, and came over, in his tight-buttoned uniform,to say so. His training centre was not thirty miles away, and histalk was so technical that it had to be explained by charts of thevarious types of machines. He gave Mary such a chart.

'And you'd better study it, Postey,' he said. 'You'll be seeinga lot of 'em soon.' So Mary studied the chart, but when Wynn nextarrived to swell and exalt himself before his womenfolk, she failedbadly in cross-examination, and he rated her as in the olddays.

'You look more or less like a human being,' he said inhis new Service voice. 'You must have had a brain at sometime in your past. What have you done with it? Where d'you keep it?A sheep would know more than you do, Postey. You're lamentable. Youare less use than an empty tin can, you dowey old cassowary.'

'I suppose that's how your superior officer talks toyou?' said Miss Fowler from her chair.

'But Postey doesn't mind,' Wynn replied. 'Do you,Packthread?'

'Why? Was Wynn saying anything? I shall get this right next timeyou come,' she muttered, and knitted her pale brows again over thediagrams of Taubes, Farmans, and Zeppelins.

In a few weeks the mere land and sea battles which she read toMiss Fowler after breakfast passed her like idle breath. Her heartand her interest were high in the air with Wynn, who had finished'rolling' (whatever that might be) and had gone on from a 'taxi' toa machine more or less his own. One morning it circled over theirvery chimneys, alighted on Vegg's Heath, almost outside the gardengate, and Wynn came in, blue with cold, shouting for food. He andshe drew Miss Fowler's bath-chair, as they had often done, alongthe Heath foot-path to look at the bi-plane. Mary observed that 'itsmelt very badly.'

'Postey, I believe you think with your nose,' said Wynn. 'I knowyou don't with your mind. Now, what type's that?'

'I'll go and get the chart,' said Mary.

'You're hopeless! You haven't the mental capacity of a whitemouse,' he cried, and explained the dials and the sockets forbomb-dropping till it was time to mount and ride the wet cloudsonce more.

'Ah!' said Mary, as the stinking thing flared upward. 'Wait tillour Flying Corps gets to work! Wynn says it's much safer than inthe trenches.'

'I wonder,' said Miss Fowler. 'Tell Cheape to come and tow mehome again.'

'It's all downhill. I can do it,' said Mary, 'if you put thebrake on.' She laid her lean self against the pushing-bar and homethey trundled.

'Now, be careful you aren't heated and catch a chill,' saidoverdressed Miss Fowler.

'Nothing makes me perspire,' said Mary. As she bumped the chairunder the porch she straightened her long back. The exertion hadgiven her a colour, and the wind had loosened a wisp of hair acrossher forehead. Miss Fowler glanced at her.

'What do you ever think of, Mary?' she demanded suddenly.

'Oh, Wynn says he wants another three pairs of stockings--asthick as we can make them.'

'Yes. But I mean the things that women think about. Here youare, more than forty--'

'Forty-four,' said truthful Mary.

'Well?'

'Well?' Mary offered Miss Fowler her shoulder as usual.

'And you've been with me ten years now.'

'Let's see,' said Mary. 'Wynn was eleven when he came. He'stwenty now, and I came two years before that. It must beeleven.'

'Eleven! And you've never told me anything that matters in allthat while. Looking back, it seems to me that I've done allthe talking.'

'I'm afraid I'm not much of a conversationalist. As Wynn says, Ihaven't the mind. Let me take your hat.'

Miss Fowler, moving stiffly from the hip, stamped herrubber-tipped stick on the tiled hall floor. 'Mary, aren't youanything except a companion? Would you ever have beenanything except a companion?'

Mary hung up the garden hat on its proper peg. 'No,' she saidafter consideration. 'I don't imagine I ever should. But I've noimagination, I'm afraid.'

She fetched Miss Fowler her eleven-o'clock glass ofContrexéville.

That was the wet December when it rained six inches to themonth, and the women went abroad as little as might be. Wynn'sflying chariot visited them several times, and for two mornings (hehad warned her by postcard) Mary heard the thresh of his propellersat dawn. The second time she ran to the window, and stared at thewhitening sky. A little blur passed overhead. She lifted her leanarms towards it.

That evening at six o'clock there came an announcement in anofficial envelope that Second Lieutenant W. Fowler had been killedduring a trial flight. Death was instantaneous. She read it andcarried it to Miss Fowler.

'I never expected anything else,' said Miss Fowler; 'but I'msorry it happened before he had done anything.'

The room was whirling round Mary Postgate, but she found herselfquite steady in the midst of it.

'Yes,' she said. 'It's a great pity he didn't die in actionafter he had killed somebody.'

'He was killed instantly. That's one comfort,' Miss Fowler wenton.

'But Wynn says the shock of a fall kills a man at once--whateverhappens to the tanks,' quoted Mary.

The room was coming to rest now. She heard Miss Fowler sayimpatiently, 'But why can't we cry, Mary?' and herself replying,'There's nothing to cry for. He has done his duty as much as Mrs.Grant's son did.'

'And when he died, she came and cried all the morning,'said Miss Fowler. 'This only makes me feel tired--terribly tired.Will you help me to bed, please, Mary?--And I think I'd like thehot-water bottle.'

So Mary helped her and sat beside, talking of Wynn in hisriotous youth.

'I believe,' said Miss Fowler suddenly, 'that old people andyoung people slip from under a stroke like this. The middle-agedfeel it most.'

'I expect that's true,' said Mary, rising. 'I'm going to putaway the things in his room now. Shall we wear mourning?'

'Certainly not,' said Miss Fowler. 'Except, of course, at thefuneral. I can't go. You will. I want you to arrange about hisbeing buried here. What a blessing it didn't happen atSalisbury!'

Every one, from the Authorities of the Flying Corps to theRector, was most kind and sympathetic. Mary found herself for themoment in a world where bodies were in the habit of beingdespatched by all sorts of conveyances to all sorts of places. Andat the funeral two young men in buttoned-up uniforms stood besidethe grave and spoke to her afterwards.

'You're Miss Postgate, aren't you?' said one. 'Fowler told meabout you. He was a good chap--a first-class fellow--a greatloss.'

'Great loss!' growled his companion. 'We're all awfullysorry.'

'How high did he fall from?' Mary whispered.

'Pretty nearly four thousand feet, I should think, didn't he?You were up that day, Monkey?'

'All of that,' the other child replied. 'My bar made threethousand, and I wasn't as high as him by a lot.'

'Then that's all right,' said Mary. 'Thank you verymuch.'

They moved away as Mrs. Grant flung herself weeping on Mary'sflat chest, under the lych-gate, and cried, 'I know how itfeels! I know how it feels!'

'But both his parents are dead,' Mary returned, as she fendedher off. 'Perhaps they've all met by now,' she added vaguely as sheescaped towards the coach.

'I've thought of that too,' wailed Mrs. Grant; 'but then he'llbe practically a stranger to them. Quite embarrassing!'

Mary faithfully reported every detail of the ceremony to MissFowler, who, when she described Mrs. Grant's outburst, laughedaloud.

'Oh, how Wynn would have enjoyed it! He was always utterlyunreliable at funerals. D'you remember--' And they talked of himagain, each piecing out the other's gaps. 'And now,' said MissFowler, 'we'll pull up the blinds and we'll have a general tidy.That always does us good. Have you seen to Wynn's things?'

'Everything--since he first came,' said Mary. 'He was neverdestructive--even with his toys.'

They faced that neat room.

'It can't be natural not to cry,' Mary said at last. 'I'mso afraid you'll have a reaction.'

'As I told you, we old people slip from under the stroke. It'syou I'm afraid for. Have you cried yet?'

'I can't. It only makes me angry with the Germans.'

'That's sheer waste of vitality,' said Miss Fowler. 'We mustlive till the war's finished.' She opened a full wardrobe. 'Now,I've been thinking things over. This is my plan. All his civilianclothes can be given away--Belgian refugees, and so on.'

Mary nodded. 'Boots, collars, and gloves?'

'Yes. We don't need to keep anything except his cap andbelt.'

'They came back yesterday with his Flying Corps clothes'--Marypointed to a roll on the little iron bed.

'Ah, but keep his Service things. Some one may be glad of themlater. Do you remember his sizes?'

'Five feet eight and a half; thirty-six inches round the chest.But he told me he's just put on an inch and a half. I'll mark it ona label and tie it on his sleeping-bag.'

'So that disposes of that,' said Miss Fowler, tapping thepalm of one hand with the ringed third finger of the other. 'Whatwaste it all is! We'll get his old school trunk to-morrow and packhis civilian clothes.'

'And the rest?' said Mary. 'His books and pictures and the gamesand the toys--and--and the rest?'

'My plan is to burn every single thing,' said Miss Fowler. 'Thenwe shall know where they are and no one can handle them afterwards.What do you think?'

'I think that would be much the best,' said Mary. 'But there'ssuch a lot of them.'

'We'll burn them in the destructor,' said Miss Fowler.

This was an open-air furnace for the consumption of refuse; alittle circular four-foot tower of pierced brick over an irongrating. Miss Fowler had noticed the design in a gardening journalyears ago, and had had it built at the bottom of the garden. Itsuited her tidy soul, for it saved unsightly rubbish-heaps, and theashes lightened the stiff clay soil.

Mary considered for a moment, saw her way clear, and noddedagain. They spent the evening putting away well-remembered civiliansuits, underclothes that Mary had marked, and the regiments of verygaudy socks and ties. A second trunk was needed, and, after that, alittle packing-case, and it was late next day when Cheape and thelocal carrier lifted them to the cart. The Rector luckily knew of afriend's son, about five feet eight and a half inches high, to whoma complete Flying Corps outfit would be most acceptable, and senthis gardener's son down with a barrow to take delivery of it. Thecap was hung up in Miss Fowler's bedroom, the belt in MissPostgate's; for, as Miss Fowler said, they had no desire to maketea-party talk of them.

'That disposes of that,' said Miss Fowler. 'I'll leavethe rest to you, Mary. I can't run up and down the garden. You'dbetter take the big clothes-basket and get Nellie to help you.'

'I shall take the wheel-barrow and do it myself,' said Mary, andfor once in her life closed her mouth.

Miss Fowler, in moments of irritation, had called Mary deadlymethodical. She put on her oldest waterproof and gardening-hat andher ever-slipping goloshes, for the weather was on the edge of morerain. She gathered fire-lighters from the kitchen, a half-scuttleof coals, and a fa*ggot of brushwood. These she wheeled in thebarrow down the mossed paths to the dank little laurel shrubberywhere the destructor stood under the drip of three oaks. Sheclimbed the wire fence into the Rector's glebe just behind, andfrom his tenant's rick pulled two large armfuls of good hay, whichshe spread neatly on the fire-bars. Next, journey by journey,passing Miss Fowler's white face at the morning-room window eachtime, she brought down in the towel-covered clothes-basket, on thewheel-barrow, thumbed and used Hentys, Marryats, Levers,Stevensons, Baroness Orczys, Garvices, schoolbooks, and atlases,unrelated piles of the Motor Cyclist, the Light Car,and catalogues of Olympia Exhibitions; the remnants of a fleet ofsailing-ships from ninepenny cutters to a three-guinea yacht; aprep.-school dressing-gown; bats from three-and-sixpence totwenty-four shillings; cricket and tennis balls; disintegratedsteam and clockwork locomotives with their twisted rails; a greyand red tin model of a submarine; a dumb gramophone and crackedrecords; golf-clubs that had to be broken across the knee, like hiswalking-sticks, and an assegai; photographs of private and publicschool cricket and football elevens, and his O.T.C. on the line ofmarch; kodaks, and film-rolls; some pewters, and one real silvercup, for boxing competitions and Junior Hurdles; sheaves of schoolphotographs; Miss Fowler's photograph; her own which he had borneoff in fun and (good care she took not to ask!) had never returned;a playbox with a secret drawer; a load of flannels, belts, andjerseys, and a pair of spiked shoes unearthed in the attic; apacket of all the letters that Miss Fowler and she had ever writtento him, kept for some absurd reason through all these years; afive-day attempt at a diary; framed pictures of racing motors infull Brooklands career, and load upon load of undistinguishablewreckage of tool-boxes, rabbit-hutches, electric batteries, tinsoldiers, fret-saw outfits, and jig-saw puzzles.

Miss Fowler at the window watched her come and go, and said toherself, 'Mary's an old woman. I never realised it before.'

After lunch she recommended her to rest.

'I'm not in the least tired,' said Mary. 'I've got it allarranged. I'm going to the village at two o'clock for someparaffin. Nellie hasn't enough, and the walk will do me good.'

She made one last quest round the house before she started, andfound that she had overlooked nothing. It began to mist as soon asshe had skirted Vegg's Heath, where Wynn used to descend--it seemedto her that she could almost hear the beat of his propellersoverhead, but there was nothing to see. She hoisted her umbrellaand lunged into the blind wet till she had reached the shelter ofthe empty village. As she came out of Mr. Kidd's shop with a bottlefull of paraffin in her string shopping-bag, she met Nurse Eden,the village nurse, and fell into talk with her, as usual, about thevillage children. They were just parting opposite the 'Royal Oak,'when a gun, they fancied, was fired immediately behind the house.It was followed by a child's shriek dying into a wail.

'Accident!' said Nurse Eden promptly, and dashed through theempty bar, followed by Mary. They found Mrs. Gerritt, thepublican's wife, who could only gasp and point to the yard, where alittle cart-lodge was sliding sideways amid a clatter of tiles.Nurse Eden snatched up a sheet drying before the fire, ran out,lifted something from the ground, and flung the sheet round it. Thesheet turned scarlet and half her uniform too, as she bore the loadinto the kitchen. It was little Edna Gerritt, aged nine, whom Maryhad known since her perambulator days.

'Am I hurted bad?' Edna asked, and died between Nurse Eden'sdripping hands. The sheet fell aside and for an instant, before shecould shut her eyes, Mary saw the ripped and shredded body.

'It's a wonder she spoke at all,' said Nurse Eden. 'What inGod's name was it?'

'A bomb,' said Mary.

'One o' the Zeppelins?'

'No. An aeroplane. I thought I heard it on the Heath, but Ifancied it was one of ours. It must have shut off its engines as itcame down. That's why we didn't notice it.'

'The filthy pigs!' said Nurse Eden, all white and shaken. 'Seethe pickle I'm in! Go and tell Dr. Hennis, Miss Postgate.' Nurselooked at the mother, who had dropped face down on the floor.'She's only in a fit. Turn her over.'

Mary heaved Mrs. Gerritt right side up, and hurried off for thedoctor. When she told her tale, he asked her to sit down in thesurgery till he got her something.

'But I don't need it, I assure you,' said she. 'I don't think itwould be wise to tell Miss Fowler about it, do you? Her heart is soirritable in this weather.'

Dr. Hennis looked at her admiringly as he packed up his bag.

'No. Don't tell anybody till we're sure,' he said, and hastenedto the 'Royal Oak,' while Mary went on with the paraffin. Thevillage behind her was as quiet as usual, for the news had not yetspread. She frowned a little to herself, her large nostrilsexpanded uglily, and from time to time she muttered a phrase whichWynn, who never restrained himself before his womenfolk, hadapplied to the enemy. 'Bloody pagans! They are bloodypagans. But,' she continued, falling back on the teaching that hadmade her what she was, 'one mustn't let one's mind dwell on thesethings.'

Before she reached the house Dr. Hennis, who was also a specialconstable, overtook her in his car.

'Oh, Miss Postgate,' he said, 'I wanted to tell you that thataccident at the "Royal Oak" was due to Gerritt's stable tumblingdown. It's been dangerous for a long time. It ought to have beencondemned.'

'I thought I heard an explosion too,' said Mary.

'You might have been misled by the beams snapping. I've beenlooking at 'em. They were dry-rotted through and through. Ofcourse, as they broke, they would make a noise just like agun.'

'Yes?' said Mary politely.

'Poor little Edna was playing underneath it,' he went on, stillholding her with his eyes, 'and that and the tiles cut her topieces, you see?'

'I saw it,' said Mary, shaking her head. 'I heard it too.'

'Well, we cannot be sure.' Dr. Hennis changed his tonecompletely. 'I know both you and Nurse Eden (I've been speaking toher) are perfectly trustworthy, and I can rely on you not to sayanything--yet at least. It is no good to stir up peopleunless--'

'Oh, I never do--anyhow,' said Mary, and Dr. Hennis went on tothe county town.

After all, she told herself, it might, just possibly, have beenthe collapse of the old stable that had done all those things topoor little Edna. She was sorry she had even hinted at otherthings, but Nurse Eden was discretion itself. By the time shereached home the affair seemed increasingly remote by its verymonstrosity. As she came in, Miss Fowler told her that a couple ofaeroplanes had passed half an hour ago.

'I thought I heard them,' she replied, 'I'm going down to thegarden now. I've got the paraffin.'

'Yes, but--what have you got on your boots? They'resoaking wet. Change them at once.'

Not only did Mary obey but she wrapped the boots in a newspaper,and put them into the string bag with the bottle. So, armed withthe longest kitchen poker, she left.

'It's raining again,' was Miss Fowler's last word, 'but--I knowyou won't be happy till that's disposed of.'

'It won't take long. I've got everything down there, and I'veput the lid on the destructor to keep the wet out.'

The shrubbery was filling with twilight by the time she hadcompleted her arrangements and sprinkled the sacrificial oil. Asshe lit the match that would burn her heart to ashes, she heard agroan or a grunt behind the dense Portugal laurels.

'Cheape?' she called impatiently, but Cheape, with his ancientlumbago, in his comfortable cottage would be the last man toprofane the sanctuary. 'Sheep,' she concluded, and threw in thefusee. The pyre went up in a roar, and the immediate flame hastenednight around her.

'How Wynn would have loved this!' she thought, stepping backfrom the blaze.

By its light she saw, half hidden behind a laurel not five pacesaway, a bareheaded man sitting very stiffly at the foot of one ofthe oaks. A broken branch lay across his lap--one booted legprotruding from beneath it. His head moved ceaselessly from side toside, but his body was as still as the tree's trunk. He wasdressed--she moved sideways to look more closely--in a uniformsomething like Wynn's, with a flap buttoned across the chest. Foran instant, she had some idea that it might be one of the youngflying men she had met at the funeral. But their heads were darkand glossy. This man's was as pale as a baby's, and so closelycropped that she could see the disgusting pinky skin beneath. Hislips moved.

'What do you say?' Mary moved towards him and stooped.

'Laty! Laty! Laty!' he muttered, while his hands picked at thedead wet leaves. There was no doubt as to his nationality. It madeher so angry that she strode back to the destructor, though it wasstill too hot to use the poker there. Wynn's books seemed to becatching well. She looked up at the oak behind the man; several ofthe light upper and two or three rotten lower branches had brokenand scattered their rubbish on the shrubbery path. On the lowestfork a helmet with dependent strings, showed like a bird's-nest inthe light of a long-tongued flame. Evidently this person had fallenthrough the tree. Wynn had told her that it was quite possible forpeople to fall out of aeroplanes. Wynn told her too, that treeswere useful things to break an aviator's fall, but in this case theaviator must have been broken or he would have moved from his queerposition. He seemed helpless except for his horrible rolling head.On the other hand, she could see a pistol case at his belt--andMary loathed pistols. Months ago, after reading certain Belgianreports together, she and Miss Fowler had had dealings with one--ahuge revolver with flat-nosed bullets, which latter, Wynn said,were forbidden by the rules of war to be used against civilisedenemies. 'They're good enough for us,' Miss Fowler had replied.'Show Mary how it works.' And Wynn, laughing at the merepossibility of any such need, had led the craven winking Mary intothe Rector's disused quarry, and had shown her how to fire theterrible machine. It lay now in the top-left-hand drawer of hertoilet-table--a memento not included in the burning. Wynn would bepleased to see how she was not afraid.

She slipped up to the house to get it. When she came through therain, the eyes in the head were alive with expectation. The moutheven tried to smile. But at sight of the revolver its corners wentdown just like Edna Gerritt's. A tear trickled from one eye, andthe head rolled from shoulder to shoulder as though trying to pointout something.

'Cassée. Tout cassée,' it whimpered.

'What do you say?' said Mary disgustedly, keeping well to oneside, though only the head moved.

'Cassée,' it repeated. 'Che me rends. Le médicin!Toctor!'

'Nein!' said she, bringing all her small German to bear with thebig pistol. 'Ich haben der todt Kinder gesehn.'

The head was still. Mary's hand dropped. She had been careful tokeep her finger off the trigger for fear of accidents. After a fewmoments' waiting, she returned to the destructor, where the flameswere falling, and churned up Wynn's charring books with the poker.Again the head groaned for the doctor.

'Stop that!' said Mary, and stamped her foot. 'Stop that, youbloody pagan!'

The words came quite smoothly and naturally. They were Wynn'sown words, and Wynn was a gentleman who for no consideration onearth would have torn little Edna into those vividly colouredstrips and strings. But this thing hunched under the oak-tree haddone that thing. It was no question of reading horrors out ofnewspapers to Miss Fowler. Mary had seen it with her own eyes onthe 'Royal Oak' kitchen table. She must not allow her mind to dwellupon it. Now Wynn was dead, and everything connected with him waslumping and rustling and tinkling under her busy poker into redblack dust and grey leaves of ash. The thing beneath the oak woulddie too. Mary had seen death more than once. She came of a familythat had a knack of dying under, as she told Miss Fowler, 'mostdistressing circ*mstances.' She would stay where she was till shewas entirely satisfied that It was dead--dead as dear papa in thelate 'eighties; aunt Mary in eighty-nine; mamma in 'ninety-one;cousin Dick in ninety-five; Lady McCausland's housemaid in'ninety-nine; Lady McCausland's sister in nineteen hundred and one;Wynn buried five days ago; and Edna Gerritt still waiting fordecent earth to hide her. As she thought--her underlip caught up byone faded canine, brows knit and nostrils wide--she wielded thepoker with lunges that jarred the grating at the bottom, andcareful scrapes round the brick-work above. She looked at herwrist-watch. It was getting on to half-past four, and the rain wascoming down in earnest. Tea would be at five. If It did not diebefore that time, she would be soaked and would have to change.Meantime, and this occupied her, Wynn's things were burning well inspite of the hissing wet, though now and again a book-back with aquite distinguishable title would be heaved up out of the mass. Theexercise of stoking had given her a glow which seemed to reach tothe marrow of her bones. She hummed--Mary never had a voice--toherself. She had never believed in all those advanced views--thoughMiss Fowler herself leaned a little that way--of woman's work inthe world; but now she saw there was much to be said for them.This, for instance, was her work--work which no man, leastof all Dr. Hennis, would ever have done. A man, at such a crisis,would be what Wynn called a 'sportsman'; would leave everything tofetch help, and would certainly bring It into the house. Now awoman's business was to make a happy home for--for a husband andchildren. Failing these--it was not a thing one should allow one'smind to dwell upon--but--

'Stop it!' Mary cried once more across the shadows. 'Nein, Itell you! Ich haben der todt Kinder gesehn.'

But it was a fact. A woman who had missed these thingscould still be useful--more useful than a man in certain respects.She thumped like a pavior through the settling ashes at the secretthrill of it. The rain was damping the fire, but she could feel--itwas too dark to see--that her work was done. There was a dull redglow at the bottom of the destructor, not enough to char the woodenlid if she slipped it half over against the driving wet. Thisarranged, she leaned on the poker and waited, while an increasingrapture laid hold on her. She ceased to think. She gave herself upto feel. Her long pleasure was broken by a sound that she hadwaited for in agony several times in her life. She leaned forwardand listened, smiling. There could be no mistake. She closed hereyes and drank it in. Once it ceased abruptly.

'Go on,' she murmured, half aloud. 'That isn't the end.'

Then the end came very distinctly in a lull between tworain-gusts. Mary Postgate drew her breath short between her teethand shivered from head to foot. 'That's all right,' said shecontentedly, and went up to the house, where she scandalised thewhole routine by taking a luxurious hot bath before tea, and camedown looking, as Miss Fowler said when she saw her lying allrelaxed on the other sofa, 'quite handsome!'