A DIVERSITY OF CREATURES

By

RUDYARD KIPLING

1917

PREFACE

With two exceptions, the dates at the head of these stories show whenthey were published in magazine form. 'The Village that Voted the Earthwas Flat, ' and 'My Son's Wife' carry the dates when they were written. 

RUDYARD KIPLING. 

CONTENTS

As Easy as ABC

 _MacDonough's Song_

Friendly Brook

 _The Land_

In the Same Boat

 '_Helen all Alone_'

The Honours of War

 _The Children_

The Dog Hervey

 _The Comforters_

The Village that Voted the Earth was Flat

 _The Press_

In the Presence

 _Jobson's Amen_

Regulus

 _A Translation_

The Edge of the Evening

 _Rebirth_

The Horse Marines

 _The Legend of Mirth_

'My Son's Wife'

 _The Floods_

 _The Fabulists_

The Vortex

 _The Song of Seven Cities_

'Swept and Garnished'

Mary Postgate

 _The Beginnings_

A DIVERSITY OF CREATURES

As Easy as A. B. C. 

(1912)

_The A. B. C. , that semi-elected, semi-nominated body of a few scorepersons, controls the Planet. Transportation is Civilisation, our mottoruns. Theoretically we do what we please, so long as we do not interferewith the traffic_ and all it implies. _Practically, the A. B. C. Confirmsor annuls all international arrangements, and, to judge from its lastreport, finds our tolerant, humorous, lazy little Planet only too readyto shift the whole burden of public administration on its shoulders_. 

'With the Night Mail[1]. '

[Footnote 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 that easycommunications nowadays, and lack of privacy in the past, have killedall curiosity among mankind, but as the Board's Official Reporter I ambound to tell my tale. 

At 9. 30 A. M. , August 26, A. D. 2065, the Board, sitting in London, wasinformed by De Forest that the District of Northern Illinois hadriotously cut itself out of all systems and would remain disconnectedtill the Board should take over and administer it direct. 

Every Northern Illinois freight and passenger tower was, he reported, out of action; all District main, local, and guiding lights had beenextinguished; all General Communications were dumb, and through traffichad been diverted. No reason had been given, but he gatheredunofficially from the Mayor of Chicago that the District complained of'crowd-making and invasion of privacy. '

As a matter of fact, it is of no importance whether Northern Illinoisstay in or out of planetary circuit; as a matter of policy, anycomplaint of invasion of privacy needs immediate investigation, lestworse follow. 

By 9-45 A. M. De Forest, Dragomiroff (Russia), Takahira (Japan), andPirolo (Italy) were empowered to visit Illinois and 'to take such stepsas might be necessary for the resumption of traffic and _all that thatimplies. '_ By 10 A. M. The Hall was empty, and the four Members and Iwere aboard what Pirolo insisted on calling 'my leetle godchild'--thatis to say, the new _Victor Pirolo_. Our Planet prefers to know VictorPirolo as a gentle, grey-haired enthusiast who spends his time nearFoggia, inventing or creating new breeds of Spanish-Italian olive-trees;but there is another side to his nature--the manufacture of quaintinventions, of which the _Victor Pirolo_ is, perhaps, not the leastsurprising. She and a few score sister-craft of the same type embody hislatest ideas. But she is not comfortable. An A. B. C. Boat does not takethe air 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 myself sittingsuddenly on the large lap of Eustace Arnott, who commands the A. B. C. Fleet. One knows vaguely that there is such a thing as a Fleet somewhereon the Planet, and that, theoretically, it exists for the purposes ofwhat used to be known as 'war. ' Only a week before, while visiting aglacier sanatorium behind Gothaven, I had seen some squadrons makingfalse auroras far to the north while they manoeuvred round the Pole;but, naturally, it had never occurred to me that the things could beused in earnest. 

Said Arnott to De Forest as I staggered to a seat on the chart-roomdivan: 'We're tremendously grateful to 'em in Illinois. We've never hada chance of exercising all the Fleet together. I've turned in a GeneralCall, and I expect we'll have at least two hundred keels aloftthis 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-table where themap of the summer-blue Atlantic slid along, degree by degree, in exactanswer to our progress. Our dial already showed 320 m. P. H. And we weretwo thousand feet above the uppermost traffic lines. 

'Now, where is this Illinois District of yours?' said Dragomiroff. 'Onetravels so much, one sees so little. Oh, I remember! It is inNorth America. '

De Forest, whose business it is to know the out districts, told us thatit lay at the foot of Lake Michigan, on a road to nowhere in 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 countries nowadays, it was heavilyguarded against invasion of privacy by forced timber--fifty-foot spruceand tamarack, grown in five years. The population was close on twomillions, largely migratory between Florida and California, with abackbone of small farms (they call a thousand acres a farm in Illinois)whose owners come into Chicago for amusements and society during thewinter. They were, he said, noticeably kind, quiet folk, but a littleexacting, as all flat countries must be, in their notions of privacy. There had, for instance, been no printed news-sheet in Illinois fortwenty-seven years. Chicago argued that engines for printed news sooneror later developed into engines for invasion of privacy, which in turnmight bring the old terror of Crowds and blackmail back to the Planet. So news-sheets were not. 

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

'Chicago?' said Takahira. 'That's the little place where there isSalati's Statue of the Nigger in Flames? A fine bit of old work. '

'When did you see it?' asked De Forest quickly. 'They only unveil itonce a year. '

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

'Whew!' De Forest whistled. 'I did not know that! I wish you'd told mebefore. MacDonough's Song may have had its uses when it was composed, but it was an infernal legacy for any man to leave behind. '

'It's protective instinct, my dear fellows, ' said Pirolo, rolling acigarette. 'The Planet, she has had her dose of popular government. Shesuffers from inherited agoraphobia. She has no--ah--use for Crowds. '

Dragomiroff leaned forward to give him a light. 'Certainly, ' said thewhite-bearded Russian, 'the Planet has taken all precautions againstCrowds for the past hundred years. What is our total population to-day?Six hundred million, we hope; five hundred, we think; but--but if nextyear's census shows more than four hundred and fifty, I myself will eatall the extra little babies. We have cut the birth-rate out--right out!For a long time we have said to Almighty God, "Thank You, Sir, but we donot much like Your game of life, so we will not play. "'

'Anyhow, ' said Arnott defiantly, 'men live a century apiece on theaverage now. '

'Oh, that is quite well! I am rich--you are rich--we are all rich andhappy because we are so few and we live so long. Only _I_ think AlmightyGod He will remember what the Planet was like in the time of Crowds andthe Plague. Perhaps He will send us nerves. Eh, Pirolo?'

The Italian blinked into space. 'Perhaps, ' he said, 'He has sent themalready. Anyhow, you cannot argue with the Planet. She does not forgetthe Old Days, and--what can you do?'

'For sure we can't remake the world. ' De Forest glanced at the mapflowing smoothly across the table from west to east. 'We ought to beover our ground by nine to-night. There won't be much sleep afterwards. '

On which hint we dispersed, and I slept till Takahira waked me fordinner. Our ancestors thought nine hours' sleep ample for their littlelives. We, living thirty years longer, feel ourselves defrauded withless than eleven out of the twenty-four. 

By ten o'clock we were over Lake Michigan. The west shore was lightless, except for a dull ground-glare at Chicago, and a singletraffic-directing light--its leading beam pointing north--at Waukegan onour starboard bow. None of the Lake villages gave any sign of life; andinland, westward, so far as we could see, blackness lay unbroken on thelevel earth. We swooped down and skimmed low across the dark, throwingcalls county by county. Now and again we picked up the faint glimmer ofa house-light, or heard the rasp and rend of a cultivator being playedacross the fields, but Northern Illinois as a whole was one inky, apparently uninhabited, waste of high, forced woods. Only ourilluminated map, with its little pointer switching from county to countyas we wheeled 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 her ownprivacy in the timber which she grew for that purpose. 

'Oh, this is absurd!' said De Forest. 'We're like an owl trying to worka wheat-field. Is this Bureau Creek? Let's land, Arnott, and get hold ofsome one. '

We brushed over a belt of forced woodland--fifteen-year-old maple sixtyfeet high--grounded on a private meadow-dock, none too big, where wemoored to our own grapnels, and hurried out through the warm dark nighttowards a light in a verandah. As we neared the garden gate I could havesworn we had stepped knee-deep in quicksand, for we could scarcely dragour feet against the prickling currents that clogged them. After fivepaces we stopped, wiping our foreheads, as hopelessly stuck on drysmooth turf as so many cows in a bog. 

'Pest!' cried Pirolo angrily. 'We are ground-circuited. And it is my ownsystem of ground-circuits too! I know the pull. '

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

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

The girl laughed, and laid aside her knitting. An old-fashionedController stood at her elbow, which she reversed from time to time, andwe could hear the snort and clank of the obedient cultivator half a mileaway, behind the guardian woods. 

'Come in and sit down, ' she said. 'I'm only playing a plough. Dad'sgone to Chicago to--Ah! Then it was _your_ call I heard just now!'

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

We were checked, gasping, waist-deep in current this time, three yardsfrom the verandah. 

'We only want to know what's the matter with Illinois, ' said De Forestplacidly. 

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

'How can we go anywhere if you won't loose us?' De Forest went on, whileArnott scowled. Admirals of Fleets are still quite human when theirdignity is touched. 

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

'Don't worry about that, ' said Arnott, and whistled. A voice answeredfrom the _Victor Pirolo_ in the meadow. 

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

We heard the ping of a breaking lamp; a fuse blew out somewhere in theverandah roof, frightening a nestful of birds. The ground-circuit wasopen. We stooped and rubbed our tingling ankles. 

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

''Sorry, but we haven't time to look funny, ' said Arnott. 'We've got togo to Chicago; and if I were you, young lady, I'd go into the cellarsfor the next two hours, and take mother with me. '

Off he strode, with us at his heels, muttering indignantly, till thehumour of the thing struck and doubled him up with laughter at the footof 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 look as biga fool as you did, Arnott! Hullo! What on earth is that? Dad coming homefrom Chicago?'

There was a rattle and a rush, and a five-plough cultivator, blades inair like so many teeth, trundled itself at us round the edge of thetimber, fuming and sparking furiously. 

'Jump!' said Arnott, as we bundled ourselves through the none-too-widedoor. 'Never mind about shutting it. Up!'

The _Victor Pirolo_ lifted like a bubble, and the vicious machine shotjust underneath us, clawing high as it passed. 

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

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

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

'Oh, that is Illinois all over, ' said De Forest. 'They don't contentthemselves with talking about privacy. They arrange to have it. And now, where's your alleged fleet, Arnott? We must assert ourselves againstthis 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 De Forest. 'Get over Chicago, and perhaps we'll see something. '

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

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

We could hear the sputter and crackle of road-surfacing machines--thecheap Western type which fuse stone and rubbish into lava-like ribbedglass for their rough country roads. Three or four surfacers worked oneach side of a square of ruins. The brick and stone wreckage crumbled, slid forward, and presently spread out into white-hot pools of stickyslag, which the levelling-rods smoothed more or less flat. Already athird of the big block had been so treated, and was cooling to dull redbefore our astonished eyes. 

'It is the Old Market, ' said De Forest. 'Well, there's nothing toprevent 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'resinging. Why on the earth are they singing?'

We dropped again till we could see the black fringe of people at theedge 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 the ForbiddenSong that all men knew, and none let pass their lips--poor PatMacDonough's Song, made in the days of the Crowds and the Plague--everysilly word of it loaded to sparking-point with the Planet's inheritedmemories of horror, panic, fear and cruelty. And Chicago--innocent, contented little Chicago--was singing it aloud to the infernal tune thatcarried riot, pestilence and lunacy round our Planet a fewgenerations ago!

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

(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 song reneweditself 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 Old Days!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 the hull ofthe _Victor Pirolo_ ring to the command: 'Lamps! Both watches 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 my horrorslipped over my head some sort of rubber helmet that locked with a snap. I could feel thick colloid bosses before my eyes, but I stood inabsolute darkness. 

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

As he spoke I became aware of a thin thread of almost intolerable light, let down from heaven at an immense distance--one vertical hairsbreadthof frozen lightning. 

'Those are our flanking ships, ' said Arnott at my elbow. 'That one isover Galena. Look south--that other one's over Keithburg. Vincennes isbehind us, and north yonder is Winthrop Woods. The Fleet's in position, sir'--this to De Forest. 'As soon as you give the word. '

'Ah no! No!' cried Dragomiroff at my side. I could feel the old mantremble. 'I do not know all that you can do, but be kind! I ask you tobe a little kind to them below! This is horrible--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 dear fellow. '

'I'll just send our little girl in Bureau County a warning, ' saidArnott. 'She don't deserve it, but we'll allow her a minute or two totake mamma to the cellar. '

In the utter hush that followed the growling spark after Arnott hadlinked up his Service Communicator with the invisible Fleet, we heardMacDonough's Song from the city beneath us grow fainter as we rose toposition. Then I clapped my hand before my mask lenses, for it was asthough the floor of Heaven had been riddled and all the inconceivableblaze of suns in the making was poured through the manholes. 

'You needn't count, ' said Arnott. I had had no thought of such a thing. 'There are two hundred and fifty keels up there, five miles apart. Fullpower, please, for another twelve seconds. '

The firmament, as far as eye could reach, stood on pillars of whitefire. One fell on the glowing square at Chicago, and turned it black. 

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

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

The lights switched off, and the darkness stunned like an avalanche. Wecould hear Dragomiroff's teeth on the glass edge. 

Pirolo was comforting him. 

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

'Pardon!' Dragomiroff moaned. 'I have never seen Death. I have neverseen the Board take action. Shall we go down and burn them alive, or isthat already done?'

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

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

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

We waited a minute, and then MacDonough's Song, broken but defiant, rosefrom undefeated Chicago. 

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

'Very good, sir, ' said Arnott, and felt his way to the Communicatorkeys. 

No lights broke forth, but the hollow of the skies made herself themouth for one note that touched the raw fibre of the brain. Men hearsuch sounds in delirium, advancing like tides from horizons beyond theruled foreshores of space. 

'That's our pitch-pipe, ' said Arnott. 'We may be a bit ragged. I'venever conducted two hundred and fifty performers before. ' He pulled outthe couplers, and struck a full chord on the Service Communicators. 

The beams of light leaped down again, and danced, solemnly and awfully, a stilt-dance, sweeping thirty or forty miles left and right at eachstiff-legged kick, while the darkness delivered itself--there is noscale to measure against that utterance--of the tune to which they kepttime. Certain notes--one learnt to expect them with terror--cut throughone's marrow, but, after three minutes, thought and emotion passed inindescribable agony. 

We saw, we heard, but I think we were in some sort swooning. The twohundred and fifty beams shifted, re-formed, straddled and split, narrowed, widened, rippled in ribbons, broke into a thousand white-hotparallel lines, melted and revolved in interwoven rings likeold-fashioned engine-turning, flung up to the zenith, made as if todescend and renew the torment, halted at the last instant, twizzledinsanely round the horizon, and vanished, to bring back for thehundredth time darkness more shattering than their instantly renewedlight over all Illinois. Then the tune and lights ceased together, andwe heard one single devastating wail that shook all the horizon as arubbed wet finger shakes the rim of a bowl. 

'Ah, that is my new siren, ' said Pirolo. 'You can break an iceberg inhalf, if you find the proper pitch. They will whistle by squadrons now. It is the wind through pierced shutters in the bows. '

I had collapsed beside Dragomiroff, broken and snivelling feebly, because I had been delivered before my time to all the terrors ofJudgment Day, and the Archangels of the Resurrection were hailing menaked across the Universe to the sound of the music of the spheres. 

Then I saw De Forest smacking Arnott's helmet with his open hand. Thewailing died down in a long shriek as a black shadow swooped past us, and returned to her place above the lower clouds. 

'I hate to interrupt a specialist when he's enjoying himself, ' said DeForest. 'But, as a matter of fact, all Illinois has been asking us tostop for these last fifteen seconds. '

'What a pity. ' Arnott slipped off his mask. 'I wanted you to hear usreally 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 old shoot-'em-and-sink-'em game, but I should scarcely call it _that_. What shall I tell the Fleet, sir?'

'Tell 'em we're very pleased and impressed. I don't think they need waiton any longer. There isn't a spark left down there. ' De Forest pointed. 'They'll be deaf and blind. '

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

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

'But first a small drink, ' said Pirolo. 'The Board must not arriveweeping at its own works. '

'I am an old fool--an old fool!' Dragomiroff began piteously. 'I did notknow what would happen. It is all new to me. We reason with them inLittle Russia. '

Chicago North landing-tower was unlighted, and Arnott worked his shipinto the clips by her own lights. As soon as these broke out we heardgroanings of horror and appeal from many people below. 

'All right, ' shouted Arnott into the darkness. 'We aren't beginningagain!' We descended by the stairs, to find ourselves knee-deep in agrovelling crowd, some crying that they were blind, others beseeching usnot to make any more noises, but the greater part writhing facedownward, their hands or their caps before their eyes. 

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

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

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

'Pirolo?' An unsteady voice lifted itself. 'Then tell us was thereanything 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?) 'I give youmy word and the Board's word that there was nothing except light--justlight! You stchewpids! Your birth-rate is too low already as it is. Someday 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 a call and wewould have told you. '

'Send you a call!' a deep voice shouted. 'I wish you had been at our endof the wire. '

'I'm glad I wasn't, ' said De Forest. 'It was bad enough from behind thelamps. Never mind! It's over now. Is there any one here I can talkbusiness with? I'm De Forest--for the Board. '

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

A big man rose unsteadily from the street, and staggered towards uswhere we sat on the broad turf-edging, in front of the garden fences. 

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

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

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

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

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

'Bring 'em up please, Blut. We're supposed to be the Four in charge ofthis hamlet. What we says, goes. And, De Forest, what do you say?'

'Nothing--yet, ' De Forest answered, as we made room for the panting, reeling men. '_You've_ cut out of system. Well?'

'Tell the steward to send down drinks, please, ' Arnott whispered to anorderly at his side. 

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

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

'_And all that that implies_. ' The big Four who ran Chicago chantedtheir Magna Charta like children at school. 

'Well, get on, ' said De Forest wearily. 'What is your silly troubleanyway?'

'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 prisoners lastnight?'

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

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

'They're triple-circuited, ' the Mayor called. 'You'll have to blow outthree fuses. ' He turned to De Forest, his large outline just visible inthe paling darkness. 'I hate to throw any more work on the Board. I'm anadministrator myself, but we've had a little fuss with our Serviles. What? In a big city there's bound to be a few men and women who can'tlive without listening to themselves, and who prefer drinking out ofpipes they don't own both ends of. They inhabit flats and hotels all theyear round. They say it saves 'em trouble. Anyway, it gives 'em moretime to make trouble for their neighbours. We call 'em Serviles locally. And they are apt to be tuberculous. '

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

'Mulligan's our Health Officer, and a one-idea man, ' said the Mayor, laughing. 'But it's true that most Serviles haven't much control. They_will_ talk; and when people take to talking as a business, anything mayarrive--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 Serviles got totalking--first in their houses and then on the streets, telling men andwomen how to manage their own affairs. (You can't teach a Servile not tofinger his neighbour's soul. ) That's invasion of privacy, of course, butin Chicago we'll suffer anything sooner than make Crowds. Nobody tookmuch notice, and so I let 'em alone. My fault! I was warned there wouldbe trouble, but there hasn't been a Crowd or murder in Illinois fornineteen years. '

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

'Likely. Anyway, we'd forgot such things. So, from talking in the housesand on the streets, our Serviles go to calling a meeting at the OldMarket yonder. ' He nodded across the square where the wrecked buildingsheaved up grey in the dawn-glimmer behind the square-cased statue of TheNegro in Flames. 'There's nothing to prevent any one calling meetingsexcept that it's against human nature to stand in a Crowd, besides beingbad for the health. I ought to have known by the way our men and womenattended that first meeting that trouble was brewing. There were as manyas a thousand in the market-place, touching each other. Touching! Thenthe Serviles turned in all tongue-switches and talked, and we--'

'What did they talk about?' said Takahira. 

'First, how badly things were managed in the city. That pleased usFour--we were on the platform--because we hoped to catch one or twogood men for City work. You know how rare executive capacity is. Even ifwe didn't it's--it's refreshing to find any one interested enough in ourjob to damn our eyes. You don't know what it means to work, year in, year out, without a spark of difference with a living soul. '

'Oh, don't we!' said De Forest. 'There are times on the Board when we'dgive our positions if any one would kick us out and take hold of thingsthemselves. '

'But they won't, ' said the Mayor ruefully. 'I assure you, sir, we Fourhave done things in Chicago, in the hope of rousing people, that wouldhave discredited Nero. But what do they say? "Very good, Andy. Have ityour own way. Anything's better than a Crowd. I'll go back to my land. "You _can't_ do anything with folk who can go where they please, anddon't want anything on God's earth except their own way. There isn't akick or a kicker left on the Planet. '

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

'Oh, that's only amusement. 'Tell you later. As I was saying, ourServiles held the meeting, and pretty soon we had to ground-circuit theplatform to save 'em from being killed. And that didn't make our peopleany more pacific. '

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

'If you've ever been ground-circuited, ' said the Mayor, 'you'll know itdon't improve any man's temper to be held up straining against nothing. No, sir! Eight or nine hundred folk kept pawing and buzzing like fliesin treacle for two hours, while a pack of perfectly safe Servilesinvades their mental and spiritual privacy, may be amusing to watch, butthey are not pleasant to handle afterwards. '

Pirolo chuckled. 

'Our folk own themselves. They were of opinion things were going too farand too fiery. I warned the Serviles; but they're born house-dwellers. Unless a fact hits 'em on the head they cannot see it. Would you believeme, they went on to talk of what they called "popular government"? Theydid! They wanted us to go back to the old Voodoo-business of voting withpapers and wooden boxes, and word-drunk people and printed formulas, andnews-sheets! They said they practised it among themselves about whatthey'd have to eat in their flats and hotels. Yes, sir! They stood upbehind Bluthner's doubled ground-circuits, and they said that, in thispresent year of grace, _to_ self-owning men and women, _on_ that veryspot! Then they finished'--he lowered his voice cautiously--'by talkingabout "The People. " And then Bluthner he had to sit up all night incharge of the circuits because he couldn't trust his men to keep'em shut. '

'It was trying 'em too high, ' the Chief of Police broke in. 'But wecouldn't hold the Crowd ground-circuited for ever. I gathered in all theServiles on charge of Crowd-making, and put 'em in the water-tower, andthen I let things cut loose. I had to! The District lit like a sparkedgas-tank!'

'The news was out over seven degrees of country, ' the Mayor continued;'and when once it's a question of invasion of privacy, good-bye to rightand reason in Illinois! They began turning out traffic-lights andlocking up landing-towers on Thursday night. Friday, they stopped alltraffic and asked for the Board to take over. Then they wanted to cleanChicago off the side of the Lake and rebuild elsewhere--just for asouvenir of "The People" that the Serviles talked about. I suggestedthat they should slag the Old Market where the meeting was held, while Iturned in a call to you all on the Board. That kept 'em quiet till youcame along. And--and now _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 Crowd that hadedged in towards us. Day was come. 

'Don't you think this business can be arranged?' he began. But there wasa roar of angry voices:

'We've finished with Crowds! We aren't going back to the Old Days! Takeus over! Take the Serviles away! Administer direct or we'll kill 'em!Down with The People!'

An attempt was made to begin MacDonough's Song. It got no further thanthe first line, for the _Victor Pirolo_ sent down a warning drone on onestopped horn. A wrecked side-wall of the Old Market tottered and fellinwards on the slag-pools. None spoke or moved till the last of the dusthad settled down again, turning the steel case of Salad's Statueashy grey. 

'You see you'll just _have_ to take us over, ' the Mayor whispered. 

De Forest shrugged his shoulders. 

'You talk as if executive capacity could be snatched out of the air likeso much horse-power. Can't you manage yourselves on any terms?' he said. 

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

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

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

The mass in front of us growled like beasts. 

At that moment the sun rose clear, and revealed the blinking assembly toitself. As soon as it realized that it was a crowd we saw the shiver ofhorror and mutual repulsion shoot across it precisely as the steelyflaws shot across the lake outside. Nothing was said, and, being halfblind, of course it moved slowly. Yet in less than fifteen minutes mostof that vast multitude--three thousand at the lowest count--melted awaylike frost on south eaves. The remnant stretched themselves on thegrass, where a crowd feels and looks less like a crowd. 

'These mean business, ' the Mayor whispered to Takahira. 'There are agoodish few women there who've borne children. I don't like it. '

The morning draught off the lake stirred the trees round us with promiseof a hot day; the sun reflected itself dazzlingly on the canister-shapedcovering of Salati's Statue; cocks crew in the gardens, and we couldhear gate-latches clicking in the distance as people stumblinglyresought their homes. 

'I'm afraid there won't be any morning deliveries, ' said De Forest. 'Werather upset things in the country last night. '

'That makes no odds, ' the Mayor returned. 'We're all provisioned for sixmonths. _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 has nothalf a year's provisions laid in? We are like the shipwrecked seamen inthe old books, who, having once nearly starved to death, ever afterwardshide away bits of food and biscuit. Truly we trust no Crowds, nor systembased on Crowds!

De Forest waited till the last footstep had died away. Meantime theprisoners at the base of the Statue shuffled, posed, and fidgeted, withthe shamelessness of quite little children. None of them were more thansix feet high, and many of them were as grey-haired as the ravaged, harassed heads of old pictures. They huddled together in actual touch, while the crowd, spaced at large intervals, looked at them withcongested eyes. 

Suddenly a man among them began to talk. The Mayor had not in the leastexaggerated. It appeared that our Planet lay sunk in slavery beneath theheel of the Aërial Board of Control. The orator urged us to arise in ourmight, burst our prison doors and break our fetters (all his metaphors, by the way, were of the most mediæval). Next he demanded that everymatter of daily life, including most of the physical functions, shouldbe submitted for decision at any time of the week, month, or year to, Igathered, anybody who happened to be passing by or residing within acertain radius, and that everybody should forthwith abandon his concernsto settle the matter, first by crowd-making, next by talking to thecrowds made, and lastly by describing crosses on pieces of paper, whichrubbish should later be counted with certain mystic ceremonies andoaths. Out of this amazing play, he assured us, would automaticallyarise a higher, nobler, and kinder world, based--he demonstrated thiswith the awful lucidity of the insane--based on the sanctity of theCrowd and the villainy of the single person. In conclusion, he calledloudly upon God to testify to his personal merits and integrity. Whenthe flow ceased, I turned bewildered to Takahira, who wasnodding solemnly. 

'Quite correct, ' said he. 'It is all in the old books. He has leftnothing 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 arenot a mamma. Please look at the mammas. '

Ten or fifteen women who remained had separated themselves from thesilent men, and were drawing in towards the prisoners. It reminded oneof the stealthy encircling, before the rush in at the quarry, of wolvesround musk-oxen in the North. The prisoners saw, and drew together moreclosely. The Mayor covered his face with his hands for an instant. DeForest, bareheaded, stepped forward between the prisoners, and theslowly, stiffly moving line. 

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

A woman stepped forward, and would have spoken, but there was a quickassenting murmur from the men, who realised that De Forest was trying topull the situation down to ground-line. 

'Yes! Yes!' they cried. 'We cut out because they made crowds and invadedprivacy! Stick to that! Keep on that switch! Lift the Serviles out ofthis! The Board's in charge! Hsh!'

'Yes, the Board's in charge, ' said De Forest. 'I'll take formal evidenceof crowd-making if you like, but the Members of the Board can testify toit. Will that do?'

The women had closed in another pace, with hands that clenched andunclenched at their sides. 

'Good! Good enough!' the men cried. 'We're content. Only take them awayquickly. '

'Come along up!' said De Forest to the captives, 'Breakfast is quiteready. '

It appeared, however, that they did not wish to go. They intended toremain in Chicago and make crowds. They pointed out that De Forest'sproposal was gross invasion of privacy. 

'My dear fellow, ' said Pirolo to the most voluble of the leaders, 'youhurry, or your crowd that can't be wrong will kill you!'

'But that would be murder, ' answered the believer in crowds; and therewas a roar of laughter from all sides that seemed to show the crisishad broken. 

A woman stepped forward from the line of women, laughing, I protest, asmerrily as any of the company. One hand, of course, shaded her eyes, theother 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 theBoard's in charge, you might go home while we get these people away?'

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

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

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

He motioned to the _Pirolo_ to drop between us and the sun, and at thesame time to loop-circuit the prisoners, who were a trifle unsteady. Wesaw them stiffen to the current where they stood. The woman's voice wenton, sweet and deep and unshaken:

'I don't suppose you men realise how much this--this sort of thing meansto a woman. I've borne three. We women don't want our children given toCrowds. It must be an inherited instinct. Crowds make trouble. Theybring back the Old Days. Hate, fear, blackmail, publicity, "ThePeople"--_That! That! That_!' She pointed to the Statue, and the crowdgrowled once more. 

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

'It means so much to us women that this--this little affair should neverhappen again. Of course, never's a big word, but one feels so stronglythat it is important to stop crowds at the very beginning. Thosecreatures'--she pointed with her left hand at the prisoners swaying likeseaweed in a tideway as the circuit pulled them--'those people havefriends and wives and children in the city and elsewhere. One doesn'twant anything done to _them_, you know. It's terrible to force a humanbeing out of fifty or sixty years of good life. I'm only forty myself. _I_ know. But, at the same time, one feels that an example should bemade, because no price is too heavy to pay if--if these people and _allthat they imply_ can be put an end to. Do you quite understand, or wouldyou be kind enough to tell your men to take the casing off the Statue?It's worth looking at. '

'I understand perfectly. But I don't think anybody here wants to seethe Statue on an empty stomach. Excuse me one moment. ' De Forest calledup to the ship, 'A flying loop ready on the port side, if you please. 'Then to the woman he said with some crispness, 'You might leave us alittle discretion in the matter. '

'Oh, of course. Thank you for being so patient. I know my arguments aresilly, but--' She half turned away and went on in a changed voice, 'Perhaps this will help you to decide. '

She threw out her right arm with a knife in it. Before the blade couldbe returned to her throat or her bosom it was twitched from her grip, sparked as it flew out of the shadow of the ship above, and fellflashing in the sunshine at the foot of the Statue fifty yards away. Theoutflung arm was arrested, rigid as a bar for an instant, till thereleasing circuit permitted her to bring it slowly to her side. Theother women shrank back silent among the men. 

Pirolo rubbed his hands, and Takahira nodded. 

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

'What a glorious pose!' Dragomiroff murmured, for the frightened womanwas 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 waste a lifelike yours on these people. I hope the arrest didn't sprain your wrist;it's so hard to regulate a flying loop. But I think you are quite rightabout those persons' women and children. We'll take them all away withus if you promise not to do anything stupid to yourself. '

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

'I saw you were, and you've gained your point. I shall take all yourServiles away with me at once. The Mayor will make lists of theirfriends and families in the city and the district, and he'll ship themafter us this afternoon. '

'Sure, ' said the Mayor, rising to his feet. 'Keefe, if you can see, hadn't you better finish levelling off the Old Market? It don't looksightly the way it is now, and we shan't use it for crowds any more. '

'I think you had better wipe out that Statue as well, Mr. Mayor, ' saidDe Forest. 'I don't question its merits as a work of art, but I believeit's a shade morbid. '

'Certainly, sir. Oh, Keefe! Slag the Nigger before you go on to fuse theMarket. I'll get to the Communicators and tell the District that theBoard is in charge. Are you making any special appointments, sir?'

'None. We haven't men to waste on these back-woods. Carry on as before, but under the Board. Arnott, run your Serviles aboard, please. Groundship and pass them through the bilge-doors. We'll wait till we'vefinished with this work of art. '

The prisoners trailed past him, talking fluently, but unable togesticulate in the drag of the current. Then the surfacers rolled up, two on each side of the Statue. With one accord the spectators lookedelsewhere, but there was no need. Keefe turned on full power, and thething simply melted within its case. All I saw was a surge of white-hotmetal pouring over the plinth, a glimpse of Salad's inscription, 'To theEternal Memory of the Justice of the People, ' ere the stone base itselfcracked and powdered into finest lime. The crowd cheered. 

'Thank you, ' said De Forest; 'but we want our break-fasts, and I expectyou do too. Good-bye, Mr. Mayor! Delighted to see you at any time, but Ihope I shan't have to, officially, for the next thirty years. Good-bye, madam. Yes. We're all given to nerves nowadays. I suffer from themmyself. Good-bye, gentlemen all! You're under the tyrannous heel of theBoard from this moment, but if ever you feel like breaking your fettersyou've only to let us know. This is no treat to us. Good luck!'

We embarked amid shouts, and did not check our lift till they haddwindled into whispers. Then De Forest flung himself on the chart-roomdivan 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 be clappedon her. I owe you an apology for that, Arnott. I hadn't time to catchyour eye, and you were busy with our caitiffs. By the way, who actuallyanswered my signal? It was a smart piece of work. '

'Ilroy, ' said Arnott; 'but he overloaded the wave. It may be prettygallery-work to knock a knife out of a lady's hand, but didn't younotice how she rubbed 'em? He scorched her fingers. Slovenly, Icall it. '

'Far be it from me to interfere with Fleet discipline, but don't be toohard on the boy. If that woman had killed herself they would have killedevery Servile and everything related to a Servile throughout thedistrict by nightfall. '

'That was what she was playing for, ' Takahira said. 'And with our Fleetgone we could have done nothing to hold them. '

'I may be ass enough to walk into a ground-circuit, ' said Arnott, 'but Idon't dismiss my Fleet till I'm reasonably sure that trouble is over. They're in position still, and I intend to keep 'em there till theServiles are shipped out of the district. That last little crowd meantmurder, my friends. '

'Nerves! All nerves!' said Pirolo. 'You cannot argue with agoraphobia. '

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

'In all my ninety years I have never seen Death. ' Dragomiroff spoke asone who would excuse himself. 'Perhaps that was why--last night--'

Then it came out as we sat over breakfast, that, with the exception ofArnott and Pirolo, none of us had ever seen a corpse, or knew in whatmanner 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 I mightn'tbe able to pull it off without losing a life. '

'I thought of that too, ' said Arnott; 'but there's no death reported, and I've inquired everywhere. What are we supposed to do with ourpassengers? I've fed 'em. '

'We're between two switches, ' De Forest drawled. 'If we drop them in anyplace that isn't under the Board the natives will make their presence anexcuse for cutting out, same as Illinois did, and forcing the Board totake over. If we drop them in any place under the Board's controlthey'll be killed as soon as our backs are turned. '

'If you say so, ' said Pirolo thoughtfully, 'I can guarantee that theywill become extinct in process of time, quite happily. What is theirbirth-rate now?'

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

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

'Not really? Well?'

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

'Scarcely--after all the trouble we've taken to save 'em, ' said DeForest. 

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

'Good man! You've given me an idea. Vincent! Oh, Vincent!' He threw theGeneral Communicator open so that we could all hear, and in a fewminutes the chart-room filled with the rich, fruity voice of LeopoldVincent, who has purveyed all London her choicest amusements for thelast thirty years. We answered with expectant grins, as though we wereactually in the stalls of, say, the Combination 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 to beat theold things for business purposes. Have you seen _London, Chatham, andDover_ at Earl's Court? No? I thought I missed you there. Immense! I'vehad the real steam locomotive engines built from the old designs and theiron rails cast specially by hand. Cloth cushions in the carriages, too!Immense! And paper railway tickets. And Polly Milton. '

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

'The old songs. Nothing comes up to the old touch. Listen to this, dearmen. ' 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 always weepedwhen it saw crowds together. It did not know why, but it weeped. We knowwhy, but we do not weep, except when we pay to be made to by fat, wickedold Vincent. '

'Old, yourself!' Vincent laughed. 'I'm a public benefactor, I keep theworld soft and united. '

'And I'm De Forest of the Board, ' said De Forest acidly, 'trying to geta little business done. As I was saying, I've picked up a few peoplein 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 anold contact. '

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

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

De Forest plugged him wrathfully, and poured out the story of our doingsfor the last twenty-four hours on the top-note. 

'And they do it _all_ in public, ' he concluded. 'You can't stop 'em. Themore public, the better they are pleased. They'll talk for hours--likeyou! Now you can come in again!'

'Do you really mean they know how to vote?' said Vincent. 'Can they actit?'

'Act? It's their life to 'em! And you never saw such faces! Scarredlike volcanoes. Envy, hatred, and malice in plain sight. Wonderfullyflexible 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 papers andballot-box things?'

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

'Wait a minute. Did Chicago want to kill 'em? That 'ud look well on theCommunicators. '

'Yes! They were only rescued with difficulty from a howling mob--if youknow what that is. '

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

'Well then, they'll tell you themselves. They can make speeches hourslong. '

'How many are there?'

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

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

'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 you ask'em a question. '

'Too good!' said Vincent. 

'You unbelieving Jew! I've got a dozen head aboard here. I'll put youthrough direct. Sample 'em yourself. '

He lifted the switch and we listened. Our passengers on the lower deckat once, but not less than five at a time, explained themselves toVincent. They had been taken from the bosom of their families, strippedof their possessions, given food without finger-bowls, and cast intocaptivity in a noisome dungeon. 

'But look here, ' said Arnott aghast; 'they're saying what isn't true. Mylower deck isn't noisome, and I saw to the finger-bowls myself. '

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

'But it's not true, ' Arnott insisted. 'What can you do with people whodon't tell facts? They're mad!'

'Hsh!' said Pirolo, his hand to his ear. 'It is such a little time sinceall the Planet told lies. '

We heard Vincent silkily sympathetic. Would they, he asked, repeat theirassertions in public--before a vast public? Only let Vincent give them achance, and the Planet, they vowed, should ring with their wrongs. Theiraim in life--two women and a man explained it together--was to reformthe world. Oddly enough, this also had been Vincent's life-dream. Heoffered them an arena in which to explain, and by their living exampleto raise the Planet to loftier levels. He was eloquent on the moraluplift of a simple, old-world life presented in its entirety to adeboshed civilisation. 

Could they--would they--for three months certain, devote themselvesunder his auspices, as missionaries, to the elevation of mankind at aplace called Earl's Court, which he said, with some truth, was one ofthe intellectual centres of the Planet? They thanked him, and demanded(we could hear his chuckle of delight) time to discuss and to vote onthe matter. The vote, solemnly managed by counting heads--one head, onevote--was favourable. His offer, therefore, was accepted, and they moveda vote of thanks to him in two speeches--one by what they called the'proposer' and the other 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, dear men. Artcan't teach _that. _ And they voted as easily as lying. I've never had atroupe of natural liars before. Bless you, dear men! Remember, you're onmy free lists for ever, anywhere--all of you. Oh, Gerolstein will besick--sick!'

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

'Do? The Little Village'll go crazy! I'll knock up a series of old-worldplays for 'em. Their voices will make you laugh and cry. My God, dearmen, where _do_ you suppose they picked up all their misery from, onthis sweet earth? I'll have a pageant of the world's beginnings, andMosenthal shall do the music. I'll--'

'Go and knock up a village for 'em by to-night. We'll meet you at No. 15West Landing Tower, ' said De Forest. 'Remember the rest will be comingalong 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 any oneunderstood corruption in London I might have played off Vincent againstGerolstein, and sold my captives at enormous prices. As it is, I shallhave to be their legal adviser to-night when the contracts are signed. And they won't exactly press any commission on me, either. '

'Meantime, ' said Takahira, 'we cannot, of course, confine members ofLeopold Vincent's last-engaged company. Chairs for the ladies, please, Arnott. '

'Then I go to bed, ' said De Forest. 'I can't face any more women!' Andhe vanished. 

When our passengers were released and given another meal (finger-bowlscame first this time) they told us what they thought of us and theBoard; and, like Vincent, we all marvelled how they had contrived toextract and secrete so much bitter poison and unrest out of the goodlife God gives us. They raged, they stormed, they palpitated, flushedand exhausted their poor, torn nerves, panted themselves into silence, and renewed the senseless, shameless attacks. 

'But can't you understand, ' said Pirolo pathetically to a shriekingwoman, 'that if we'd left you in Chicago you'd have been killed?'

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

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

'That doesn't matter. We were preaching the Truth. You can't stop us. Weshall go on preaching in London; and _then_ you'll see!'

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

We were closing on the Little Village, with her three million peoplespread 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, at thesilence, the size, and the separated houses. 

Then some began to weep aloud, shamelessly--always without shame. 

 MACDONOUGH'S SONG

 Whether the State can loose and bind In Heaven as well as on Earth: If it be wiser to kill mankind Before or after the birth-- These are matters of high concern Where State-kept schoolmen are; But Holy State (we have lived to learn) Endeth in Holy War. 

 Whether The People be led by the Lord, Or lured by the loudest throat: If it be quicker to die by the sword Or cheaper to die by vote-- These are the things we have dealt with once, (And they will not rise from their grave) For Holy People, however it runs, Endeth in wholly Slave. 

 Whatsoever, for any cause, Seeketh to take or give, Power above or beyond the Laws, Suffer it not to live! Holy State or Holy King-- Or Holy People's Will-- Have no truck with the senseless thing. Order the guns and kill! _Saying--after--me:--_

 _Once there was The People--Terror gave it birth; Once there was The People and it made a Hell of Earth. Earth arose and crushed it. Listen, O ye slain! Once there was The People--it shall never be again!_

Friendly Brook

(March 1914)

The valley was so choked with fog that one could scarcely see a cow'slength across a field. Every blade, twig, bracken-frond, and hoof-printcarried water, and the air was filled with the noise of rushing ditchesand field-drains, all delivering to the brook below. A week's Novemberrain on water-logged land had gorged her to full flood, and sheproclaimed it aloud. 

Two men in sackcloth aprons were considering an untrimmed hedge that randown the hillside and disappeared into mist beside those roarings. Theystood back and took stock of the neglected growth, tapped an elbow ofhedge-oak here, a mossed beech-stub there, swayed a stooled ash back andforth, and looked at each other. 

'I reckon she's about two rod thick, ' said Jabez the younger, 'an' shehasn'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. 'Sheain't a hedge. She's all manner o' trees. We'll just about have to--' Hepaused, as professional etiquette required. 

'Just about have to side her up an' see what she'll bear. But hadn't webest--?' Jesse paused in his turn, both men being artists and equals. 

'Get some kind o' line to go by. ' Jabez ranged up and down till he founda thinner place, and with clean snicks of the handbill revealed theoriginal face of the fence. Jesse took over the dripping stuff as itfell forward, and, with a grasp and a kick, made it to lie orderly onthe bank till it should be faggoted. 

By noon a length of unclean jungle had turned itself into a cattle-proofbarrier, tufted here and there with little plumes of the sacred hollywhich 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 needplenty stakes and binders when we come to the brook. '

'Well, ain't we plenty?' Jesse pointed to the ragged perspective aheadof them that plunged downhill into the fog. 'I lay there's a cord an' ahalf o' firewood, let alone faggots, 'fore we get anywheres anighthe brook. '

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

Jesse listened, too. There was a growl in the brook's roar as though sheworried something hard. 

'Yes. She's over Wickenden's door-stones, ' he replied. 'Now she'll floodacrost Alder Bay an' that'll ease her. '

'She won't ease Jim Wickenden's hay none if she do, ' Jabez grunted. 'Itold Jim he'd set that liddle hay-stack o' his too low down in themedder. I _told_ him so when he was drawin' the bottom for it. '

'I told him so, too, ' said Jesse. 'I told him 'fore ever you did. I toldhim when the County Council tarred the roads up along. ' He pointeduphill, where unseen automobiles and road-engines droned pastcontinually. 'A tarred road, she shoots every drop o' water into avalley same's a slate roof. 'Tisn't as 'twas in the old days, when thewaters soaked in and soaked out in the way o' nature. It rooshes offthey tarred roads all of a lump, and naturally every drop is bound todescend into the valley. And there's tar roads both two sides thisvalley for ten mile. That's what I told Jim Wickenden when they tarredthe roads last year. But he's a valley-man. He don't hardly everjourney uphill. '

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

'Why? What did he say to you when _you_ told him?' was the answer. 

'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_ when he said whathe said to me?' Jabez insisted. 

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

Jabez drew back from the hedge--all hedges are nests of treachery andeavesdropping--and moved to an open cattle-lodge in the centre ofthe field. 

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

'What was Jim Wickenden gettin' at when I said he'd set his stack toonear anigh the brook?' Jabez dropped his voice. 'He was in his mind. '

'He ain't never been out of it yet to my knowledge, ' Jesse drawled, anduncorked his tea-bottle. 

'But then Jim says: "I ain't goin' to shift my stack a yard, " he says. "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 to withstand her. "That's what Jim Wickenden says to me last--last June-end 'twas, 'said Jabez. 

'Nor he hasn't shifted his stack, neither, ' Jesse replied. 'An' ifthere'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 as carefullyopened his. They unfolded the newspapers that wrapped their dinners, coiled away and pocketed the string that bound the packages, and satdown on the edge of the lodge manger. The rain began to fall againthrough the fog, and the brook's voice rose. 

 * * * * *

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

''Tain't so. .. . Jim Wickenden's woman she never made nothing. She comeout o' Lewes with her stockin's round her heels, an' she never made normended aught till she died. _He_ had to light fire an' get breakfastevery mornin' except Sundays, while she sowed it abed. Then she took an'died, sixteen, seventeen, year back; but she never had no childern. '

'They was valley-folk, ' said Jabez apologetically. 'I'd no call to go inamong 'em, but I always allowed Mary--'

'No. Mary come out o' one o' those Lunnon Childern Societies. After hiswoman died, Jim got his mother back from his sister over to Peasmarsh, which she'd gone to house with when Jim married. His mother kept housefor Jim after his woman died. They do say 'twas his mother led him ontoward adoptin' of Mary--to furnish out the house with a child, like, and to keep him off of gettin' a noo woman. He mostly done what hismother contrived. 'Cardenly, twixt 'em, they asked for a child from oneo' those Lunnon societies--same as it might ha' been these Barnardochildren--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 mustha' heard it some time or other . .. '

'No. She ain't. 'Twould ha' been better for some folk if she had been. She come to Jim in a candle-box with all the proper papers--lawful childo' some couple in Lunnon somewheres--mother dead, father drinkin'. _And_ there was that Lunnon society's five shillin's a week for her. Jim's mother she wouldn't despise week-end money, but I never heard Jimwas much of a muck-grubber. Let be how 'twill, they two mothered up Maryno bounds, till it looked at last like they'd forgot she wasn't theirown flesh an' blood. Yes, I reckon they forgot Mary wasn't their'nby rights. '

'That's no new thing, ' said Jabez. 'There's more'n one or two in thisparish wouldn't surrender back their Bernarders. You ask Mark Copley 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 hurdled up inthat iron collar. _He_ won't live long--his backbone's rotten, like. Butthey Copleys do just about set store by him--five bob or no five bob. '

'Same way with Jim an' his mother, ' Jesse went on. 'There was talkbetwixt 'em after a few years o' not takin' any more week-end money forMary; but let alone _she_ never passed a farden in the mire 'thoutlongin's, Jim didn't care, like, to push himself forward into theSociety's remembrance. So naun came of it. The week-end money would ha'made no odds to Jim--not after his uncle willed him they four cottagesat Eastbourne _an'_ money in the bank. '

'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 my signedname at the foot o' some papers concernin' it. Regardin' the money inthe bank, he nature-ally wouldn't like such things talked about allround the parish, so he took strangers for witnesses. '

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

'She'll need it. Her Maker ain't done much for her outside nor yet in. '

'That ain't no odds. ' Jabez shook his head till the water showered offhis hat-brim. 'If Mary has money, she'll be wed before any likely poremaid. She's cause to be grateful to Jim. '

'She hides it middlin' close, then, ' said Jesse. 'It don't sometimeslook to me as if Mary has her natural rightful feelin's. She don't puton an apron o' Mondays 'thout being druv to it--in the kitchen _or_ thehen-house. She's studyin' to be a school-teacher. She'll make a beauty!I never knowed her show any sort o' kindness to nobody--not even whenJim's mother was took dumb. No! 'Twadn't no stroke. It stifled the oldlady in the throat here. First she couldn't shape her words no shape;then she clucked, 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, but theycouldn't make no stay to her afflictions there; and she was bundled offto Lunnon, an' they lit a great old lamp inside her, and Jim told methey couldn't make out nothing in no sort there; and, along o' one thingan' another, an' all their spyin's and pryin's, she come back a hemsight worse than when she started. Jim said he'd have no morehospitalizin', so he give her a slate, which she tied to herwaist-string, and what she was minded to say she writ on it. '

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

''Twadn't particular noticeable, for she wasn't a talkin' woman any timeo' her days. Mary had all three's tongue. .. . Well, then, two years thissummer, come what I'm tellin' you. Mary's Lunnon father, which they'dput clean out o' their minds, arrived down from Lunnon with the law onhis side, sayin' he'd take his daughter back to Lunnon, after all. I wasworking for Mus' Dockett at Pounds Farm that summer, but I was obligin'Jim that evenin' muckin' out his pig-pen. I seed a stranger cometraipsin' over the bridge agin' Wickenden's door-stones. 'Twadn't thenew County Council bridge with the handrail. They hadn't given it in fora public right o' way then. 'Twas just a bit o' lathy old plank whichJim had throwed acrost the brook for his own conveniences. The manwasn't drunk--only a little concerned in liquor, like--an' his back wasa mask where he'd slipped in the muck comin' along. He went up thebricks past Jim's mother, which was feedin' the ducks, an' set himselfdown at the table inside--Jim was just changin' his socks--an' the manlet Jim know all his rights and aims regardin' Mary. Then there justabout _was_ a hurly-bulloo? Jim's fust mind was to pitch him forth, buthe'd done that once in his young days, and got six months up to Lewesjail along o' the man fallin' on his head. So he swallowed his spittlean' let him talk. The law about Mary _was_ on the man's side from fustto last, for he showed us all the papers. Then Mary comedownstairs--she'd been studyin' for an examination--an' the man tellsher who he was, an' she says he had ought to have took proper care ofhis own flesh and blood while he had it by him, an' not to think hecould ree-claim it when it suited. He says somethin' or other, but shelooks him up an' down, front an' backwent, an' she just tongues himscadderin' out o' doors, and he went away stuffin' all the papers backinto his 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. They didn'tsay naun to her. They never did. _I'd_ ha' packed her off with any manthat would ha' took her--an' God's pity on him!'

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

'So then, that was the beginnin. ' The man come back again next week orso, an' he catched Jim alone, 'thout his mother this time, an' he fairbeazled him with his papers an' his talk--for the law _was_ on hisside--till Jim went down into his money-purse an' give him ten shillingshush-money--he told me--to withdraw away for a bit an' leave Marywith '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. "The law's_with_ the man. I walk about daytimes thinkin' o' it till I sweats myunderclothes wringin', an' I lie abed nights thinkin' o' it till Isweats my sheets all of a sop. 'Tisn't as if I was a young man, " hesays, "nor yet as if I was a pore man. Maybe he'll drink hisself todeath. " I e'en a'most told him outright what foolishness he was enterin'into, but he knowed it--he knowed it--because he said next time the mancome 'twould be fifteen shillin's. An' next time 'twas. Just fifteenshillin's!'

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

'He had the proofs an' the papers. Jim showed me what that LunnonChildern's Society had answered when Mary writ up to 'em an' taxed 'emwith it. I lay she hadn't been proper polite in her letters to 'em, forthey answered middlin' short. They said the matter was out o' theirhands, but--let's see if I remember--oh, yes, --they ree-gretted therehad been an oversight. I reckon they had sent Mary out in the candle-boxas a orphan instead o' havin' a father. Terrible awkward! Then, whenhe'd drinked up the money, the man come again--in his usuals--an' hekept hammerin' on and hammerin' on about his duty to his pore dear wife, an' what he'd do for his dear daughter in Lunnon, till the tears runneddown his two dirty cheeks an' he come away with more money. Jim used toslip it into his hand behind the door; but his mother she heard thechink. 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' backan' 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 the rateslike 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. I reckon amistress 'ud be middlin' put to it for a maid 'fore she put Mary intocap an' gown. She was studyin' to be a schoo-ool-teacher. A beautyshe'll make!. .. Well, that was how things went that fall. Mary's Lunnonfather kep' comin' an' comin' 'carden as he'd drinked out the money Jimgave him; an' each time he'd put-up his price for not takin' Mary away. Jim's mother, she didn't like partin' with no money, an' bein' obligedto write her feelin's on the slate instead o' givin' 'em vent by mouth, she was just about mad. Just about she _was_ mad!

'Come November, I lodged with Jim in the outside room over 'gainst hishen-house. I paid _her_ my rent. I was workin' for Dockett atPounds--gettin' chestnut-bats out o' Perry Shaw. Just such weather asthis be--rain atop o' rain after a wet October. (An' I remember it endedin dry frostes right away up to Christmas. ) Dockett he'd sent up toPerry Shaw for me--no, he comes puffin' up to me himself--because a bigcorner-piece o' the bank had slipped into the brook where she makes thatelber at the bottom o' the Seventeen Acre, an' all the rubbishy aldersan' sallies which he ought to have cut out when he took the farm, they'd slipped with the slip, an' the brook was comin' rooshin' downatop of 'em, an' they'd just about back an' spill the waters over hiswinter wheat. The water was lyin' in the flats already. "Gor a-mighty, Jesse!" he bellers out at me, "get that rubbish away all manners youcan. Don't stop for no fagottin', but give the brook play or my wheat'spast salvation. I can't lend you no help, " he says, "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 the brook wasbackin' up on good bread-corn. So 'cardenly, I laid into the mess of it, workin' off the bank where the trees was drownin' themselves head-downin the roosh--just such weather as this--an' the brook creepin' up on meall the time. 'Long toward noon, Jim comes mowchin' along with histoppin' 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--Jim laid inalongside 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' hedidn't seem to make out no shape, ' said Jabez. 'He haven't got theshoulders, nor yet the judgment--_my_ opinion--when he's dealin' withfull-girt timber. He don't rightly make up his mind where he's goin' tothrow her. '

'We wasn't throwin' nothin'. We was cuttin' out they soft alders, an'haulin' 'em up the bank 'fore they could back the waters on the wheat. Jim didn't say much, 'less it was that he'd had a postcard from Mary'sLunnon father, night before, sayin' he was comin' down that mornin'. Jim, he'd sweated all night, an' he didn't reckon hisself equal to thetalkin' an' the swearin' an' the cryin', an' his mother blamin' himafterwards on the slate. "It spiled my day to think of it, " he ses, whenwe was eatin' our pieces. "So I've fair cried dunghill an' run. Mother'll have to tackle him by herself. I lay _she_ won't give him nohush-money, " he ses. "I lay he'll be surprised by the time he's donewith _her_, " he ses. An' that was e'en a'most all the talk we hadconcernin' 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 ustill we was workin' knee-deep in the shallers, cuttin' an' pookin' an'pullin' what we could get to o' the rubbish. There was a middlin' lotcomin' down-stream, too--cattle-bars, an' hop-poles and odds-ends bats, all poltin' down together; but they rooshed round the elber good shapeby the time we'd backed out they drowned trees. Come four o'clock wereckoned we'd done a proper day's work, an' she'd take no harm if weleft her. We couldn't puddle about there in the dark an' wet to no moreadvantage. Jim he was pourin' the water out of his boots--no, I wasdoin' that. Jim was kneelin' to unlace his'n. "Damn it all, Jesse, " heses, standin' up; "the flood must be over my doorsteps at home, for herecomes my old white-top bee-skep!"'

'Yes. I allus heard he paints his bee-skeps, ' Jabez put in. 'I dunnopaint 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 it comes roundthe elber. The roosh nigh jerked the pooker out of his hand-grips, an'he calls to me, an' I come runnin' barefoot. Then we pulled on thepooker, 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 me in the face. Then we wassure. "'Tis a man, " ses Jim. But the face was all a mask. "I reckon it'sMary's Lunnon father, " he ses presently. "Lend me a match and I'll makesure. " He never used baccy. We lit three matches one by another, well'swe could in the rain, an' he cleaned off some o' the slob with a tussicko' grass. "Yes, " he ses. "It's Mary's Lunnon father. He won't tarrify usno more. D'you want him, Jesse?" he ses. 

'"No, " I ses. "If this was Eastbourne beach like, he'd be half-a-crownapiece to us 'fore the coroner; but now we'd only lose a day havin' to'tend the inquest. I lay he fell into the brook. "

'"I lay he did, " ses Jim. "I wonder if he saw mother. " He turns himover, an' opens his coat and puts his fingers in the waistcoat pocketan' starts laughin'. "He's seen mother, right enough, " he ses. "An' he'sgot the best of her, too. _She_ won't be able to crow no more over _me_'bout givin' him money. _I_ never give him more than a sovereign. She'sgive him two!" an' he trousers 'em, laughin' all the time. "An' nowwe'll pook him back again, for I've done with him, " he ses. 

'So we pooked him back into the middle of the brook, an' we saw he wentround the elber 'thout balkin', an' we walked quite a piece beside ofhim to set him on his ways. When we couldn't see no more, we went homeby the high road, because we knowed the brook 'u'd be out acrost themedders, an' we wasn't goin' to hunt for Jim's little rotten old bridgein that dark--an' rainin' Heavens' hard, too. I was middlin' pleased tosee light an' vittles again when we got home. Jim he pressed me to comeinsides for a drink. He don't drink in a generality, but he was rid ofall his troubles that evenin', d'ye see? "Mother, " he ses so soon as thedoor ope'd, "have you seen him?" She whips out her slate an' writesdown--"No. " "Oh, no, " ses Jim. "You don't get out of it that way, mother. I lay you _have_ seen him, an' I lay he's bested you for allyour talk, 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, but hestops her. "It's all right, mother, " he ses. "I've seen him sense youhave, an' he won't trouble us no more. " The old lady looks up quick as arobin, an' she writes, "Did he say so?" "No, " ses Jim, laughin'. "Hedidn't say so. That's how I know. But he bested _you_, mother. You can'thave it in at _me_ for bein' soft-hearted. You're twice astender-hearted as what I be. Look!" he ses, an' he shows her the twosovereigns. "Put 'em away where they belong, " he ses. "He won't nevercome for no more; an' now we'll have our drink, " he ses, "for we'veearned it. "

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

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

'No more he isn't; but what he takes he likes good. He won't tech nopublican's hogwash acrost the bar. Four shillin's he paid for thatbottle o' whisky. I know, because when the old lady brought it downthere wasn't more'n jest a liddle few dreenin's an' dregs in it. Nothin'to set before neighbours, I do assure you. '

'"Why, 'twas half full last week, mother, " he ses. "You don't mean, " heses, "you've given him all that as well? It's two shillin's worth, " heses. (That's how I knowed he paid four. ) "Well, well, mother, you be tootender-'carted to live. But I don't grudge it to him, " he ses. "I don'tgrudge him nothin' he can keep. " So, 'cardenly, we drinked up whatlittle 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 he toldme, that very week, I think, that they'd inquested on a man down atRobertsbridge which had poked and poked up agin' so many bridges 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 Lunnon fathercome, to buy week-end stuff (an' she forgot the half o' it). When wecome in she was upstairs studyin' to be a school-teacher. None told hernaun about it. 'Twadn't girls' affairs. '

'Reckon _she_ knowed?' Jabez went on. 

'She? She must have guessed it middlin' close when she saw her moneycome back. But she never mentioned it in writing so far's I know. Shewere more worritted that night on account of two-three her chickensbein' drowned, for the flood had skewed their old hen-house round on herpostes. I cobbled her up next mornin' when the brook shrinked. '

'An' where did you find the bridge? Some fur down-stream, didn't ye?'

'Just where she allus was. She hadn't shifted but very little. The brookhad gulled out the bank a piece under one eend o' the plank, so's shewas liable to tilt ye sideways if you wasn't careful. But I pookedthree-four bricks under her, an' she was all plumb again. '

'Well, I dunno how it _looks_ like, but let be how 'twill, ' said Jabez, 'he hadn't no business to come down from Lunnon tarrifyin' people, an'threatenin' to take away children which they'd hobbed up for theirlawful own--even if 'twas Mary Wickenden. '

'He had the business right enough, an' he had the law with him--nogettin' over that, ' said Jesse. 'But he had the drink with him, too, an'that was where he failed, like. '

'Well, well! Let be how 'twill, the brook was a good friend to Jim. Isee it now. I allus _did_ wonder what he was gettin' at when he saidthat, when I talked to him about shiftin' the stack. "You dunnoeverythin', " he ses. "The Brook's been a good friend to me, " he ses, "an' if she's minded to have a snatch at my hay, _I_ ain't settin' outto 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 hold of. '

The Brook had changed her note again. It sounded as though she weremumbling something soft. 

 THE LAND

 When Julius Fabricius, Sub-Prefect of the Weald, In the days of Diocletian owned our Lower River-field, He called to him Hobdenius--a Briton of the Clay, Saying: 'What about that River-piece for layin' in to hay?'

 And the aged Hobden answered: 'I remember as a lad My father told your father that she wanted dreenin' bad. An' the more that you neeglect her the less you'll get her clean. Have it jest _as_ you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd dreen. '

 So they drained it long and crossways in the lavish Roman style. Still we find among the river-drift their flakes of ancient tile, And in drouthy middle August, when the bones of meadows show, We can trace the lines they followed sixteen hundred years ago. 

 Then Julius Fabricius died as even Prefects do, And after certain centuries, Imperial Rome died too. Then did robbers enter Britain from across the Northern main And our Lower River-field was won by Ogier the Dane. 

 Well could Ogier work his war-boat--well could Ogier wield his brand-- Much he knew of foaming waters--not so much of farming land. So he called to him a Hobden of the old unaltered blood. Saying: 'What about that River-bit, she doesn't look no good?'

 And that aged Hobden answered: ''Tain't for _me_ to interfere, But I've known that bit o' meadow now for five and fifty year. Have it _jest_ as you've a mind to, but I've proved it time on time, If you want to change her nature you have _got_ to give her lime!'

 Ogier sent his wains to Lewes, twenty hours' solemn walk, And drew back great abundance of the cool, grey, healing chalk. And old Hobden spread it broadcast, never heeding what was in't; Which is why in cleaning ditches, now and then we find a flint. 

 Ogier died. His sons grew English. Anglo-Saxon was their name, Till out of blossomed Normandy another pirate came; For Duke William conquered England and divided with his men, And our Lower River-field he gave to William of Warenne. 

 But the Brook (you know her habit) rose one rainy Autumn night And tore down sodden flitches of the bank to left and right. So, said William to his Bailiff as they rode their dripping rounds: 'Hob, what about that River-bit--the Brook's got up no bounds?'

 And that aged Hobden answered: ''Tain't my business to advise, But ye might ha' known 'twould happen from the way the valley lies. When ye can't hold back the water you must try and save the sile. Hev it jest as you've a _mind_ to, but, if I was you, I'd spile!'

 They spiled along the water-course with trunks of willow-trees And planks of elms behind 'em and immortal oaken knees. And when the spates of Autumn whirl the gravel-beds away You can see their faithful fragments iron-hard in iron clay. 

 * * * * *

 _Georgii Quinti Anno Sexto_, I, who own the River-field, Am fortified with title-deeds, attested, signed and sealed, Guaranteeing me, my assigns, my executors and heirs All sorts of powers and profits which--are neither mine nor theirs. 

 I have rights of chase and warren, as my dignity requires. I can fish--but Hobden tickles. I can shoot--but Hobden wires. I repair, but he reopens, certain gaps which, men allege, Have been used by every Hobden since a Hobden swapped a hedge. 

 Shall I dog his morning progress o'er the track-betraying dew? Demand his dinner-basket into which my pheasant flew? Confiscate his evening faggot into which the conies ran, And summons him to judgment? I would sooner summons Pan. 

 His dead are in the churchyard--thirty generations laid. Their names went down in Domesday Book when Domesday Book was made. And the passion and the piety and prowess of his line Have seeded, rooted, fruited in some land the Law calls mine. 

 Not for any beast that burrows, not for any bird that flies, Would I lose his large sound council, miss his keen amending eyes. He is bailiff, woodman, wheelwright, field-surveyor, engineer, And if flagrantly a poacher--'tain't for me to interfere. 

 'Hob, what about that River-bit?' I turn to him again With Fabricius and Ogier and William of Warenne. 'Hev it jest as you've a mind to, _but_'--and so he takes command. For whoever pays the taxes old Mus' Hobden owns the land. 

In the Same Boat

(1911)

'A throbbing vein, ' said Dr. Gilbert soothingly, 'is the mother ofdelusion. '

'Then how do you account for my knowing when the thing is due?' Conroy'svoice 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 at twenty-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 describing the spasmagain?'

'Well, ' said Conroy, twisting in the chair, 'I'm no musician, butsuppose you were a violin-string--vibrating--and some one put his fingeron 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 the waiting forit . .. And then this drug habit! It can't go on!' He shook as he spoke, and the chair creaked. 

'My dear fellow, ' said the doctor, 'when you're older you'll know whatburdens the best of us carry. A fox to every Spartan. '

'That doesn't help _me_. I can't! I can't!' cried Conroy, and burst intotears. 

'Don't apologise, ' said Gilbert, when the paroxysm ended. 'I'm used topeople coming a little--unstuck in this room. '

'It's those tabloids!' Conroy stamped his foot feebly as he blew hisnose. 'They've knocked me out. I used to be fit once. Oh, I've triedexercise and everything. But--if one sits down for a minute when it'sdue--even at four in the morning--it runs up behind one. '

'Ye-es. Many things come in the quiet of the morning. You always knowwhen 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 case where whatwe'll call anæmia of the brain was masked (I don't say cured) byvibration. He couldn't sleep, or thought he couldn't, but a steamervoyage and the thump of the screw--'

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

'Of course _not_ a steamer in your case, but a long railway journey thenext time you think it will trouble you. It sounds absurd, but--'

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

'Nonsense! I've given you a tonic that will clear _that_ notion fromyour head. Give the train a chance, and don't begin the journey bybucking yourself up with tabloids. Take them along, but hold them inreserve--in reserve. '

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

Dr. Gilbert smiled. 'Yes. After what I've seen, ' he glanced round theroom, 'I have no hesitation in saying you have quite as muchself-control as many other people. I'll write you later about yourjourney. Meantime, the tonic, ' and he gave some general directionsbefore Conroy left. 

An hour later Dr. Gilbert hurried to the links, where the others of hisregular week-end game awaited him. It was a rigid round, played as usualat the trot, for the tension of the week lay as heavy on the two King'sCounsels and Sir John Chartres as on Gilbert. The lawyers were oldenemies of the Admiralty Court, and Sir John of the frosty eyebrows andAbernethy manner was bracketed with, but before, Rutherford Gilbertamong nerve-specialists. 

At the Club-house afterwards the lawyers renewed their squabble over atangled collision case, and the doctors as naturally comparedprofessional matters. 

'Lies--all lies, ' said Sir John, when Gilbert had told him Conroy'strouble. '_Post hoc, propter hoc_. The man or woman who drugs is _ipsofacto_ 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's always thesame. For reasons not given in the consulting-room they take to thedrug. Certain symptoms follow. They will swear to you, and believe it, that they took the drug to mask the symptoms. What does your man use?Najdolene? I thought so. I had practically the duplicate of your caselast Thursday. Same old Najdolene--same old lie. '

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

'Symptoms! The girl was rank poisoned with Najdolene. Ramping, stampingpossession. Gad, I thought she'd have the chandelier down. '

'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 life we'd callit the Horrors. She told me, of course, she took the drugs to mask thefaces. _Post hoc, propter hoc_ again. All liars!'

'What's that?' said the senior K. C. Quickly. 'Sounds professional. '

'Go away! Not for you, Sandy. ' Sir John turned a shoulder against himand 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 the 17th still holds good, and you have no particular destination in view, you could do me a kindness. A Miss Henschil, in whom I am interested, goes down to the West by the 10. 8 from Waterloo (Number 3 platform) on that night. She is not exactly an invalid, but, like so 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 would be an additional source of strength. Will you please write and let me know whether the 10. 8 from Waterloo, Number 3 platform, on the 17th, suits you, and I will meet you there? Don't forget my caution, and keep up the tonic. --Yours sincerely, L. RUTHERFORD GILBERT. 

'He knows I'm scarcely fit to look after myself, ' was Conroy's thought. '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, he would beovertaken by a long shuddering sigh, which he learned to know was thesign that his brain had once more conceived its horror, and in time--indue time--would bring it forth. 

Drugs could so well veil that horror that it shuffled along no worsethan as a freezing dream in a procession of disorderly dreams; but overthe return of the event drugs had no control. Once that sigh had passedhis lips the thing was inevitable, and through the days granted beforeits rebirth he walked in torment. For the first two years he had strivento fend it off by distractions, but neither exercise nor drink availed. Then he had come to the tabloids of the excellent M. Najdol. Theseguarantee, on the label, 'Refreshing and absolutely natural sleep to thesoul-weary. ' They are carried in a case with a spring which presses onescented tabloid 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 for manycareers. His friends, who knew he did not drink, assumed that Conroy hadstrained his heart through valiant outdoor exercises, and Conroy hadwith some care invented an imaginary doctor, symptoms, and regimen, which he discussed with them and with his mother in Hereford. Shemaintained that he would grow out of it, and recommended nux vomica. 

When at last Conroy faced a real doctor, it was, he hoped, to be savedfrom suicide by a strait-waistcoat. Yet Dr. Gilbert had but given himmore drugs--a tonic, for instance, that would couple railwaycarnages--and had advised a night in the train. Not alone the horrors ofa railway journey (for which a man who dare keep no servant must e'enpack, label, and address his own bag), but the necessity for holdinghimself in hand before a stranger 'a little shaken in her nerves. '

He spent a long forenoon packing, because when he assembled and countedthings his mind slid off to the hours that remained of the day beforehis night, and he found himself counting minutes aloud. At such timesthe injustice of his fate would drive him to revolts which no servantshould witness, but on this evening Dr. Gilbert's tonic held him fairlycalm while he put up his patent razors. 

Waterloo Station shook him into real life. The change for his ticketneeded concentration, if only to prevent shillings and pence turninginto minutes at the booking-office; and he spoke quickly to a porterabout the disposition of his bag. The old 10. 8 from Waterloo to the Westwas an all-night caravan that halted, in the interests of the milktraffic, at almost every station. 

Dr. Gilbert stood by the door of the one composite corridor-coach; anolder and stouter man behind him. 'So glad you're here!' he cried. 'Letme get your ticket. '

'Certainly not, ' Conroy answered. 'I got it myself--long ago. My bag'sin too, ' he added proudly. 

'I beg your pardon. Miss Henschil's here. I'll introduce you. '

'But--but, ' he stammered--'think of the state I'm in. If anythinghappens 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 by thecarriage window, weeping shamelessly. 

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

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

A tall woman, veiled, sat by the far window. She bowed her head as thedoctor murmured Conroy knew not what. Then he disappeared and theinspector came for tickets. 

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

Conroy showed his ticket, but in returning it to the sleeve-pocket ofhis ulster the little silver Najdolene case slipped from his glove andfell to the floor. He snatched it up as the moving train flung himinto his seat. 

'How nice!' said the woman. She leisurely lifted her veil, unbottonedthe first button of her left glove, and pressed out from its palm aNajdolene-case. 

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

'I beg your pardon. ' The deep voice was measured, even, and low. Conroyknew 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-presented tabloidbetween finger and thumb. 'But aren't you one of the--ah--"soul-weary"too?'

'That's why. Oh, please don't! Not at first. I--I haven't had one sincemorning. 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 an innocencethat would have deceived any sound man, asked Conroy to call her maid tobring 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 of all!'

'This night? Have you a night, then? They disbelieved _me_ when I toldthem of mine. ' She leaned back and laughed, always slowly. 'Aren'tdoctors stu-upid? They don't know. '

She leaned her elbow on her knee, lifted her veil that had fallen, and, chin in hand, stared at him. He looked at her--till his eyes wereblurred with tears. 

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

'Surely--surely, ' Conroy answered, for he had well seen the fear and thehorror that lived behind the heavy-lidded eyes, the fine tracing on thebroad forehead, and the guard set about the desirable mouth. 

'Then--suppose we have one--just one apiece? I've gone without sincethis afternoon. '

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

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

'But I want one. It's a poor heart that never rejoices. Just one. It'smy night. '

'It's mine--too. My sixty-fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh. ' He shut hislips firmly against the tide of visualised numbers that threatened tocarry him along. 

'Ah, it's only my thirty-ninth. ' She paused as he had done. 'I wonder ifI shall last into the sixties. .. . Talk to me or I shall go crazy. You'rea man. You're the stronger vessel. Tell me when you went to pieces. '

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

'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, then theminutes. Do you?'

'I don't think I've done very much else for the last--' said Conroy, shivering, for the night was cold, with a chill he recognised. 

'Oh, how comforting to find some one who can talk sense! It's not alwaysthe same date, is it?'

'What difference would that make?' He unbuttoned his ulster with a jerk. 'You're a sane woman. Can't you see the wicked--wicked--wicked' (dustflew from the padded arm-rest as he struck it) unfairness of it? Whathave I done?'

She laid her large hand on his shoulder very firmly. 

'If you begin to think over that, ' she said, 'you'll go to pieces and beashamed. Tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine. Only be quiet--be quiet, lad, or you'll set me off!' She made shift to soothe him, though herchin trembled. 

'Well, ' said he at last, picking at the arm-rest between them, 'mine'snothing 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 a stifling hotnight. I come out of my cabin. I pass through the saloon where thestewards have rolled up the carpets, and the boards are bare and hotand soapy. '

'I've travelled too, ' she said. 

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

Again she nodded. 

'It's a lead-coloured steamer, and the sea's lead-coloured. Perfectlysmooth sea--perfectly still ship, except for the engines running, andher waves going off in lines and lines and lines--dull grey. All thistime 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 of machineryfalling down--like fire-irons--and then two most awful yells. They'remore like hoots, and I know--I know while I listen--that it means thattwo men have died as they hooted. It was their last breath hooting outof them--in most awful pain. Do you understand?'

'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 the shoulderand I hear him drop down dead. ' He panted and wiped his forehead. 

'So that is your night?' she said. 

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

'Get sentence? D'you mean _this_?' She half closed her eyes, drew adeep breath, and shuddered. '"Notice" I call it. Sir John thought it wasall lies. '

She had unpinned her hat and thrown it on the seat opposite, showing theimmense mass of her black hair, rolled low in the nape of the columnarneck and looped over the left ear. But Conroy had no eyes except for hergrave eyes. 

'Listen now!' said she. 'I walk down a road, a white sandy road near thesea. There are broken fences on either side, and Men come and look at meover them. '

'Just men? Do they speak?'

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

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

'Ah! But the place itself--the bareness--and the glitter and the saltsmells, and the wind blowing the sand! The Men run after me and Irun. .. . I know what's coming too. One of them touches me. '

'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 a finger-bowlhumming?' he said. 

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

She drove her thumb deep into the arm-rest. 'And now, ' she whined tohim, 'now that we've stirred each other up this way, mightn't we havejust one?'

'No, ' said Conroy, shaking. 'Let's hold on. We're past'--he peered outof the black windows--'Woking. There's the Necropolis. How longtill dawn?'

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

'And how d'you find that this'--he tapped the palm of his glove--'helpsyou?'

'It covers up the thing from being too real--if one takes enough--youknow. Only--only--one loses everything else. I've been no more than abogie-girl for two years. What would you give to be real again? Thislying's such a nuisance. '

'One must protect oneself--and there's one's mother to think of, ' heanswered. 

'True. I hope allowances are made for us somewhere. Our burden--can youhear?--our burden is heavy enough. '

She rose, towering into the roof of the carriage. Conroy's ungentle grippulled 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 takeone now--before I--'

'Sit down!' cried Conroy, and the sweat stood again on his forehead. Hehad fought through a few nights, and had been defeated on more, and heknew the rebellion that flares beyond control to exhaustion. 

She smoothed her hair and dropped back, but for a while her head andthroat moved with the sickening motion of a captured wry-neck. 

'Once, ' she said, spreading out her hands, 'I ripped my counterpanefrom 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 the morning. '

'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 a minute. '

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

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

She was lifting the case to her mouth. With tremendous effort Conroycaught it. The two moved like jointed dolls, and when their hands met itwas as wood on wood. 

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

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

Conroy could only shake his head, while he bore down on the hand and thecase in it. 

Her speech went from her altogether. The wonderful lips rested half overthe even teeth, the breath was in the nostrils only, the eyes dulled, the face set grey, and through the glove the hand struck like ice. 

Presently her soul came back and stood behind her eyes--only thing thathad life in all that place--stood and looked for Conroy's soul. He toowas fettered in every limb, but somewhere at an immense distance heheard his heart going about its work as the engine-room carries onthrough and beneath the all but overwhelming wave. His one hope, heknew, was not to lose the eyes that clung to his, because there was anEvil abroad which would possess him if he looked aside by ahair-breadth. 

The rest was darkness through which some distant planet spun whilecymbals clashed. (Beyond Farnborough the 10. 8 rolls out many emptymilk-cans at every halt. ) Then a body came to life with intolerablepricklings. Limb by limb, after agonies of terror, that body returned tohim, steeped in most perfect physical weariness such as follows a longday's rowing. He saw the heavy lids droop over her eyes--the watcherbehind them departed--and, his soul sinking into assured peace, Conroy slept. 

Light on his eyes and a salt breath roused him without shock. Her handstill held his. She slept, forehead down upon it, but the movement ofhis waking waked her too, and she sneezed like a child. 

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

'And nothing has happened! Did you see your Men? I didn't see my Faces. Does it mean we've escaped? Did--did you take any after I went 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 washed by wavesthat were colourless in the early light. Southward the sun rose mistilyupon the Channel. 

She leaned out of the window and breathed to the bottom of her lungs, while the wind wrenched down her dishevelled hair and blew it belowher waist. 

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

'No. Not till next time. We've been let off, ' Conroy answered, breathingas 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. " We _must_!'

It was the first time since childhood that Conroy had prayed. Theylaughed hysterically when a curve threw them against an arm-rest. 

'Now for breakfast!' she cried. 'My maid--Nurse Blaber--has the basketand things. It'll be ready in twenty minutes. Oh! Look at my hair!' andshe went out laughing. 

Conroy's first discovery, made without fumbling or counting letters ontaps, was that the London and South Western's allowance of washing-wateris inadequate. He used every drop, rioting in the cold tingle on neckand arms. To shave in a moving train balked him, but the next halt gavehim a chance, which, to his own surprise, he took. As he stared athimself in the mirror he smiled and nodded. There were points about thisperson with the clear, if sunken, eye and the almost uncompressed mouth. But when he bore his bag back to his compartment, the weight of it on alimp arm humbled that new pride. 

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

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

'By Jove!' he said, halting at the doorway, 'I hadn't realised howbeautiful 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 the better. ' Shewas a small, freckled woman, with light fluffy hair and pale-blue eyesthat looked through all veils. 

'This is Miss Blaber, ' said Miss Henschil. 'He's one of the soul-wearytoo, Nursey. '

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

She went out quietly, and Conroy reddened. 

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

They starved together heroically, and Nurse Blaber was good enough tosignify 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 Henschil said. 

'Perhaps. Try these. ' The nurse handed them her cigarette-case. 

'Don't take anything else, ' she commanded, and went away with thetea-basket. 

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

'Better than nothing, ' said Miss Henschil; but for a while they feltashamed, yet with the comfort of children punished together. 

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

Conroy told her, and in return she gave him her history. It delightedthem both to deal once more in worldly concerns--families, names, places, and dates--with a person of understanding. 

She came, she said, of Lancashire folk--wealthy cotton-spinners, whostill kept the broadened _a_ and slurred aspirate of the old stock. Shelived with an old masterful mother in an opulent world north ofLancaster Gate, where people in Society gave parties at a Mecca calledthe Langham Hotel. 

She herself had been launched into Society there, and the flowers at theball had cost eighty-seven pounds; but, being reckoned peculiar, she hadmade few friends among her own sex. She had attracted many men, for shewas a beauty--_the_ beauty, in fact, of Society, she said. 

She spoke utterly without shame or reticence, as a life-prisoner tellshis past to a fellow-prisoner; and Conroy nodded across the smoke-rings. 

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

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

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

'_That_ fellow? Why, he doesn't come up to your shoulder. '

'That's naught to do with it. I think all the world of him. I'm afoolish wench'--her speech wandered as she settled herself cosily, oneelbow on the arm-rest. 'We'd been engaged--I couldn't help that--and heworships 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'reright, but they think it's the dri-ink, ' she drawled. 'They'reMethody--the Skinners. You see, their grandfather that started thePatton Mills, he died o' the dri-ink. '

'I see, ' said Conroy. The grave face before him under the lifted veilwas troubled. 

'George Skinner. ' She breathed it softly. 'I'd make him a good wife, byGod's gra-ace--if I could. But it's no use. I'm not responsible. Buthe'll not take "No" for an answer. I used to call him "Toots. " He's ofno consequence, yo' see. '

'That's in Dickens, ' said Conroy, quite quickly. 'I haven't thought ofToots for years. He was at Doctor Blimber's. '

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

'Eh?' said Conroy. 'Oh yes! This is the first time I've turned my cornerwithout 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 me yourtrain, and we'll go together. '

'Yes. We must do that. But between times--when we want--' She looked ather palm, the four fingers working on it. 'It's hard to give 'em up. '

'But think what we have gained already, and let me have the case tokeep. '

She shook her head, and threw her cigarette out of the window. 'Notyet. '

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

She hesitated, but yielded at last, and Nurse accepted the offeringswith a smile. 

'_You'll_ be all right, ' she said to Miss Henschil. 'But if I wereyou'--to Conroy--'I'd take strong exercise. '

When they reached their destination Conroy set himself to obey NurseBlaber. He had no remembrance of that day, except one streak of blue seato his left, gorse-bushes to his right, and, before him, a coast-guard'strack marked with white-washed stones that he counted up to the farthousands. As he returned to the little town he saw Miss Henschil on thebeach below the cliffs. She kneeled at Nurse Blaber's feet, weepingand pleading. 

 * * * * *

Twenty-five days later a telegram came to Conroy's rooms: '_Noticegiven. Waterloo again. Twenty-fourth. '_ That same evening he was wakenedby the shudder and the sigh that told him his sentence had gone forth. Yet he reflected on his pillow that he had, in spite of lapses, snatchedsomething like three weeks of life, which included several rides on ahorse before breakfast--the hour one most craves Najdolene; fiveconsecutive evenings on the river at Hammersmith in a tub where he hadwell stretched the white arms that passing crews mocked at; a game ofrackets at his club; three dinners, one small dance, and one humanflirtation with a human woman. More notable still, he had settled hismonth's accounts, 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 Lancaster Gate, talking to a young man at the railings. 

She wheeled and cantered toward him. 

'By Jove! How well you look!' he cried, without salutation. 'I didn'tknow 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 you been?'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 horse again! Thischap 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 send him 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 the littlefrock-coated figure that waited faithfully near the gate. 

Conroy felt the spring sun on his shoulders and trotted home. Thatevening he went out with a man in a pair oar, and was rowed to astandstill. But the other man owned he could not have kept the pace fiveminutes longer. 

 * * * * *

He carried his bag all down Number 3 platform at Waterloo, and hove itwith one hand into the rack. 

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

Dr. Gilbert and an older man came out of the next compartment. 

'Hallo!' said Gilbert. 'Why haven't you been to see me, Mr. Conroy? Comeunder the lamp. Take off your hat. No--no. Sit, you young giant. Ve-rygood. 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'youkeep it in your glove now?' he went on, and punched Conroy in theshort ribs. 

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

'Wait till you are a sound man before you say _that_, Mr. Conroy. ' SirJohn Chartres stumped out, saying to Gilbert in the corridor, 'It's allvery fine, but the question is shall I or we "Sir Pandarus of Troybecome, " eh? We're bound to think of the children. '

'Have you been vetted?' said Miss Henschil, a few minutes after thetrain started. 'May I sit with you? I--I don't trust myself yet. I can'tgive 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-handed liftedConroy's bag, and held it at arm's length. 'I counted ten slowly. And Ididn'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 think it'll beeasier for us to-night?'

'Oh, don't. ' The smell of the carriage had brought back all his lasttrip 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 I can'tplay 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 told him itdoesn't matter. Will you please let me hold your hand? I believe I'mbeginning to get the chill. '

'Toots ought to envy me, ' said Conroy. 

'He does. He paid you a high compliment the other night. He's taken tocalling again--in spite of all they say. '

Conroy inclined his head. He felt cold, and knew surely he would becolder. 

'He said, ' she yawned. '(Beg your pardon. ) He said he couldn't see how Icould help falling in love with a man like you; and he called himself adamned little rat, and he beat his head on the piano last night. '

'The piano? You play, then?'

'Only to him. He thinks the world of my accomplishments. Then I told himI wouldn't have you if you were the last man on earth instead of onlythe best-looking--not with a million in each stocking. '

'No, not with a million in each stocking, ' said Conroy vehemently. '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 to go awaywithout saying good-night. He hates standing a-tiptoe, but he must if Iwon't sit down. '

Conroy would have smiled, but the chill that foreran the coming of theLier-in-Wait was upon him, and his hand closed warningly on hers. 

'And--and so--' she was trying to say, when her hour also overtook her, leaving alive only the fear-dilated eyes that turned to Conroy. Handfroze on hand and the body with it as they waited for the horror in theblackness that heralded it. Yet through the worst Conroy saw, at anuncountable distance, one minute glint of light in his night. Thitherwould he go and escape his fear; and behold, that light was the light inthe watch-tower of her eyes, where her locked soul signalled to hissoul: 'Look at me!'

In time, from him and from her, the Thing sheered aside, that each soulmight step down and resume its own concerns. He thought confusedly ofpeople on the skirts of a thunderstorm, withdrawing from windows wherethe torn night is, to their known and furnished beds. Then he dozed, till in some drowsy turn his hand fell from her 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'm afraid itwill 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 which theyhad just risen. 

'And now, ' she said, strict eyes on Conroy, '_why_ wouldn't you takeme--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. Are you welloff, lad?'

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

'That's North country. ' She laughed again. Setting aside my good looksand yours, I've four thousand a year of my own, and the rents shouldmake it six. That's a match some old cats would lap tea all night tofettle up. '

'It is. Lucky Toots!' said Conroy. 

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

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

'Maybe, for a man. But I never minded things much till George came. Iwas all stu-upid like. '

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

'I hope so. Ye-es. There's nothing much for a maid except to be married, and 7 ask no more. Whoever yours is, when you've found her, she shallhave a wedding present from Mrs. George Skinner that--'

'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 there was, strength, and enough of the rest to drive better men than George Skinnerto beat their heads on piano-tops--but for the new-found life of himConroy could not feel one flutter of instinct or emotion that turned toherward. He put up his feet and fell asleep, dreaming of a joyous, normal world recovered--with interest on arrears. There were many thingsin it, but no one face of any one woman. 

 * * * * *

Thrice afterward they took the same train, and each time their troubleshrank and weakened. Miss Henschil talked of Toots, his multipliedcalls, the things he had said to his sisters, the much worse things hissisters had replied; of the late (he seemed very dead to them) M. Najdol's gifts for the soul-weary; of shopping, of house rents, and thecost of really artistic furniture and linen. 

Conroy explained the exercises in which he delighted--mighty labours ofplay undertaken against other mighty men, till he sweated and, havingbathed, slept. He had visited his mother, too, in Hereford, and hetalked something of her and of the home-life, which his body, cut out ofall clean life for five years, innocently and deeply enjoyed. NurseBlaber was a little interested in Conroy's mother, but, as a rule, shesmoked her cigarette and read her paper-backed novels in her owncompartment. 

On their last trip she volunteered to sit with them, and buried herselfin _The Cloister and the Hearth_ while they whispered together. On thatoccasion (it was near Salisbury) at two in the morning, when theLier-in-Wait brushed them with his wing, it meant no more than that theyshould cease talk for the instant, and for the instant hold hands, aseven utter strangers on the deep may do when their ship rolls underfoot. 

'But still, ' said Nurse Blaber, not looking up, 'I think your Mr. 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 Henschil laughed. 

'After all we've gone through, too. But I suppose you ought to leave meout. Is the day fixed?' he cried. 

'Twenty-second of September--in spite of both his sisters. I can risk itnow. ' Her face was glorious as she flushed. 

'My dear chap!' He shook hands unreservedly, and she gave back his gripwithout flinching. 'I can't tell you how pleased I am!'

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

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

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

'But I couldn't, could you?' said Miss Henschil, with a disgust as frankas that on Conroy's face. 'It would be horrible--horrible. And yet, ofcourse, you're wonderfully handsome. How d'you account for it, Nursey?'

Nurse Blaber shook her head. 'I was hired to cure you of a habit, dear. When you're cured I shall go on to the next case--that senile-decay oneat Bourne-mouth I told you about. '

'And I shall be left alone with George! But suppose it isn't cured, 'said Miss Henschil of a sudden. Suppose it comes back again. What can Ido? I can't send for _him_ in this way when I'm a married woman!' Shepointed like an infant. 

'I'd come, of course, ' Conroy answered. 'But, seriously, that is aconsideration. '

They looked at each other, alarmed and anxious, and then toward NurseBlaber, who closed her book, marked the place, and turned to face them. 

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

'No. I might have spoken to dad--but mother's different. What d'youmean?'

'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 noneed 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. 'Butshe'll have her Bible with her pikelets at tea every night like theSkinners. '

'It was Naaman and Gehazi last Tuesday that gave me a clue. I said I'dnever seen a case of leprosy, and your mother said she'd seen too many. '

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

'A few months before you were born--on her trip to Australia--at Mola orMolo something or other. It took me three evenings to get it all out. '

'Ay--mother's suspicious of questions, ' said Miss Henschil to Conroy. 'She'll lock the door of every room she's in, if it's but for fiveminutes. She was a Tackberry from Jarrow way, yo' see. '

'She described your men to the life--men with faces all eaten away, staring at her over the fence of a lepers' hospital in this Molo Island. They begged from her, and she ran, she told me, all down the street, back to the pier. One touched her and she nearly fainted. She's ashamedof that still. '

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

'Yes. You know how tidy she is and how she hates wind. She rememberedthat the fences were broken--she remembered the wind blowing. Sand--sun--salt wind--fences--faces--I got it all out of her, bit bybit. You don't know what I know! And it all happened three or fourmonths before you were born. There!' Nurse Blaber slapped her knee withher little hand triumphantly. 

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

'Absolutely. I don't care who you ask! You never imagined the thing. Itwas _laid_ on you. It happened on earth to _you_! Quick, Mr. Conroy, she's too heavy for me! I'll get the flask. '

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

'No--no, ' she said, gulping. 'It's not hysterics. Yo' see I've no callto hev 'em any more. No call--no reason whatever. God be praised! Can'tyo' _feel_ I'm a right woman now?'

'Stop hugging me!' said Nurse Blaber. 'You don't know your strength. Finish the brandy and water. It's perfectly reasonable, and I'll laylong odds Mr. Conroy's case is something of the same. I've beenthinking--'

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

Nurse Blaber smoothed her pale hair. 'Yes. Your trouble, or somethinglike it, happened somewhere on earth or sea to the mother who bore you. Ask her, child. Ask her and be done with it once for all. '

'I will, ' said Conroy. .. . 'There ought to be--' He opened his bag andhunted breathlessly. 

'Bless you! Oh, God bless you, Nursey!' Miss Henschil was sobbing. 'Youdon't know what this means to me. It takes it all off--from thebeginning. '

'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 stared across, and her beauty, freed from the shadow of any fear, blazed up within her. 'I see what you mean, ' she said. 'But it hasn't changed anything. I wantToots. _He_ has never been out of his mind in his life--except oversilly me. '

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

'Quick, then, ' said Nurse Blaber. 'We've passed Gillingham quite awhile. You'd better take some of our sandwiches. ' She went out to getthem. Conroy and Miss Henschil would have danced, but there is no roomfor giants in a South-Western compartment. 

'Good-bye, good luck, lad. Eh, but you've changed already--like me. Senda wire to our hotel as soon as you're sure, ' said Miss Henschil. 'Whatshould I have done without you?'

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

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

When Nurse Blaber came back after the parting at Templecombe her noseand her eyelids were red, but, for all that, her face reflected a greatlight even while she sniffed over _The Cloister and the Hearth_. 

Miss Henschil, deep in a house furnisher's catalogue, did not speak fortwenty minutes. Then she said, between adding totals of best, guest, andservants' sheets, 'But why should our times have been the same, Nursey?'

'Because a child is born somewhere every second of the clock, ' NurseBlaber answered. 'And besides that, you probably set each other off bytalking and thinking about it. You shouldn't, you know. '

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

The telegram handed in at Hereford at 12. 46 and delivered to MissHenschil on the beach of a certain village at 2. 7 ran thus:

'"_Absolutely confirmed. She says she remembers hearing noise ofaccident in engine-room returning from India eighty-five. _"'

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

'"_And two men scalded thus explaining my hoots. _" (The idea of tellingme that!) "_Subsequently silly clergyman passenger ran up behind hercalling for joke, 'Friend, all is lost, ' thus accounting very words. _"'

Nurse Blaber purred audibly. 

'"_She says only remembers being upset minute or two. Unspeakablerelief. Best love Nursey, who is jewel. Get out of her what she wouldlike 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 Idid I shouldn't get it. '

 'HELEN ALL ALONE'

 There was darkness under Heaven For an hour's space-- Darkness that we knew was given Us for special grace. Sun and moon and stars were hid, God had left His Throne, When Helen came to me, she did, Helen all alone!

 Side by side (because our fate Damned us ere our birth) We stole out of Limbo Gate Looking for the Earth. Hand in pulling hand amid Fear no dreams have known, Helen ran with me, she did, Helen all alone!

 When the Horror passing speech Hunted us along, Each laid hold on each, and each Found the other strong. In the teeth of things forbid And Reason overthrown, Helen stood by me, she did, Helen all alone!

 When, at last, we heard the Fires Dull and die away, When, at last, our linked desires Dragged us up to day, When, at last, our souls were rid Of what that Night had shown, Helen passed from me, she did, Helen all alone!

 Let her go and find a mate, As I will find a bride, Knowing naught of Limbo Gate Or Who are penned inside. There is knowledge God forbid More than one should own. So Helen went from me, she did, Oh my soul, be glad she did! Helen all alone!

The Honours of War

(1911)

A hooded motor had followed mine from the Guildford Road up the drive toThe Infant's ancestral hall, and had turned off to the stables. 

'We're having a quiet evening together. Stalky's upstairs changing. Dinner's at 7. 15 sharp, because we're hungry. His room's next to yours, 'said The Infant, nursing a cobwebbed bottle of Burgundy. 

Then I found Lieutenant-Colonel A. L. Corkran, I. A. , who borrowed acollar-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 'em jobs. Theykeep touchin' their caps to me and askin' for more work. 'Come at mewith their tongues hangin' out. _I_ used to run the other way attheir age. '

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

'Then they run to me again to weep with remorse over their virginpeccadilloes. I never cuddled my Colonel when I was in trouble. 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' howshocked I am, and how grieved their parents'll be; and throw in alittle about the Army Regulations and the Ten Commandments. 'Makes onefeel rather a sweep when one thinks of what one used to do at their age. D'you remember--'

We remembered together till close on seven o'clock. As we went out intothe gallery that runs round the big hall, we saw The Infant, below, talking to two deferential well-set-up lads whom I had known, on andoff, in the holidays, any time for the last ten years. One of them had abruised cheek, and the other a weeping left eye. 

'Yes, that's the style, ' said Stalky below his breath. 'They're broughtup on lemon-squash and mobilisation text-books. I say, the girls we knewmust have been much better than they pretended they were; for I'll swearit isn't the fathers. '

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

'Well, sir, ' said Bobby Trivett, the taller of the two, 'Wontner talkstoo much, for one thing. He didn't join till he was twenty-three, and, besides that, he used to lecture on tactics in the ante-room. He saidClausewitz was the only tactician, and he illustrated his theories withcigar-ends. He was that sort of chap, sir. '

'And he didn't much care whose cigar-ends they were, ' said Eames, whowas shorter and pinker. 

'And then he _would_ talk about the 'Varsity, ' said Bobby. 'He got adegree there. And he told us we weren't intellectual. He told theAdjutant so, sir. He was just that kind of chap, sir, if youunderstand. '

Stalky and I backed behind a tall Japanese jar of chrysanthemums andlistened more intently. 

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

'The Adjutant went to bed, of course, sir, and the Senior Subaltern saidhe wasn't going to risk his commission--they're awfully down on raggingnowadays in the Service--but the rest of us--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 us sillychildren, and went to bed, and we sat up discussin', and I suppose wegot 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 his helmet andsword-belt on for him, and we sung him bits out of the Blue FairyBook--the cram-book on Army organisation. Oh yes, and then we asked himto drink old Clausewitz's health, as a brother-tactician, in milk-punchand Worcester sauce, and so on. We had to help him a little there. Hebites. There wasn't much else that time; but, you know, the War Officeis severe on ragging these days. ' Bobby stopped with a lopsided smile. 

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

'Oh, ' said The Infant, 'he's that kind of man, is he? Does he brush histeeth?'

'Oh yes, he's quite clean all over!' said Trivett; 'but his father's awealthy barrister. '

'Solicitor, ' Eames corrected, 'and so this Mister Wontner is out for ourblood. He's going to make a first-class row about it--appeal to the WarOffice--court of inquiry--spicy bits in the papers, and songs in themusic-halls. He told us so. '

'That's the sort of chap he is, ' said Trivett. 'And that means oldDhurrah-bags, our Colonel, 'll be put on half-pay, same as that case inthe Scarifungers' Mess; and our Adjutant'll have to exchange, like itwas with that fellow in the 73rd Dragoons, and there'll be misery allround. 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 the Serviceabout the time you were born, Bobby. What's it got to do with me?'

'Father told me I was always to go to you when I was in trouble, andyou'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 row onlyhappened last night, and we found him writing letters as hard as hecould 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 of style. We tried toride him off quietly--apologies and so forth--but it was the milk-punchand mayonnaise that defeated us. '

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

'He said he'd make an example of the regiment, and he was particularlyglad that he'd landed our Colonel. He told us so. Old Dhurrah-bags don'tsympathise with Wontner's tactical lectures. He says Wontner ought tolearn manners first, but we thought--' Trivett turned to Eames, who wasless a son of the house than himself, Eames's father being still alive. 

'Then, ' Eames went on, 'he became rather noisome, and we thought wemight as well impound the correspondence'--he wrinkled his swelled lefteye--'and after that, we got him to take a seat in my car. '

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

'Oh no! His head's sticking out quite clear, and'--Eames rushed thefence--'we've put him in your garage--er _pendente lite_. '

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

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

Bobby's sentence died away as The Infant collapsed on a divan and saidno more than, 'Your commissions!' There was a long, long silence. 

'What price your latter-day lime-juice subaltern?' I whispered toStalky behind my hand. His nostrils expanded, and he drummed on the edgeof the Japanese jar with his knuckles. 

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

'Come on, ' said Stalky. 'That was my old Line battalion in Egypt. Theynearly slung old Dhurrah-bags and me out of the Service in '85 forragging. ' He descended the stairs and The Infant rolled appealingeyes at him. 

'I heard what you youngsters have confessed, ' he began; and in hisorderly-room voice, which is almost as musical as his singing one, hetongue-lashed those lads in such sort as was a privilege and arevelation to listen to. Till then they had known him almost as arelative--we were all brevet, deputy, or acting uncles to The Infant'sfriends' brood--a sympathetic elder brother, sound on finance. They hadnever met Colonel A. L. Corkran in the Chair of Justice. And while heflayed and rent and blistered, and wiped the floor with them, and whilethey looked for hiding-places and found none on that floor, I remembered(1) the up-ending of 'Dolly' Macshane at Dalhousie, which cameperilously near a court-martial on Second-Lieutenant Corkran; (2) theburning of Captain Parmilee's mosquito-curtains on a hot Indian dawn, when the captain slept in his garden, and Lieutenant Corkran, smoking, rode by after a successful whist night at the club; (3) theintroduction of an ekka pony, with ekka attached, into a brothercaptain's tent on a frosty night in Peshawur, and the removal of tent, pole, cot, and captain all wrapped in chilly canvas; (4) the bath thatwas given to Elliot-Hacker on his own verandah--his lady-love saw it andbroke off the engagement, which was what the Mess intended, she being anEurasian--and the powdering all over of Elliot-Hacker with flour andturmeric from the bazaar. 

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

'Now, ' said Stalky, 'get out! No, not out of the house. Go to yourrooms. '

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

Nothing had ever been known to astonish Ipps, the butler. He entered andwithdrew with his charges. After all, he had suffered from Bobby sinceBobby's twelfth year. 

'They've done everything they could, short of murder, ' said The Infant. 'You know what this'll mean for the regiment. It isn't as if we weredealing with Sahibs nowadays. '

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

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

'Look here, ' Stalky thundered--the years had fallen from us both--'isyour--am I commandin' or are you? We've got to pull this thing offsomehow or other. Cut over to the garage, make much of him, and bringhim over. He's dining with us. Be quick, you dithering ass!'

I was quick enough; but as I ran through the shrubbery I wondered howone extricates the subaltern of the present day from a sack withouthurting his feelings. Anciently, one slit the end open, taking off hisboots first, and then fled. 

Imagine a sumptuously-equipped garage, half-filled by The Infant'scobalt-blue, grey-corded silk limousine and a mud-splashed, cheap, hooded four-seater. In the back seat of this last, conceive a fierychestnut head emerging from a long oat-sack; an implacable white face, with blazing eyes and jaws that worked ceaselessly at the loop of thestring that was drawn round its neck. The effect, under the electrics, was that of a demon caterpillar wrathfully spinning its own cocoon. 

'Good evening!' I said genially. 'Let me help you out of that. ' The headglared. 'We've got 'em, ' I went on. 'They came to quite the wrong shopfor 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, I had noknife. 

'You've chewed the string so I can't find the knot, ' I said as I workedwith trembling fingers at the cater-pillar's throat. Something untieditself, and Mr. Wontner wriggled out, collarless, tieless, his coatsplit half down his back, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his watch-chainsnapped, his trousers rucked well above the knees. 

'Where, ' he said grimly, as he pulled them down, 'are Master Trivett andMaster Eames?'

'Both arrested, of course, ' I replied. 'Sir George'--I gave The Infant'sfull title as a baronet--'is a Justice of the Peace. He'd be verypleased if you dined with us. There's a room ready for you. ' I pickedup the sack. 

'D'you know, ' said Mr. Wontner through his teeth--but the car's bonnetwas between us, 'that this looks to me like--I won't say conspiracy_yet_, but uncommonly like a confederacy. '

When injured souls begin to distinguish and qualify, danger is over. SoI grew bold. 

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

'My good fool, ' he interrupted, with a half-hysterical snort, 'let meassure you that the trouble will recoil on the other men!'

'As you please, ' I went on. 'Anyhow, the chaps who got you into troubleare arrested, and the magistrate who arrested 'em asks you to 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 will comelater. I must probe into this a little further. In the meantime, Iaccept your invitation without prejudice--if you understand whatthat means. '

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

He walked off stiffly, while I searched the sack and the car for theimpounded correspondence that Bobby had talked of. I found nothingexcept, as the police reports say, the trace of a struggle. He hadkicked half the varnish off the back of the front seat, and had bittenthe leather padding where he could reach it. Evidently a purposeful andhard-mouthed young gentleman. 

'Well done!' said Stalky at the door. 'So he didn't slay you. Stoplaughing. He's talking to The Infant now about depositions. Look here, you're nearest his size. Cut up to your rooms and give Ipps your dinnerthings 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 conciliate _him_. He's infilthy rags and a filthy temper, and he won't feel decent till he'sdressed. You're the sacrifice. Be quick! And clean socks, remember!'

Once more I trotted up to my room, changed into unseasonable unbrushedgrey tweeds, put studs into a clean shirt, dug out fresh socks, handedthe whole garniture over to Ipps, and returned to the hall just in timeto hear Stalky say, 'I'm a stockbroker, but I have the honour to holdHis Majesty's commission in a Territorial battalion. ' Then I felt asthough I might be beginning to be repaid. 

'I have a very high opinion of the Territorials myself, ' said Mr. Wontner above a glass of sherry. (Infant never lets us put bitters intoanything above twenty years old. ) 'But if you had any experience of theService, you would find that the Average Army Man--'

Here The Infant suggested changing, and Ipps, before whom no humanpassion 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 shaken andexcited. Probably Beetle annoyed him in the garage, but we must overlookthat. We've contained him so far, and I'm going to nibble round hisoutposts at dinner. All you've got to do, Infant, is to remember you'rea gentleman in your own house. Don't hop! You'll find it prettydifficult before dinner's over. I don't want to hear anything at allfrom you, Beetle. '

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

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

'But as long as a regiment has no say as to who joins it, it's bound torag, ' Infant began. 'Why--why, they varnished me when I joined!' Hesquirmed at the thought of it. 

'Don't be owls! We ain't discussing principles! We've got to save thecourt of inquiry if we can, ' said Stalky. 

Five minutes later--at 7. 45 to be precise--we four sat down to such adinner as, I hold, only The Infant's cook can produce, with wines worthyof pontifical banquets. A man in the extremity of rage and injureddignity is precisely like a typhoid patient. He asks no questions, accepts what is put before him, and babbles in one key--very often oftrifles. But food and drink are the very best of drugs. I think it wasHeidsieck Dry Monopole '92--Stalky as usual stuck to Burgundy--thatbegan to unlock Mr. Wontner's heart behind my shirt-front. Me he snubbedthroughout, after the Oxford manner, because I had seen him in the sack, and he did not intend me to presume; but to Stalky and The Infant, whileI admired the set of my dinner-jacket across his shoulders, he made hisplans of revenge very clear indeed. He had even sketched out some of theparagraphs that were to appear in the papers, and if Stalky had allowedme to speak, I would have told him that they were rather neatly phrased. 

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

'My de-ah sir, ' Mr. Wontner applied himself to his glass, 'it isn't amatter that gentlemen usually discuss, but, I assure you, weWontners'--he waved a well-kept hand--'do not stand in any need offilthy lucre. ' In the next three minutes, we learned exactly what hisfather was worth, which, as he pointed out, was a trifle no man of theworld dwelt on. Stalky envied aloud, and I delivered my first kick atThe Infant's ankle. Thence we drifted to education, and the Average ArmyMan, and the desolating vacuity--I remember these words--of ArmySociety, notably among its womenkind. It appeared there was some sort ofnarrow convention in the Army against mentioning a woman's name at Mess. We were much surprised at this--Stalky would not let me express mysurprise--but we took it from Mr. Wontner, who said we might, that itwas so. Next he touched on Colonels of the old school, and theircognisance of tactics. Not that he himself pretended to any skill intactics, but after three years at the 'Varsity--none of us had had a'Varsity education--a man insensibly contracted the habit of clearthinking. At least, he could automatically co-ordinate his ideas, andthe jealousy of these muddle-headed Colonels was inconceivable. We wouldunderstand that it was his duty to force on the retirement of hisColonel, who had been in the conspiracy against him; to make hisAdjutant resign or exchange; and to give the half-dozen childishsubalterns who had vexed his dignity a chance to retrieve themselves inother corps--West African ones, he hoped. For himself, after the casewas decided, he proposed to go on living in the regiment, just toprove--for he bore no malice--that times had changed, _nosque mutamur inillis_--if we knew what that meant. Infant had curled his legs out ofreach, so I was quite free to return thanks yet once more to Allah forthe diversity of His creatures in His adorable world. 

And so, by way of an eighty-year-old liqueur brandy, to tactics and thegreat General Clausewitz, unknown to the Average Army Man. Here TheInfant, at a whisper from Ipps--whose face had darkened like a mulberrywhile he waited--excused himself and went away, but Stalky, Colonel ofTerritorials, wanted some tips on tactics. He got them unbrokenly forten minutes--Wontner and Clausewitz mixed, but Wontner in a film ofpriceless cognac distinctly on top. When The Infant came back, herenewed his clear-spoken demand that Infant should take his depositions. I supposed this to be a family trait of the Wontners, whom I had beenvisualising for some time past even to the third generation. 

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

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

We followed up the white stone side-staircase that leads to thebachelors' wing. Mr. Wontner seemed surprised that the boys were not inthe coal-cellar. 

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

'Jumped on me from behind--two to one, ' said Mr. Wontner briefly. 'Ithink I handed each of them something first, but they roped my armsand 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't it?' saidStalky to me as we reached the landing. 'I'm thinking of the newspapers, of course. '

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

Mr. Wontner turned him round. It was the first time he had honoured meby 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 soonas you're at liberty, I'd like to have your account of the affair. '

Now I thought he would have loved me for this, but he only replied in anuncomfortable, uncoming-on voice, 'Oh, you would, would you?'

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

Then he said quite hotly, 'I wish you to understand very clearly, mygood man, that a gentleman's name can't be dragged through the gutter tobolster up the circulation of your wretched sheet, whatever it may be. '

'It is ----' I named a journal of enormous sales which specialises inscholastic, military, and other scandals. 'I don't know yet what itcan'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 followed us. 

'But surely you want it in the papers, don't you?' I urged. 'With ascandal like this, one couldn't, in justice to the democracy, beexclusive. We'd syndicate it here and in the United States. I helped youout of the sack, if you remember. '

'I wish to goodness you'd stop talking!' he snapped, and sat down on achair. Stalky's hand on my shoulder quietly signalled me out of action, but I felt that my fire had not been misdirected. 

'I'll answer for him, ' said Stalky to Wontner, in an undertone thatdropped to a whisper. I caught--'Not without my leave--dependent on mefor market-tips, ' and other gratifying tributes to my integrity. 

Still Mr. Wontner sat in his chair, and still we waited on him. TheInfant's face showed worry and heavy grief; Stalky's, a bright andbird-like interest; mine was hidden behind his shoulders, but on theface of Ipps were written emotions that no butler should cherish towardsany guest. Contempt and wrath were the least of them. And Mr. Wontnerwas looking full at Ipps, as Ipps was looking at him. Mr. Wontner'sfather, I understood, kept a butler and two footmen. 

'D'you suppose they're shamming, in order to get off?' he said at last. Ipps shook his head and noiselessly threw the door open. The boys hadfinished their dinner and were fast asleep--one on a sofa, one in a longchair--their faces fallen back to the lines of their childhood. They hadhad a wildish night, a hard day, that ended with a telling-off from anartist, and the assurance they had wrecked their prospects for life. What else should youth do, then, but eat, and drink '81 port, andremember their sorrows no more?

Mr. Wontner looked at them severely, Ipps within easy reach, his handsquite ready. 'Childish, ' said Mr. Wontner at last. 'Childish butnecessary. Er--have you such a thing as a rope on the premises, and asack--two sacks and two ropes? I'm afraid I can't resist the temptation. That man understands, doesn't he, that this is a private matter?'

'That man, ' who was me, was off to the basement like one of Infant's ownfallow-deer. The stables gave me what I wanted, and coming back with itthrough a dark passage, I ran squarely into Ipps. 'Go on!' he grunted. 'The minute he lays hands on Master Bobby, Master Bobby's saved. Butthat person ought to be told how near he came to being assaulted. It wastouch-and-go with me all the time from the soup down, I assure you. '

I arrived breathless with the sacks and the ropes. 'They were two to onewith me, ' said Mr. Wontner, as he took them. 'If they wake--'

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

But the boys hardly grunted as Mr. Wontner roped first one and then theother. Even when they were slid into the sacks they only mumbled, withrolling heads, through sticky lips, and snored on. 

'Port?' said Mr. Wontner virtuously. 

'Nervous exhaustion. They aren't much more than kids, after all. What'snext?' 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 helpcarry 'em downstairs, ' and he shook Mr. Wontner by the hand. 

We were all perfectly serious till the two bundles were dumped on adivan in the hall, and the boys waked and began to realise whathad happened. 

'Yah!' said Mr. Wontner, with the simplicity of twelve years old. 'Who'sscored now?' And he sat upon them. The tension broke in a storm oflaughter, led, I think, by Ipps. 

'Asinine--absolutely asinine!' said Mr. Wontner, with folded arms fromhis lively chair. But he drank in the flattery and the fellowship of itall with quite a brainless grin, as we rolled and stamped round him, andwiped 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 with us?'

'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 whose hands itlay to shame them, their Colonel, their Adjutant, their Regiment, andtheir Service, had cast away all shadow of his legal rights for the sakeof a common or bear-garden rag--such a rag as if it came to the ears ofthe authorities, would cost him his commission. They were saved, andtheir saviour was their equal and their brother. So they chaffed andreviled him as such till he again squashed the breath out of them, andwe others laughed louder than they. 

'Fall in!' said Stalky when the limousine came round. 'This is the scoreof the century. I wouldn't miss it for a brigade! We shan't belong, 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 one thing. '

Bobby and Eames wriggled round to look at the reporter, began a joyousbellow, and suddenly stopped. 

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

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

We packed into the car, bearing our sheaves with us, and for half anhour, as the cool night-air fanned his thoughtful brow, Mr. Wontner wasquite abreast of himself. Though he said nothing unworthy, he triumphedand trumpeted a little loudly over the sacks. I sat between them on theback seat, and applauded him servilely till he reminded me that what Ihad seen and what he had said was not for publication. I hinted, whilethe boys plunged with joy inside their trappings, that this might be amatter for arrangement. 'Then a sovereign shan't part us, ' said Mr. Wontner cheerily, and both boys fell into lively hysterics. 'I don't seewhere the joke comes in for you, ' said Mr. Wontner. 'I thought it was mylittle jokelet to-night. '

'No, Clausewitz, ' gasped Bobby. 'Some is, but not all. I'll be good now. I'll give you my parole till we get to Mess. I wouldn't be out of thisfor a fiver. '

'Nor me, ' said Eames, and he gave his parole to attempt no escape orevasion. 

'Now, I suppose, ' said Mr. Wontner largely to Stalky, as we neared thesuburbs of Ash, 'you have a good deal of practical joking on the StockExchange, haven't you?'

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

'I'm sorry, ' said Stalky, 'but the fact is, I command a regiment myselfwhen I'm at home. Your Colonel knows me, I think. ' He gave his name. Mr. Wontner seemed to have heard of it. We had to pick Eames off the floor, where he had cast himself from excess of delight. 

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

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

'It was, ' said Wontner. 

Eames was all among our feet again, crying, 'If you don't let me get myarms up, I'll be sick. Let's hear what you said. Tell us. '

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

'Don't you notice 'em, ' said Stalky. 'It was a fair rag all round, andanyhow, you two youngsters haven't any right to talk tactics. You'vebeen rolled up, horse, foot, and guns. '

'I'll make a treaty. If you'll let us go and change presently, ' saidBobby, 'I'll promise we won't tell about you, Clausewitz. _You_ talkedtactics to Uncle Len? Old Dhurrah-bags will like that. He don't loveyou, Claus. '

'If I've made one ass of myself, I shall take extra care to make assesof you!' said Wontner. 'I want to stop, please, at the next milliner'sshop on the right. It ought to be close here. '

He evidently knew the country even in the dark, for the car stopped at abrilliantly-lighted millinery establishment, where--it was Saturdayevening--a young lady was clearing up the counter. I followed him, as agood reporter should. 

'Have you got--' he began. 'Ah, those'll do!' He pointed to two hairyplush beehive bonnets, one magenta, the other a conscientious electricblue. 'How much, please? I'll take them both, and that bunch of peacockfeathers, and that red feather thing. ' It was a brilliant crimson-dyedpigeon's wing. 

'Now I want some yards of muslin with a nice, fierce pattern, please. 'He got it--yellow with black tulips--and returned heavily laden. 

'Sorry to have kept you, ' said he. 'Now we'll go to my quarters tochange and beautify. '

We came to them--opposite a dun waste of parade-ground that might havebeen Mian Mir--and bugles as they blew and drums as they rolled setheart-strings echoing. 

We hoisted the boys out and arranged them on chairs, while Wontnerchanged into uniform, but stopped when he saw me taking off my jacket. 

'What on earth's that for?' said he. 

'Because you've been wearing my evening things, ' I said. 'I want to getinto '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't stand thismuch longer. 'Tisn't fair on the young. '

'I'll attend to you in good time, ' said Wontner; and when he had madecareful toilet, he unwrapped the bonnets, put the peacock's feather intothe magenta one, pinned the crimson wing on the blue one, set themdaintily on the boys' heads, and bade them admire the effect in hisshaving-glass while he ripped the muslin into lengths, bound it first, and draped it artistically afterwards a little below their knees. Hefinished off with a gigantic sash-bow, obi fashion. 'Hobble skirts, ' heexplained to Stalky, who nodded approval. 

Next he split open the bottom of each sack so that they could walk, butwith very short steps. 'I ought to have got you white satin 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 Bobbyfrom under his hat. 'This beats milk-punch and mayonnaise. '

'Oh, why didn't we think of these things when we had him at our mercy?'Eames wailed. 'Never mind--we'll try it on the next chap. You've amind, Claus. '

'Now we'll call on 'em at Mess, ' said Wontner, as they minced towardsthe door. 

'I think I'll call on your Colonel, ' said Stalky. 'He oughtn't to missthis. Your first attempt? I assure you I couldn't have done it bettermyself. Thank you!' He held out his hand. 

'Thank _you_, sir!' said Wontner, shaking it. 'I'm more grateful to youthan I can say, and--and I'd like you to believe some time that I'm notquite as big a--'

'Not in the least, ' Stalky interrupted. 'If I were writing aconfidential report on you, I should put you down as rather adequate. Look after your geishas, or they'll fall!'

We watched the three cross the road and disappear into the shadow of theMess verandah. There was a noise. Then telephone bells rang, a sergeantand a Mess waiter charged out, and the noise grew, till at last the Messwas a little noisy. 

We came back, ten minutes later, with Colonel Dalziell, who had beentaking his sorrows to bed with him. The ante-room was quite full andvisitors were still arriving, but it was possible to hear oneself speakoccasionally. Trivett and Eames, in sack and sash, sat side by side on atable, their hats at a ravishing angle, coquettishly twiddling theirtied feet. In the intervals of singing 'Put Me Among the Girls, ' theysipped whisky-and-soda held to their lips by, I regret to say, a Major. Public opinion seemed to be against allowing them to change theircostume till they should have danced in it. Wontner, lying more or lessgracefully at the level of the chandelier in the arms of six subalterns, was lecturing on tactics and imploring to be let down, which he was witha run when they realised that the Colonel was there. Then he pickedhimself up from the sofa and said: 'I want to apologise, sir, to you andthe Mess 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 home again in TheInfant's car. It was some time since we had tasted the hot air that liesbetween the cornice and the ceiling of crowded rooms. 

After half an hour's silence, Stalky said to me: 'I don't know whatyou've been doing, but I believe I've been weepin'. Would you put thatdown to Burgundy or senile decay?'

THE CHILDREN

 These were our children who died for our lands: they were dear in our sight. We have only the memory left of their home-treasured sayings and laughter. The price of our loss shall be paid to our hands, not another's hereafter. Neither the Alien nor Priest shall decide on it. That is our right. _But who shall return us the children_?

 At the hour the Barbarian chose to disclose his pretences, And raged against Man, they engaged, on the breasts that they bared for us, The first felon-stroke of the sword he had long-time prepared for us-- Their bodies were all our defence while we wrought our defences. 

 They bought us anew with their blood, forbearing to blame us, Those hours which we had not made good when the Judgment o'ercame us. They believed us and perished for it. Our statecraft, our learning. 

 Delivered them bound to the Pit and alive to the burning Whither they mirthfully hastened as jostling for honour. Not since her birth has our Earth seen such worth loosed upon her. 

 Nor was their agony brief, or once only imposed on them. The wounded, the war-spent, the sick received no exemption: Being cured they returned and endured and achieved our redemption, Hopeless themselves of relief, till Death, marvelling, closed on them. 

 That flesh we had nursed from the first in all cleanness was given To corruption unveiled and assailed by the malice of Heaven-- By the heart-shaking jests of Decay where it lolled on the wires-- To be blanched or gay-painted by fumes--to be cindered by fires-- To be senselessly tossed and retossed in stale mutilation From crater to crater. For this we shall take expiation. _But who shall return us our children_?

The Dog Hervey

(April 1914)

My friend Attley, who would give away his own head if you told him youhad lost yours, was giving away a six-months-old litter of Bettina'spups, and half-a-dozen women were in raptures at the show onMittleham lawn. 

We picked by lot. Mrs. Godfrey drew first choice; her married daughter, second. I was third, but waived my right because I was already owned byMalachi, Bettina's full brother, whom I had brought over in the car tovisit his nephews and nieces, and he would have slain them all if I hadtaken home one. Milly, Mrs. Godfrey's younger daughter, pounced on myrejection with squeals of delight, and Attley turned to a dark, sallow-skinned, slack-mouthed girl, who had come over for tennis, andinvited her to pick. She put on a pince-nez that made her look like acamel, knelt clumsily, for she was long from the hip to the knee, breathed hard, and considered the last couple. 

'I think I'd like that sandy-pied one, ' she said. 

'Oh, not him, Miss Sichliffe!' Attley cried. 'He was overlaid or hadsunstroke or something. They call him The Looney in the kennels. Besides, he squints. '

'I think that's rather fetching, ' she answered. Neither Malachi nor Ihad ever seen a squinting dog before. 

'That's chorea--St. Vitus's dance, ' Mrs. Godfrey put in. 'He ought tohave 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 be patchedup. ' Miss Sichliffe turned crimson; I saw Mrs. Godfrey exchange a glancewith her married daughter, and knew I had said something which wouldhave to be lived down. 

'Yes, ' Miss Sichliffe went on, her voice shaking, 'he isn't a good life, but perhaps I can--patch him up. Come here, sir. ' The misshapen beastlurched toward her, squinting down his own nose till he fell over hisown toes. Then, luckily, Bettina ran across the lawn and remindedMalachi of their puppyhood. All that family are as queer as Dick'shatband, and fight like man and wife. I had to separate them, and Mrs. Godfrey helped me till they retired under the rhododendrons and had itout in silence. 

'D'you know what that girl's father was?' Mrs. Godfrey asked. 

'No, ' I replied. 'I loathe her for her own sake. She breathes throughher mouth. '

'He was a retired doctor, ' she explained. 'He used to pick up stormyyoung men in the repentant stage, take them home, and patch them up tillthey were sound enough to be insured. Then he insured them heavily, andlet them out into the world again--with an appetite. Of course, no oneknew him while he was alive, but he left pots of money to his daughter. '

'Strictly legitimate--highly respectable, ' I said. 'But what a life forthe daughter!'

'Mustn't it have been! _Now_ d'you realise what you said just now?'

'Perfectly; and now you've made me quite happy, shall we go back to thehouse?'

When we reached it they were all inside, sitting in committee on names. 

'What shall you call yours?' I heard Milly ask Miss Sichliffe. 

'Harvey, ' she replied--'Harvey's Sauce, you know. He's going to be quitesaucy when I've'--she saw Mrs. Godfrey and me coming through the Frenchwindow--'when he's stronger. '

Attley, the well-meaning man, to make me feel at ease, asked what Ithought of the name. 

'Oh, splendid, ' I said at random. 'H with an A, A with an R, R with a--'

'But that's Little Bingo, ' some one said, and they all laughed. 

Miss Sichliffe, her hands joined across her long knees, drawled, 'Youought always to verify your quotations. '

It was not a kindly thrust, but something in the word 'quotation' setthe automatic side of my brain at work on some shadow of a word orphrase that kept itself out of memory's reach as a cat sits just beyonda dog's jump. When I was going home, Miss Sichliffe came up to me in thetwilight, the pup on a leash, swinging her big shoes at the end of hertennis-racket. 

''Sorry, ' she said in her thick schoolboy-like voice. 'I'm sorry forwhat I said to you about verifying quotations. I didn't know you wellenough and--anyhow, I oughtn't to have. '

'But you were quite right about Little Bingo, ' I answered. 'The spellingought to have reminded me. '

'Yes, of course. It's the spelling, ' she said, and slouched off with thepup sliding after her. Once again my brain began to worry aftersomething that would have meant something if it had been properlyspelled. I confided my trouble to Malachi on the way home, but Bettinahad bitten him in four places, and he was busy. 

Weeks later, Attley came over to see me, and before his car stoppedMalachi let me know that Bettina was sitting beside the chauffeur. Hegreeted her by the scruff of the neck as she hopped down; and I greetedMrs. Godfrey, Attley, and a big basket. 

'You've got to help me, ' said Attley tiredly. We took the basket intothe garden, and there staggered out the angular shadow of a sandy-pied, broken-haired terrier, with one imbecile and one delirious ear, and twomost hideous squints. Bettina and Malachi, already at grips on the lawn, saw him, let go, and fled in opposite directions. 

'Why have you brought that fetid hound here?' I demanded. 

'Harvey? For you to take care of, ' said Attley. 'He's had distemper, but_I_'m going abroad. '

'Take him with you. I won't have him. He's mentally afflicted. '

'Look here, ' Attley almost shouted, 'do I strike you as a fool?'

'Always, ' said I. 

'Well, then, if you say so, and Ella says so, that proves I ought to goabroad. '

'Will's wrong, quite wrong, ' Mrs. Godfrey interrupted; 'but you musttake the pup. '

'My dear boy, my dear boy, don't you ever give anything to a woman, 'Attley snorted. 

Bit by bit I got the story out of them in the quiet garden (never a signfrom Bettina and Malachi), while Harvey stared me out of countenance, first with one cuttlefish eye and then with the other. 

It appeared that, a month after Miss Sichliffe took him, the dog Harveydeveloped distemper. Miss Sichliffe had nursed him herself for sometime; then she carried him in her arms the two miles to Mittleham, andwept--actually wept--at Attley's feet, saying that Harvey was all shehad or expected to have in this world, and Attley must cure him. Attley, being by wealth, position, and temperament guardian to all lame dogs, had put everything aside for this unsavoury job, and, he asserted, MissSichliffe had virtually lived with him ever since. 

'She went home at night, of course, ' he exploded, 'but the rest of thetime she simply infested the premises. Goodness knows, I'm notparticular, but it was a scandal. Even the servants!. .. Three and fourtimes a day, and notes in between, to know how the beast was. Hang itall, don't laugh! And wanting to send me flowers and goldfish. Do I lookas if I wanted goldfish? Can't you two stop for a minute?' (Mrs. Godfreyand I were clinging to each other for support. ) 'And it isn't as if Iwas--was so alluring a personality, is it?'

Attley commands more trust, goodwill, and affection than most men, forhe is that rare angel, an absolutely unselfish bachelor, content to berun by contending syndicates of zealous friends. His situation seemeddesperate, and I told him so. 

'Instant flight is your only remedy, ' was my verdict. I'll take care ofboth your cars while you're away, and you can send me over all thegreenhouse fruit. '

'But why should I be chased out of my house by a she-dromedary?' hewailed. 

'Oh, stop! Stop!' Mrs. Godfrey sobbed. 'You're both wrong. I admityou're right, but I _know_ you're wrong. '

'Three _and_ four times a day, ' said Attley, with an awful countenance. 'I'm not a vain man, but--look here, Ella, I'm not sensitive, I hope, but if you persist in making a joke of it--'

'Oh, be quiet!' she almost shrieked. 'D'you imagine for one instant thatyour friends would ever let Mittleham pass out of their hands? I quiteagree it is unseemly for a grown girl to come to Mittleham at all hoursof 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 life shemust 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 with the smile Ihave feared for the last quarter of a century. 'You're the nice, kind, wise, doggy friend. You don't know how wise and nice you are supposed tobe. Will has sent Harvey to you to complete the poor angel'sconvalescence. You know all about dogs, or Will wouldn't have done it. He's written her that. You're too far off for her to make daily calls onyou. P'r'aps she'll drop in two or three times a week, and write onother days. But it doesn't matter what she does, because you don't ownMittleham, don't you see?'

I told her I saw most clearly. 

'Oh, you'll get over that in a few days, ' Mrs. Godfrey countered. 'You're the sporting, responsible, doggy friend who--'

'He used to look at me like that at first, ' said Attley, with a visibleshudder, 'but he gave it up after a bit. It's only because you're newto him. '

'But, confound you! he's a ghoul--' I began. 

'And when he gets quite well, you'll send him back to her direct withyour love, and she'll give you some pretty four-tailed goldfish, ' saidMrs. Godfrey, rising. 'That's all settled. Car, please. We're going toBrighton to lunch together. '

They ran before I could get into my stride, so I told the dog Harveywhat I thought of them and his mistress. He never shifted his position, but stared at me, an intense, lopsided stare, eye after eye. Malachicame along when he had seen his sister off, and from a distancecounselled me to drown the brute and consort with gentlemen again. Butthe dog Harvey never even cocked his cockable ear. 

And so it continued as long as he was with me. Where I sat, he sat andstared; where I walked, he walked beside, head stiffly slewed over oneshoulder in single-barrelled contemplation of me. He never gave tongue, never closed in for a caress, seldom let me stir a step alone. And, tomy amazement, Malachi, who suffered no stranger to live within ourgates, saw this gaunt, growing, green-eyed devil wipe him out of myservice and company without a whimper. Indeed, one would have said thesituation interested him, for he would meet us returning from grim walkstogether, and look alternately at Harvey and at me with the samequivering interest that he showed at the mouth of a rat-hole. Outsidethese inspections, Malachi withdrew himself as only a dog or awoman can. 

Miss Sichliffe came over after a few days (luckily I was out) with someelaborate story of paying calls in the neighbourhood. She sent me a noteof thanks next day. I was reading it when Harvey and Malachi entered anddisposed themselves as usual, Harvey close up to stare at me, Malachihalf under the sofa, watching us both. Out of curiosity I returnedHarvey's stare, then pulled his lopsided head on to my knee, and tookhis eye for several minutes. Now, in Malachi's eye I can see at any hourall that there is of the normal decent dog, flecked here and there withthat strained half-soul which man's love and association have added tohis nature. But with Harvey the eye was perplexed, as a tortured man's. Only by looking far into its deeps could one make out the spirit of theproper animal, 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 the brute'sgulping neck. The vet had warned me of the possibilities of spinaltrouble following distemper. 

'He ain't _my_ fancy, ' was the reply. 'But _I_ don't question hiscomings and goings so long as I 'aven't to sit alone in a roomwith 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 whenhe grew better, would play by himself grisly games of spying, walkingup, hailing, and chasing another dog. From these he would break off of asudden and return to his normal stiff gait, with the air of one who hadforgotten some matter of life and death, which could be reached only bystaring at me. I left him one evening posturing with the unseen on thelawn, and went inside to finish some letters for the post. I must havebeen at work nearly an hour, for I was going to turn on the lights, when I felt there was somebody in the room whom, the short hairs at theback of my neck warned me, I was not in the least anxious to face. Therewas a mirror 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 a sofabetween us, and he was looking at me. The face, with its knitted browsand drawn lips, was the face of a dog, but the look, for the fraction oftime that I caught it, was human--wholly and horribly human. When theblood in my body went forward again he had dropped to the floor, and wasmerely studying me in his usual one-eyed fashion. Next day I returnedhim to Miss Sichliffe. I would not have kept him another day for thewealth of Asia, or even Ella Godfrey's approval. 

Miss Sichliffe's house I discovered to be a mid-Victorian mansion ofpeculiar villainy even for its period, surrounded by gardens ofconflicting colours, all dazzling with glass and fresh paint onironwork. Striped blinds, for it was a blazing autumn morning, coveredmost of the windows, and a voice sang to the piano an almost forgottensong 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 out across abed 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:

 Oh, maid most dear, I am not here I have no place apart-- No dwelling more on sea or shore, But only in thy heart. 

It seemed to me a poor life that had no more than that to do at eleveno'clock of a Tuesday forenoon. Then Miss Sichliffe suddenly lumberedthrough a French window in clumsy haste, her brows contracted againstthe light. 

'Well?' she said, delivering the word like a spear-thrust, with the fullweight 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 himself at herfeet--looked as though she would have fished my soul out of my breast onthe instant. 

'Wha--what did you think of him? What did _you_ make of him?' shepanted. I was too taken aback for the moment to reply. Her voice brokeas she stooped to the dog at her knees. 'O Harvey, Harvey! You utterlyworthless old devil!' she cried, and the dog cringed and abased himselfin servility that one could scarcely bear to look upon. I made to go. 

'Oh, but please, you mustn't!' She tugged at the car's side. 'Wouldn'tyou like some flowers or some orchids? We've really splendid orchids, and'--she clasped her hands--'there are Japanese goldfish--realJapanese goldfish, with four tails. If you don't care for 'em, perhapsyour friends or somebody--oh, please!'

Harvey had recovered himself, and I realised that this woman beyond thedecencies was fawning on me as the dog had fawned on her. 

'Certainly, ' I said, ashamed to meet her eye. 'I'm lunching atMittleham, but--'

'There's plenty of time, ' she entreated. 'What do _you_ think ofHarvey?'

'He's a queer beast, ' I said, getting out. 'He does nothing but stare atme. '

'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 to theother 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 throat twitched, hisbody stiffened and shook as though he were going to have a fit. Then hecame back with a visible wrench to his unwinking watch. 

'Always so?' she whispered. 

'Always, ' I replied, and told her something of his life with me. Shenodded once or twice, and in the end led me into the house. 

There were unaging pitch-pine doors of Gothic design in it; there wereinlaid marble mantel-pieces and cut-steel fenders; there were stupendouswall-papers, and octagonal, medallioned Wedgwood what-nots, andblack-and-gilt Austrian images holding candelabra, with every otherrefinement that Art had achieved or wealth had bought between 1851 and1878. And everything reeked of varnish. 

'Now!' she opened a baize door, and pointed down a long corridor flankedwith more Gothic doors. 'This was where we used to--to patch 'em up. You've heard of us. Mrs. Godfrey told you in the garden the day I gotHarvey given me. I'--she drew in her breath--'I live here by myself, andI have a very large income. Come back, Harvey. '

He had tiptoed down the corridor, as rigid as ever, and was sittingoutside one of the shut doors. 'Look here!' she said, and plantedherself squarely in front of me. 'I tell you this because you--you'vepatched up Harvey, too. Now, I want you to remember that my name isMoira. Mother calls me Marjorie because it's more refined; but my realname is Moira, and I am in my thirty-fourth year. '

'Very good, ' I said. 'I'll remember all that. '

'Thank you. ' Then with a sudden swoop into the humility of an abashedboy--''Sorry if I haven't said the proper things. You see--there'sHarvey looking at us again. Oh, I want to say--if ever you want anythingin the way of orchids or goldfish or--or anything else that would beuseful to you, you've only to come to me for it. Under the will I'mperfectly independent, and we're a long-lived family, worse luck!' Shelooked at me, and her face worked like glass behind driven flame. 'I mayreasonably expect to live another fifty years, ' she said. 

'Thank you, Miss Sichliffe, ' I replied. 'If I want anything, you may besure I'll come to you for it. ' She nodded. 'Now I must get over toMittleham, ' I said. 

'Mr. Attley will ask you all about this. ' For the first time she laughedaloud. 'I'm afraid I frightened him nearly out of the county. I didn'tthink, of course. But I dare say he knows by this time he was wrong. Saygood-bye to Harvey. '

'Good-bye, old man, ' I said. 'Give me a farewell stare, so we shall knoweach other when we meet again. '

The dog looked up, then moved slowly toward me, and stood, head bowed tothe floor, shaking in every muscle as I patted him; and when I turned, Isaw him crawl back to her feet. 

That was not a good preparation for the rampant boy-and-girl-dominatedlunch at Mittleham, which, as usual, I found in possession of everybodyexcept the owner. 

'But what did the dromedary say when you brought her beast back?' Attleydemanded. 

'The usual polite things, ' I replied. 'I'm posing as the nice doggyfriend nowadays. '

'I don't envy you. She's never darkened my doors, thank goodness, sinceI left Harvey at your place. I suppose she'll run about the county nowswearing you cured him. That's a woman's idea of gratitude. ' Attleyseemed rather hurt, and Mrs. Godfrey laughed. 

'That proves you were right about Miss Sichliffe, Ella, ' I said. 'Shehad no designs on anybody. '

'I'm always right in these matters. But didn't she even offer you agoldfish?'

'Not a thing, ' said I. 'You know what an old maid's like where herprecious dog's concerned. ' And though I have tried vainly to lie to EllaGodfrey for many years, I believe that in this case I succeeded. 

When I turned into our drive that evening, Leggatt observed half aloud:

'I'm glad Zvengali's back where he belongs. It's time our Mike had alook in. '

Sure enough, there was Malachi back again in spirit as well as flesh, but still with that odd air of expectation he had picked up from Harvey. 

 * * * * *

It was in January that Attley wrote me that Mrs. Godfrey, wintering inMadeira with Milly, her unmarried daughter, had been attacked withsomething like enteric; that the hotel, anxious for its good name, hadthrust them both out into a cottage annexe; that he was off with anurse, and that I was not to leave England till I heard from him again. In a week he wired that Milly was down as well, and that I must bringout two more nurses, with suitable delicacies. 

Within seventeen hours I had got them all aboard the Cape boat, and hadseen the women safely collapsed into sea-sickness. The next few weekswere for me, as for the invalids, a low delirium, clouded with fantasticmemories of Portuguese officials trying to tax calves'-foot jelly;voluble doctors insisting that true typhoid was unknown in the island;nurses who had to be exercised, taken out of themselves, and returned onthe tick of change of guard; night slides down glassy, cobbled streets, smelling of sewage and flowers, between walls whose every stone andpatch Attley and I knew; vigils in stucco verandahs, watching the curveand descent of great stars or drawing auguries from the break of dawn;insane interludes of gambling at the local Casino, where we won heaps ofunconsoling silver; blasts of steamers arriving and departing in theroads; help offered by total strangers, grabbed at or thrust aside; thelong nightmare crumbling back into sanity one forenoon under avine-covered trellis, where Attley sat hugging a nurse, while the othersdanced a noiseless, neat-footed breakdown never learned at the MiddlesexHospital. At last, as the tension came out all over us in aches andtingles that we put down to the country wine, a vision of Mrs. Godfrey, her grey hair turned to spun-glass, but her eyes triumphant over theshadow of retreating death beneath them, with Milly, enormously grown, and clutching life back to her young breast, both stretched out on canechairs, clamouring for food. 

In this ungirt hour there imported himself into our life ayoungish-looking middle-aged man of the name of Shend, with a blurredface and deprecating eyes. He said he had gambled with me at the Casino, which was no recommendation, and I remember that he twice gave me abasket of champagne and liqueur brandy for the invalids, which a sailorin a red-tasselled cap carried up to the cottage for me at 3 A. M. Heturned out to be the son of some merchant prince in the oil and colourline, and the owner of a four-hundred-ton steam yacht, into which, athis gentle insistence, we later shifted our camp, staff, and equipage, Milly weeping with delight to escape from the horrible cottage. There welay off Funchal for weeks, while Shend did miracles of luxury andattendance through deputies, and never once asked how his guests wereenjoying themselves. Indeed, for several days at a time we would seenothing of him. He was, he said, subject to malaria. Giving as they dowith both hands, I knew that Attley and Mrs. Godfrey could take nobly;but I never met a man who so nobly gave and so nobly received thanks asShend 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 he wasexplaining to me, and answered with his gentle smile:

'I will. It's because it makes me happy--it makes me more than happy--tobe with you. It makes me comfortable. You know how selfish men are? If aman feels comfortable all over with certain people, he'll bore them todeath, just like a dog. You always make me feel as if pleasant thingswere 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 ever so manyyears, ' he replied. 'I feel like the man in the Bible, "It's good for meto be here. " Generally, I don't feel that it's good for me to beanywhere in particular. ' Then, as one begging a favour. 'You'll let mecome home with you--in the same boat, I mean? I'd take you back in thisthing of mine, and that would save you packing your trunks, but she'stoo lively for spring work across the Bay. '

We booked our berths, and when the time came, he wafted us and oursaboard the Southampton mail-boat with the pomp of plenipotentiaries andthe precision of the Navy. Then he dismissed his yacht, and became aninconspicuous passenger in a cabin opposite to mine, on the port side. 

We ran at once into early British spring weather, followed by sou'westgales. Mrs. Godfrey, Milly, and the nurses disappeared. Attley stood itout, visibly yellowing, till the next meal, and followed suit, and Shendand I had the little table all to ourselves. I found him even moreattractive when the women were away. The natural sweetness of the man, his voice, and bearing all fascinated me, and his knowledge of practicalseamanship (he held an extra master's certificate) was a real joy. Wesat long in the empty saloon and longer in the smoking-room, makingdashes downstairs over slippery decks at the eleventh hour. 

It was on Friday night, just as I was going to bed, that he came into mycabin, after cleaning his teeth, which he did half a dozen times a day. 

'I say, ' he began hurriedly, 'do you mind if I come in here for alittle? I'm a bit edgy. ' I must have shown surprise. 'I'm ever so muchbetter about liquor than I used to be, but--it's the whisky in thesuitcase that throws me. For God's sake, old man, don't go back on meto-night! Look at my hands!'

They were fairly jumping at the wrists. He sat down on a trunk that hadslid out with the roll. We had reduced speed, and were surging inconfused seas that pounded on the black port-glasses. The night promisedto 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 the whole ship. Besides, I've only got a touch of 'em. You'd never have guessed it, would you? The tooth-wash does the trick. I'll give you theprescription. '

I'll send a note to the doctor for a prescription, shall I?' Isuggested. 

'Right! I put myself unreservedly in your hands. 'Fact is, I always did. I said to myself--'sure I don't bore you?--the minute I saw you, I said, "Thou art the man. "' He repeated the phrase as he picked at his knees. 'All the same, you can take it from me that the ewe-lamb business is arotten bad one. I don't care how unfaithful the shepherd may be. Drunkor sober, 'tisn't cricket. '

A surge of the trunk threw him across the cabin as the steward answeredmy bell. I wrote my requisition to the doctor while Shend was strugglingto his feet. 

'What's wrong?' he began. 'Oh, I know. We're slowing for soundings offUshant. It's about time, too. You'd better ship the dead-lights when youcome back, Matchem. It'll save you waking us later. This sea's going toget up when the tide turns. That'll show you, ' he said as the man left, 'that I am to be trusted. You--you'll stop me if I say anything Ishouldn'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 feel better. I canrely on you. It's awkward soundings but you'll see me through it. We'lldefeat him yet. .. . I may be an utterly worthless devil, but I'm not abrawler. .. . I told him so at breakfast. I said, "Doctor, I detestbrawling, but if ever you allow that girl to be insulted again asClements insulted her, I will break your neck with my own hands. " Youthink I was right?'

'Absolutely, ' I agreed. 

'Then we needn't discuss the matter any further. That man was a murdererin intention--outside the law, you understand, as it was then. They'vechanged it since--but he never deceived _me_. I told him so. I said tohim at the time, "I don't know what price you're going to put on myhead, but if ever you allow Clements to insult her again, you'll neverlive to claim it. "'

'And what did he do?' I asked, to carry on the conversation, for Matchementered with the bromide. 

'Oh, crumpled up at once. 'Lead still going, Matchem?'

'I 'aven't 'eard, ' said that faithful servant of the Union-CastleCompany. 

'Quite right. Never alarm the passengers. Ship the dead-light, willyou?' Matchem shipped it, for we were rolling very heavily. There weretramplings and gull-like cries from on deck. Shend looked at me with amariner's eye. 

'That's nothing, ' he said protectingly. 

'Oh, it's all right for you, ' I said, jumping at the idea. '_I_ haven'tan extra master's certificate. I'm only a passenger. I confess itfunks me. '

Instantly his whole bearing changed to answer the appeal. 

'My dear fellow, it's as simple as houses. We're hunting for sixty-fivefathom water. Anything short of sixty, with a sou'west wind means--butI'll get my Channel Pilot out of my cabin and give you the general idea. I'm only too grateful to do anything to put your mind at ease. '

And so, perhaps, for another hour--he declined the drink--Channel Pilotin hand, he navigated us round Ushant, and at my request up-channel toSouthampton, light by light, with explanations and reminiscences. Iprofessed myself soothed at last, and suggested bed. 

'In a second, ' said he. 'Now, you wouldn't think, would you'--he glancedoff the book toward my wildly swaying dressing-gown on the door--'thatI've been seeing things for the last half-hour? 'Fact is, I'm just onthe edge of 'em, skating on thin ice round the corner--nor'east as nearas nothing--where that dog's looking at me. '

'What's the dog like?' I asked. 

'Ah, that _is_ comforting of you! Most men walk through 'em to show methey aren't real. As if I didn't know! But _you're_ different. Anybodycould see that with half an eye. ' He stiffened and pointed. 'Damn itall! The dog sees it too with half an--Why, he knows you! Knows youperfectly. 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 the first. Don't goback on me now or I shall go to pieces like the _Drummond Castle_. I begyour pardon, old man; but, you see, you _do_ know the dog. I'll proveit. What's that dog doing? Come on! _You_ know. ' A tremor shook him, andhe put his hand on my knee, and whispered with great meaning: 'I'llletter or halve it with you. There! You begin. '

'S, ' said I to humour him, for a dog would most likely be standing orsitting, or may be scratching or sniffling or staring. 

'Q, ' he went on, and I could feel the heat of his shaking hand. 

'U, ' said I. There was no other letter possible; but I was shaking too. 

'I. '

'N. '

'T-i-n-g, ' he ran out. 'There! That proves it. I knew you knew him. Youdon't know what a relief that is. Between ourselves, old man, he--he'sbeen turning up lately a--a damn sight more often than I cared for. Anda squinting dog--a dog that squints! I mean that's a bit _too_ much. Eh? What?' He gulped and half rose, and I thought that the full tide ofdelirium would be on him in another sentence. 

'Not a bit of it, ' I said as a last chance, with my hand over thebellpush. 'Why, you've just proved that I know him; so there are two ofus in the game, anyhow. '

'By Jove! that _is_ an idea! Of course there are. I knew you'd see methrough. We'll defeat them yet. Hi, pup!. .. He's gone. Absolutelydisappeared!' He sighed with relief, and I caught the lucky moment. 

'Good business! I expect he only came to have a look at me, ' I said. 'Now, get this drink down and turn in to the lower bunk. '

He obeyed, protesting that he could not inconvenience me, and in themidst of apologies sank into a dead sleep. I expected a wakeful night, having a certain amount to think over; but no sooner had I scrambledinto the top bunk than sleep came on me like a wave from the other sideof the world. 

In the morning there were apologies, which we got over at breakfastbefore our party were about. 

'I suppose--after this--well, I don't blame you. I'm rather a lonelychap, though. ' His eyes lifted dog-like across the table. 

'Shend, ' I replied, 'I'm not running a Sunday school. You're coming homewith 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 want to mixup in your private affairs--'

'But I'd like you to, ' he interrupted. 

'Then, would you mind telling me the Christian name of a girl who wasinsulted by a man called Clements?'

'Moira, ' he whispered; and just then Mrs. Godfrey and Milly came totable with their shore-going hats on. 

We did not tie up till noon, but the faithful Leggatt had intrigued hisway down to the dock-edge, and beside him sat Malachi, wearing hiscollar of gold, or Leggatt makes it look so, as eloquent as Demosthenes. Shend flinched a little when he saw him. We packed Mrs. Godfrey andMilly into Attley's car--they were going with him to Mittleham, ofcourse--and drew clear across the railway lines to find England all litand perfumed for spring. Shend sighed with happiness. 

'D'you know, ' he said, 'if--if you'd chucked me--I should have gone downto my cabin after breakfast and cut my throat. And now--it's like adream--a good dream, you know. '

We lunched with the other three at Romsey. Then I sat in front for alittle while to talk to my Malachi. When I looked back, Shend wassolidly asleep, and stayed so for the next two hours, while Leggattchased Attley's fat Daimler along the green-speckled hedges. He woke upwhen we said good-bye at Mittleham, with promises to meet againvery soon. 

'And I hope, ' said Mrs. Godfrey, 'that everything pleasant will happento you. '

'Heaps and heaps--all at once, ' cried long, weak Milly, waving her wethandkerchief. 

'I've just got to look in at a house near here for a minute to inquireabout a dog, ' I said, 'and then we will go home. '

'I used to know this part of the world, ' he replied, and said no moretill Leggatt shot past the lodge at the Sichliffes's gate. Then Iheard him gasp. 

Miss Sichliffe, in a green waterproof, an orange jersey, and a pinkishleather hat, was working on a bulb-border. She straightened herself asthe car stopped, and breathed hard. Shend got out and walked towardsher. They shook hands, turned round together, and went into the house. Then the dog Harvey pranced out corkily from under the lee of a bench. Malachi, with one joyous swoop, fell on him as an enemy and an equal. Harvey, for his part, freed from all burden whatsoever except theobvious duty of a man-dog on his own ground, met Malachi without reserveor remorse, and with six months' additional growth to come and go on. 

'Don't check 'em!' cried Leggatt, dancing round the flurry. 'They'veboth been saving up for each other all this time. It'll do 'em worldsof good. '

'Leggatt, ' I said, 'will you take Mr. Shend's bag and suitcase up to thehouse and put them down just inside the door? Then we will go on. '

So I enjoyed the finish alone. It was a dead heat, and they licked eachother's jaws in amity till Harvey, one imploring eye on me, leaped intothe front seat, and Malachi backed his appeal. It was theft, but I tookhim, and we talked all the way home of r-rats and r-rabbits and bonesand baths and the other basic facts of life. That evening after dinnerthey slept before the fire, with their warm chins across the hollows ofmy ankles--to each chin an ankle--till I kicked them upstairs to bed. 

 * * * * *

I was not at Mittleham when she came over to announce her engagement, but I heard of it when Mrs. Godfrey and Attley came, forty miles anhour, over to me, and Mrs. Godfrey called me names of the worst forsuppression 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. 'Else whatmade 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, for Malachi andthe dog Harvey were deep in a council of the family with Bettina, whowas being out-argued. 

'Oh, Harvey seemed to think himself _de trop_ where he was, ' I said. 'And she hasn't sent after him. You'd better save Bettina before theykill her. '

'There's been enough lying about that dog, ' said Mrs. Godfrey to me. 'Ifhe wasn't born in lies, he was baptized in 'em. D'you know why shecalled him Harvey? It only occurred to me in those dreadful days when Iwas ill, and one can't keep from thinking, and thinks everything. D'youknow your Boswell? What did Johnson say about Hervey--with an e?'

'Oh, _that's_ it, is it?' I cried incautiously. 'That was why I ought tohave verified my quotations. The spelling defeated me. Wait a moment, and it will come back. Johnson said: "He was a vicious man, "' I began. 

'"But very kind to me, "' Mrs. Godfrey prompted. Then, both together, '"If you call a dog Hervey, I shall love him. "'

'So you _were_ mixed up in it. At any rate, you had your suspicions fromthe first? Tell me, ' she said. 

'Ella, ' I said, 'I don't know anything rational or reasonable about anyof it. It was all--all woman-work, and it scared me horribly. '

'Why?' she asked. 

That was six years ago. I have written this tale to let herknow--wherever she may be. 

THE COMFORTERS

 Until thy feet have trod the Road Advise not wayside folk, Nor till thy back has borne the Load Break in upon the Broke. 

 Chase not with undesired largesse Of sympathy the heart Which, knowing her own bitterness, Presumes to dwell apart. 

 Employ not that glad hand to raise The God-forgotten head To Heaven, and all the neighbours' gaze-- Cover thy mouth instead. 

 The quivering chin, the bitten lip, The cold and sweating brow, Later may yearn for fellowship-- Not now, you ass, not now!

 Time, not thy ne'er so timely speech, Life, not thy views thereon, Shall furnish or deny to each His consolation. 

 Or, if impelled to interfere, Exhort, uplift, advise, Lend not a base, betraying ear To all the victim's cries. 

 Only the Lord can understand When those first pangs begin, How much is reflex action and How much is really sin. 

 E'en from good words thyself refrain, And tremblingly admit There is no anodyne for pain Except the shock of it. 

 So, when thine own dark hour shall fall, Unchallenged canst thou say: 'I never worried _you_ at all, For God's sake go away!'

The Village that Voted the Earth was Flat

(1913)

Our drive till then had been quite a success. The other men in the carwere my friend Woodhouse, young Ollyett, a distant connection of his, and Pallant, the M. P. Woodhouse's business was the treatment and cure ofsick journals. He knew by instinct the precise moment in a newspaper'slife when the impetus of past good management is exhausted and itfetches up on the dead-centre between slow and expensive collapse andthe new start which can be given by gold injections--and genius. He waswisely ignorant of journalism; but when he stooped on a carcase therewas sure to be meat. He had that week added a half-dead, halfpennyevening paper to his collection, which consisted of a prosperous Londondaily, one provincial ditto, and a limp-bodied weekly of commercialleanings. He had also, that very hour, planted me with a large block ofthe evening paper's common shares, and was explaining the whole art ofeditorship to Ollyett, a young man three years from Oxford, withcoir-matting-coloured hair and a face harshly modelled by harshexperiences, who, I understood, was assisting in the new venture. Pallant, the long, wrinkled M. P. , whose voice is more like a crane'sthan a peacock's, took no shares, but gave us all advice. 

'You'll find it rather a knacker's yard, ' Woodhouse was saying. 'Yes, Iknow they call me The Knacker; but it will pay inside a year. All mypapers do. I've only one motto: Back your luck and back your staff. It'll come out all right. '

Then the car stopped, and a policeman asked our names and addresses forexceeding the speed-limit. We pointed out that the road ran absolutelystraight for half a mile ahead without even a side-lane. 'That's justwhat we depend on, ' said the policeman unpleasantly. 

'The usual swindle, ' said Woodhouse under his breath. 'What's the nameof this place?'

'Huckley, ' said the policeman. 'H-u-c-k-l-e-y, ' and wrote something inhis note-book at which young Ollyett protested. A large red man on agrey horse who had been watching us from the other side of the hedgeshouted an order we could not catch. The policeman laid his hand on therim of the right driving-door (Woodhouse carries his spare tyres aft), and it closed on the button of the electric horn. The grey horse at oncebolted, and we could hear the rider swearing all across the landscape. 

'Damn it, man, you've got your silly fist on it! Take it off!' Woodhouseshouted. 

'Ho!' said the constable, looking carefully at his fingers as though wehad trapped them. 'That won't do you any good either, ' and he wrote oncemore in his note-book before he allowed us to go. 

This was Woodhouse's first brush with motor law, and since I expectedno ill consequences to myself, I pointed out that it was very serious. Itook the same view myself when in due time I found that I, too, wassummonsed on charges ranging from the use of obscene language toendangering traffic. 

Judgment was done in a little pale-yellow market-town with a small, Jubilee clock-tower and a large corn-exchange. Woodhouse drove us therein his car. Pallant, who had not been included in the summons, came withus as moral support. While we waited outside, the fat man on the greyhorse rode up and entered into loud talk with his brother magistrates. He said to one of them--for I took the trouble to note it down--'Itfalls away from my lodge-gates, dead straight, three-quarters of a mile. I'd defy any one to resist it. We rooked seventy pounds out of 'em lastmonth. 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 a word--orOllyett either! I'll pay the fines and we'll get it over as soon aspossible. Where's Pallant?'

'At the back of the court somewhere, ' said Ollyett. 'I saw him slip injust now. '

The fat man then took his seat on the Bench, of which he was chairman, and I gathered from a bystander that his name was Sir Thomas Ingell, Bart. , M. P. , of Ingell Park, Huckley. He began with an allocutionpitched in a tone that would have justified revolt throughout empires. Evidence, when the crowded little court did not drown it with applause, was given in the pauses of the address. They were all very proud oftheir Sir Thomas, and looked from him to us, wondering why we did notapplaud too. 

Taking its time from the chairman, the Bench rollicked with us forseventeen minutes. Sir Thomas explained that he was sick and tired ofprocessions of cads of our type, who would be better employed breakingstones on the road than in frightening horses worth more than themselvesor their ancestors. This was after it had been proved that Woodhouse'sman had turned on the horn purposely to annoy Sir Thomas, who happenedto be riding by'! There were other remarks too--primitive enough, --butit was the unspeakable brutality of the tone, even more than the qualityof the justice, or the laughter of the audience that stung our souls outof all reason. When we were dismissed--to the tune of twenty-threepounds, twelve shillings and sixpence--we waited for Pallant to join us, while we listened to the next case--one of driving without a licence. Ollyett with an eye to his evening paper, had already taken very fullnotes of our own, but we did not wish to seem prejudiced. 

'It's all right, ' said the reporter of the local paper soothingly. 'Wenever report Sir Thomas _in extenso_. Only the fines and charges. '

'Oh, thank you, ' Ollyett replied, and I heard him ask who every one incourt might be. The local reporter was very communicative. 

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 Thomas askedhim if he expected the police to go to his home address at Jerusalem tofind it for him; and the court roared. Nor did Sir Thomas approve of theman's name, but insisted on calling him 'Mr. Masquerader, ' and everytime he did so, all his people shouted. Evidently this was theirestablished _auto-da-fé_. 

'He didn't summons me--because I'm in the House, I suppose. I think Ishall have to ask a Question, ' said Pallant, reappearing at the closeof the case. 

'I think _I_ shall have to give it a little publicity too, ' saidWoodhouse. 'We can't have this kind of thing going on, you know. ' Hisface was set and quite white. Pallant's, on the other hand, was black, and I know that my very stomach had turned with rage. Ollyett was dum. 

'Well, let's have lunch, ' Woodhouse said at last. 'Then we can get awaybefore the show breaks up. '

We drew Ollyett from the arms of the local reporter, crossed the MarketSquare to the Red Lion and found Sir Thomas's 'Mr. Masquerader' justsitting down to beer, beef and pickles. 

'Ah!' said he, in a large voice. 'Companions in misfortune. Won't yougentlemen join me?'

'Delighted, ' said Woodhouse. 'What did you get?'

'I haven't decided. It might make a good turn, but--the public aren'teducated up to it yet. It's beyond 'em. If it wasn't, that red dub onthe Bench would be worth fifty a week. '

'Where?' said Woodhouse. The man looked at him with unaffected surprise. 

'At any one of My places, ' he replied. 'But perhaps you live here?'

'Good heavens!' cried young Ollyett suddenly. 'You _are_ Masquerier, 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 was puzzled. ThenI recalled prismatic music-hall posters--of enormous acreage--that hadbeen the unnoticed background of my visits to London for years past. Posters of men and women, singers, jongleurs, impersonators andaudacities of every draped and undraped brand, all moved on and off inLondon and the Provinces by Bat Masquerier--with the long wedge-tailedflourish following the final 'r. '

'_I_ knew you at once, ' said Pallant, the trained M. P. , and I promptlybacked the lie. Woodhouse mumbled excuses. Bat Masquerier was not movedfor or against us any more than the frontage of one of his own palaces. 

'I always tell My people there's a limit to the size of the lettering, 'he said. 'Overdo that and the ret'na doesn't take it in. Advertisin' isthe most delicate of all the sciences. '

'There's one man in the world who is going to get a little of it if Ilive for the next twenty-four hours, ' said Woodhouse, and explained howthis would come about. 

Masquerier stared at him lengthily with gunmetal-blue eyes. 

'You mean it?' he drawled; the voice was as magnetic as the look. 

'_I_ do, ' said Ollyett. 'That business of the horn alone ought to havehim off the Bench in three months. ' Masquerier looked at him even longerthan he had looked at Woodhouse. 

'He told _me_, ' he said suddenly, 'that my home-address was Jerusalem. You heard that?'

'But it was the tone--the tone, ' Ollyett cried. 

'You noticed that, too, did you?' said Masquerier. 'That's the artistictemperament. You can do a lot with it. And I'm Bat Masquerier, ' he wenton. He dropped his chin in his fists and scowled straight in front ofhim. .. . 'I made the Silhouettes--I made the Trefoil and the Jocunda. Imade 'Dal Benzaguen. ' Here Ollyett sat straight up, for in common withthe youth of that year he worshipped Miss Vidal Benzaguen of the Trefoilimmensely and unreservedly. '"_Is_ that a dressing-gown or an ulsteryou're supposed to be wearing?" You heard _that_?. .. "And I suppose youhadn't time to brush your hair either?" You heard _that_?. .. Now, youhear _me_!' His voice filled the coffee-room, then dropped to a whisperas dreadful as a surgeon's before an operation. He spoke for severalminutes. Pallant muttered 'Hear! hear!' I saw Ollyett's eye flash--itwas to Ollyett that Masquerier addressed himself chiefly, --andWoodhouse leaned forward with joined hands. 

'Are you _with_ me?' he went on, gathering us all up in one sweep of thearm. 'When I begin a thing I see it through, gentlemen. What Bat can'tbreak, breaks him! But I haven't struck that thing yet. This is noone-turn turn-it-down show. This is business to the dead finish. Are youwith me, gentlemen? Good! Now, we'll pool our assets. One Londonmorning, and one provincial daily, didn't you say? One weekly commercialditto and one M. P. '

'Not much use, I'm afraid, ' Pallant smirked. 

'But privileged. _But_ privileged, ' he returned. 'And we have also mylittle team--London, Blackburn, Liverpool, Leeds--I'll tell you aboutManchester later--and Me! Bat Masquerier. ' He breathed the namereverently into his tankard. 'Gentlemen, when our combination hasfinished with Sir Thomas Ingell, Bart. , M. P. , and everything else thatis his, Sodom and Gomorrah will be a winsome bit of Merrie Englandbeside 'em. I must go back to town now, but I trust you gentlemen willgive me the pleasure of your company at dinner to-night at the ChopSuey--the Red Amber Room--and we'll block out the scenario. ' He laid hishand on young Ollyett's shoulder and added: 'It's your brains I want. 'Then he left, in a good deal of astrachan collar and nickel-platedlimousine, and the place felt less crowded. 

We ordered our car a few minutes later. As Woodhouse, Ollyett and I weregetting in, Sir Thomas Ingell, Bart. , M. P. , came out of the Hall ofJustice across the square and mounted his horse. I have sometimesthought that if he had gone in silence he might even then have beensaved, but as he settled himself in the saddle he caught sight of us andmust needs shout: 'Not off yet? You'd better get away and you'd betterbe careful. ' At that moment Pallant, who had been buyingpicture-postcards, came out of the inn, took Sir Thomas's eye and veryleisurely entered the car. It seemed to me that for one instant therewas a shade of uneasiness on the baronet's grey-whiskered face. 

'I hope, ' said Woodhouse after several miles, 'I hope he's a widower. '

'Yes, ' said Pallant. 'For his poor, dear wife's sake I hope that, verymuch indeed. I suppose he didn't see me in Court. Oh, here's the parishhistory of Huckley written by the Rector and here's your share of thepicture-postcards. Are we all dining with this 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 from herprosperous morning sister, _The Cake_, was not only diseased butcorrupt. We found this out when a man brought us the prospectus of a newoil-field and demanded sub-leaders on its prosperity. Ollyett talkedpure Brasenose to him for three minutes. Otherwise he spoke and wrotetrade-English--a toothsome amalgam of Americanisms and epigrams. Butthough the slang changes the game never alters, and Ollyett and I and, in the end, some others enjoyed it immensely. It was weeks ere we couldsee the wood for the trees, but so soon as the staff realised that theyhad proprietors who backed them right or wrong, and specially when theywere wrong (which is the sole secret of journalism), and that their fatedid not hang on any passing owner's passing mood, they did miracles. 

But we did not neglect Huckley. As Ollyett said our first care was tocreate an 'arresting atmosphere' round it. He used to visit the villageof week-ends, on a motor-bicycle with a side-car; for which reason Ileft the actual place alone and dealt with it in the abstract. Yet itwas I who drew first blood. Two inhabitants of Huckley wrote tocontradict a small, quite solid paragraph in _The Bun_ that a hoopoe hadbeen seen at Huckley and had, 'of course, been shot by the localsportsmen. ' There was some heat in their letters, both of which wepublished. Our version of how the hoopoe got his crest from King Solomonwas, I grieve to say, so inaccurate that the Rector himself--nosportsman as he pointed out, but a lover of accuracy--wrote to us tocorrect it. We gave his letter good space and thanked him. 

'This priest is going to be useful, ' said Ollyett. 'He has the impartialmind. I shall vitalise him. '

Forthwith he created M. L. Sigden, a recluse of refined tastes who in_The Bun_ demanded to know whether this Huckley-of-the-Hoopoe was theHugly of his boyhood and whether, by any chance, the fell change of namehad been wrought by collusion between a local magnate and the railway, in the mistaken interests of spurious refinement. 'For I knew it andloved it with the maidens of my day--_eheu ab angulo!_--as Hugly, ' wroteM. L. Sigden from Oxf. 

Though other papers scoffed, _The Bun_ was gravely sympathetic. Severalpeople wrote to deny that Huckley had been changed at birth. Only theRector--no philosopher as he pointed out, but a lover of accuracy--hadhis doubts, which he laid publicly before Mr. M. L. Sigden who suggested, through _The Bun_, that the little place might have begun life inAnglo-Saxon days as 'Hogslea' or among the Normans as 'Argilé, ' onaccount of its much clay. The Rector had his own ideas too (he said itwas mostly gravel), and M. L. Sigden had a fund of reminiscences. Oddlyenough--which is seldom the case with free reading-matter--oursubscribers rather relished the correspondence, and contemporariesquoted freely. 

'The secret of power, ' said Ollyett, 'is not the big stick. It's theliftable stick. ' (This means the 'arresting' quotation of six or sevenlines. ) 'Did you see the _Spec. _ had a middle on "Rural Tenacities" lastweek. That was all Huckley. I'm doing a "Mobiquity" on Huckleynext week. '

Our 'Mobiquities' were Friday evening accounts of easymotor-bike-_cum_-side-car trips round London, illustrated (we couldnever get that machine to work properly) by smudgy maps. Ollyett wrotethe stuff with a fervour and a delicacy which I always ascribed to theside-car. His account of Epping Forest, for instance, was simply younglove with its soul at its lips. But his Huckley 'Mobiquity' would havesickened a soap-boiler. It chemically combined loathsome familiarity, leering suggestion, slimy piety and rancid 'social service' in onefuming compost that fairly lifted me off my feet. 

'Yes, ' said he, after compliments. 'It's the most vital, arresting anddynamic bit of tump I've done up to date. _Non nobis gloria!_ I met SirThomas Ingell in his own park. He talked to me again. He inspiredmost of it. '

'Which? The "glutinous native drawl, " or "the neglected adenoids of thevillage children"?' I demanded. 

'Oh, no! That's only to bring in the panel doctor. It's the last flightwe--I'm proudest of. '

This dealt with 'the crepuscular penumbra spreading her dim limbs overthe boskage'; with 'jolly rabbits'; with a herd of 'gravid polledAngus'; and with the 'arresting, gipsy-like face of their swart, scholarly owner--as well known at the Royal Agricultural Shows as thatof our late King-Emperor. '

'"Swart" is good and so's "gravid, "' said I, 'but the panel doctor willbe annoyed about the adenoids. '

'Not half as much as Sir Thomas will about his face, ' said Ollyett. 'Andif 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 a professionalcounterblast of no interest whatever to our subscribers. We told him so, and he, then and there, battered his way with it into the _Lancet_ wherethey are keen on glands, and forgot us altogether. But Sir Thomas Ingellwas of sterner stuff. He must have spent a happy week-end too. Theletter which we received from him on Monday proved him to be a kinlessloon of upright life, for no woman, however remotely interested in a manwould have let it pass the home wastepaper-basket. He objected to ourreferences to his own herd, to his own labours in his own village, whichhe said was a Model Village, and to our infernal insolence; but heobjected most to our invoice of his features. We wrote him courtously toask whether the letter was meant for publication. He, remembering, Ipresume, the Duke of Wellington, wrote back, 'publish and be damned. '

'Oh! This is too easy, ' Ollyett said as he began heading the letter. 

'Stop a minute, ' I said. 'The game is getting a little beyond us. To-night's the Bat dinner. ' (I may have forgotten to tell you that ourdinner with Bat Masquerier in the Red Amber Room of the Chop Suey hadcome to be a weekly affair. ) 'Hold it over till they've all seen it. '

'Perhaps you're right, ' he said. 'You might waste it. '

At dinner, then, Sir Thomas's letter was handed round. Bat seemed to bethinking of other matters, but Pallant was very interested. 

'I've got an idea, ' he said presently. 'Could you put something into_The Bun_ to-morrow about foot-and-mouth disease in that fellow's herd?'

'Oh, plague if you like, ' Ollyett replied. 'They're only five measlyShorthorns. I saw one lying down in the park. She'll serve as asub-stratum of fact. '

'Then, do that; and hold the letter over meanwhile. I think _I_ come inhere, ' said Pallant. 

'Why?' said I. 

'Because there's something coming up in the House about foot-and-mouth, and because he wrote me a letter after that little affair when he finedyou. 'Took ten days to think it over. Here you are, ' said Pallant. 'House of Commons paper, you see. '

We read:

 DEAR PALLANT--Although in the past our paths have not lain much together, I am sure you will agree with me that on the floor of the House all members are on a footing of equality. I make bold, therefore, to approach you in a matter which I think capable of a very different interpretation from that which perhaps was put upon it by your friends. Will you let them know that that was the case and that I was in no way swayed by animus in the exercise of my magisterial duties, which as you, as a brother magistrate, can imagine are frequently very distasteful to--Yours very sincerely, T. INGELL. 

 _P. S. _--I have seen to it that the motor vigilance to which your friends took exception has been considerably relaxed in my district. 

'What did you answer?' said Ollyett, when all our opinions had beenexpressed. 

'I told him I couldn't do anything in the matter. And I couldn't--then. But you'll remember to put in that foot-and-mouth paragraph. I wantsomething to work upon. '

'It seems to me _The Bun_ has done all the work up to date, ' Isuggested. 'When does _The Cake_ come in?'

'_The Cake_, ' said Woodhouse, and I remembered afterwards that he spokelike a Cabinet Minister on the eve of a Budget, 'reserves to itself thefullest right to deal with situations as they arise. '

'Ye-eh!' Bat Masquerier shook himself out of his thoughts. '"Situationsas they arise. " I ain't idle either. But there's no use fishing till theswim's baited. You'--he turned to Ollyett--'manufacture very goodground-bait. .. . I always tell My people--What the deuce is that?'

There was a burst of song from another private dining-room across thelanding. 'It ees some ladies from the Trefoil, ' the waiter began. 

'Oh, I know that. What are they singing, though?'

He rose and went out, to be greeted by shouts of applause from thatmerry company. Then there was silence, such as one hears in theform-room after a master's entry. Then a voice that we loved beganagain: 'Here we go gathering nuts in May--nuts in May--nuts in May!'

'It's only 'Dal--and some nuts, ' he explained when he returned. 'Shesays she's coming in to dessert. ' He sat down, humming the old tune tohimself, and till Miss Vidal Benzaguen entered, he held us speechlesswith tales of the artistic temperament. 

We obeyed Pallant to the extent of slipping into _The Bun_ a waryparagraph about cows lying down and dripping at the mouth, which mightbe read either as an unkind libel or, in the hands of a capable lawyer, as a piece of faithful nature-study. 

'And besides, ' said Ollyett, 'we allude to "gravid polled Angus. " I amadvised that no action can lie in respect of virgin Shorthorns. Pallantwants us to come to the House to-night. He's got us places for theStrangers' Gallery. I'm beginning to like Pallant. '

'Masquerier seems to like you, ' I said. 

'Yes, but I'm afraid of him, ' Ollyett answered with perfect sincerity. 'I am. He's the Absolutely Amoral Soul. I've never met one yet. '

We went to the House together. It happened to be an Irish afternoon, andas soon as I had got the cries and the faces a little sorted out, Igathered there were grievances in the air, but how many of them wasbeyond me. 

'It's all right, ' said Ollyett of the trained ear. 'They've shut theirports against--oh yes--export of Irish cattle! Foot-and-mouth disease atBallyhellion. _I_ see Pallant's idea!'

The House was certainly all mouth for the moment, but, as I could feel, quite in earnest. A Minister with a piece of typewritten paper seemed tobe fending off volleys of insults. He reminded me somehow of a nervoushuntsman breaking up a fox in the face 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 was his oneparliamentary asset, silenced the hubbub as toothache silences meresinging 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 this diseaseon _this_ side of the Channel?'

He raised his hand; it held a noon edition of _The Bun_. We had thoughtit best to drop the paragraph out of the later ones. He would havecontinued, but something in a grey frock-coat roared and bounded on abench opposite, and waved another _Bun_. It was Sir Thomas Ingell. 

'As the owner of the herd so dastardly implicated--' His voice wasdrowned in shouts of 'Order!'--the Irish leading. 

'What's wrong?' I asked Ollyett. 'He's got his hat on his head, hasn'the?'

'Yes, but his wrath should have been put as a question. '

'Arising out of that, Mr. Speaker, Sirrr!' Sir Thomas bellowed through alull, 'are you aware that--that all this is a conspiracy--part of adastardly conspiracy to make Huckley ridiculous--to make _us_ridiculous? Part of a deep-laid plot to make _me_ ridiculous, Mr. Speaker, Sir!'

The man's face showed almost black against his white whiskers, and hestruck out swimmingly with his arms. His vehemence puzzled and held theHouse for an instant, and the Speaker took advantage of it to lift hispack from Ireland to a new scent. He addressed Sir Thomas Ingell intones of measured rebuke, meant also, I imagine, for the whole House, which lowered its hackles at the word. Then Pallant, shocked and pained:'I can only express my profound surprise that in response to my simplequestion the honourable member should have thought fit to indulge in apersonal attack. If I have in any way offended--'

Again the Speaker intervened, for it appeared that he regulated thesematters. 

He, too, expressed surprise, and Sir Thomas sat back in a hush ofreprobation that seemed to have the chill of the centuries behind 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 made nocomment. With that rare instinct for grasping the heart of a situationwhich is the mark of the Anglo-Saxon, all our contemporaries and, Ishould say, two-thirds of our correspondents demanded how such a personcould be made more ridiculous than he had already proved himself to be. But beyond spelling his name 'Injle, ' we alone refused to hit a man whenhe was down. 

'There's no need, ' said Ollyett. 'The whole press is on the buckle fromend to end. '

Even Woodhouse was a little astonished at the ease with which it hadcome about, and said as much. 

'Rot!' said Ollyett. 'We haven't really begun. Huckley isn't news yet. '

'What do you mean?' said Woodhouse, who had grown to have great respectfor his young but by no means distant connection. 

'Mean? By the grace of God, Master Ridley, I mean to have it so thatwhen Huckley turns over in its sleep, Reuters and the Press Associationjump out of bed to cable. ' Then he went off at score about certainrestorations in Huckley Church which, he said--and he seemed to spendhis every week-end there--had been perpetrated by the Rector'spredecessor, who had abolished a 'leper-window' or a 'squinch-hole'(whatever these may be) to institute a lavatory in the vestry. It didnot strike me as stuff for which Reuters or the Press Association wouldlose much sleep, and I left him declaiming to Woodhouse about afourteenth-century font which, he said, he had unearthed in the sexton'stool-shed. 

My methods were more on the lines of peaceful penetration. An odd copy, in _The Bun's_ rag-and-bone library, of Hone's _Every-Day Book_ hadrevealed to me the existence of a village dance founded, like allvillage dances, on Druidical mysteries connected with the Solar Solstice(which is always unchallengeable) and Mid-summer Morning, which is dewyand refreshing to the London eye. For this I take no credit--Hone beinga mine any one can work--but that I rechristened that dance, after Ihad revised it, 'The Gubby' is my title to immortal fame. It was stillto be witnessed, I wrote, 'in all its poignant purity at Huckley, thatlast home of significant mediæval survivals'; and I fell so in love withmy creation that I kept it back for days, enamelling and burnishing. 

'You's better put it in, ' said Ollyett at last. 'It's time we assertedourselves again. The other fellows are beginning to poach. You saw thatthing in the _Pinnacle_ about Sir Thomas's Model Village? He must havegot one of their chaps down to do it. '

''Nothing like the wounds of a friend, ' I said. 'That account of thenon-alcoholic pub alone was--'

'I liked the bit best about the white-tiled laundry and the FallenVirgins who wash Sir Thomas's dress shirts. Our side couldn't comewithin a mile of that, you know. We haven't the proper flair forsexual slobber. '

'That's what I'm always saying, ' I retorted. 'Leave 'em alone. The otherfellows are doing our work for us now. Besides I want to touch up my"Gubby Dance" a little more. '

'No. You'll spoil it. Let's shove it in to-day. For one thing it'sLiterature. I don't go in for compliments as you know, but, etc. Etc. '

I had a healthy suspicion of young Ollyett in every aspect, but though Iknew that I should have to pay for it, I fell to his flattery, and mypriceless article on the 'Gubby Dance' appeared. Next Saturday he askedme to bring out _The Bun_ in his absence, which I naturally assumedwould be connected with the little maroon side-car. I was wrong. 

On the following Monday I glanced at _The Cake_ at breakfast-time tomake sure, as usual, of her inferiority to my beloved but unremunerative_Bun_. I opened on a heading: 'The Village that Voted the Earth wasFlat. ' I read . .. I read that the Geoplanarian Society--a societydevoted to the proposition that the earth is flat--had held its AnnualBanquet and Exercises at Huckley on Saturday, when after convincingaddresses, amid scenes of the greatest enthusiasm, Huckley village haddecided by an unanimous vote of 438 that the earth was flat. I do notremember that I breathed again till I had finished the two columns ofdescription that followed. Only one man could have written them. Theywere flawless--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 a leader, agrave and poised leader, which tore me in two with mirth, until Iremembered that I had been left out--infamously and unjustifiablydropped. I went to Ollyett's rooms. He was breakfasting, and, to do himjustice, looked conscience-stricken. 

'It wasn't my fault, ' he began. 'It was Bat Masquerier. I swear _I_would have asked you to come if--'

'Never mind that, ' I said. 'It's the best bit of work you've ever doneor will do. Did any of it happen?'

'Happen? Heavens! D'you think even _I_ could have invented it?'

'Is it exclusive to _The Cake_?' I cried. 

'It cost Bat Masquerier two thousand, ' Ollyett replied. 'D'you thinkhe'd let any one else in on that? But I give you my sacred word I knewnothing about it till he asked me to come down and cover it. He hadHuckley posted in three colours, "The Geoplanarians' Annual Banquet andExercises. " Yes, he invented "Geoplanarians. " He wanted Huckley to thinkit meant aeroplanes. Yes, I know that there is a real Society thatthinks the world's flat--they ought to be grateful for the lift--but Batmade his own. He did! He created the whole show, I tell you. He sweptout half his Halls for the job. Think of that--on a Saturday! They--wewent down in motor char-à-bancs--three of 'em--one pink, one primrose, and one forget-me-not blue--twenty people in each one and "The Earth_is_ Flat" on each side and across the back. I went with Teddy Ricketsand Lafone from the Trefoil, and both the Silhouette Sisters, and--waita minute!--the Crossleigh Trio. You know the Every-Day Dramas Trio atthe Jocunda--Ada Crossleigh, "Bunt" Crossleigh, and little Victorine?Them. And there was Hoke Ramsden, the lightning-change chap in _Morgianaand Drexel_--and there was Billy Turpeen. Yes, you know him! The NorthLondon Star. "I'm the Referee that got himself disliked at Blackheath. "_That_ chap! And there was Mackaye--that one-eyed Scotch fellow that allGlasgow is crazy about. Talk of subordinating yourself for Art's sake!Mackaye was the earnest inquirer who got converted at the end of themeeting. And there was quite a lot of girls I didn't know, and--oh, yes--there was 'Dal! 'Dal Benzaguen herself! We sat together, going andcoming. She's all the darling there ever was. She sent you her love, andshe told me to tell you that she won't forget about Nellie Farren. Shesays you'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 up gorgeously. The art of the music-hall's changed since your day. They didn't overdoit a bit. You see, people who believe the earth is flat don't dressquite like other people. You may have noticed that I hinted at that inmy account. It's a rather flat-fronted Ionic style--neo-Victorian, except for the bustles, 'Dal told me, --but 'Dal looked heavenly in it!So did little Victorine. And there was a girl in the blue brake--she's aprovincial--but she's coming to town this winter and she'll knock'em--Winnie Deans. Remember that! She told Huckley how she had sufferedfor the Cause as a governess in a rich family where they believed thatthe world is round, and how she threw up her job sooner than teachimmoral geography. That was at the overflow meeting outside theBaptist chapel. She knocked 'em to sawdust! We must look out forWinnie. .. . But Lafone! Lafone was beyond everything. Impact, personality--conviction--the whole bag o' tricks! He sweated conviction. Gad, he convinced _me_ while he was speaking! (Him? He was President ofthe Geoplanarians, of course. Haven't you read my account?) It _is_ aninfernally plausible theory. After all, no one has actually proved theearth is round, have they?'

'Never mind the earth. What about Huckley?'

'Oh, Huckley got tight. That's the worst of these model villages if youlet 'em smell fire-water. There's one alcoholic pub in the place thatSir Thomas can't get rid of. Bat made it his base. He sent down thebanquet in two motor lorries--dinner for five hundred and drinks for tenthousand. Huckley voted all right. Don't you make any mistake aboutthat. No vote, no dinner. A unanimous vote--exactly as I've said. Atleast, the Rector and the Doctor were the only dissentients. We didn'tcount them. Oh yes, Sir Thomas was there. He came and grinned at usthrough his park gates. He'll grin worse to-day. There's an aniline dyethat you rub through a stencil-plate that eats about a foot into anystone and wears good to the last. Bat had both the lodge-gatesstencilled "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 to make'em forgive us for not being aeroplanes. Unthankful yokels! D'yourealise that Emperors couldn't have commanded the talent Bat decanted on'em? Why, 'Dal alone was. .. . And by eight o'clock not even a bit ofpaper left! The whole show packed up and gone, and Huckley hoo-rayingfor the earth being flat. '

'Very good, ' I began. 'I am, as you know, a one-third proprietor of_The Bun_. '

'I didn't forget that, ' Ollyett interrupted. 'That was uppermost in mymind all the time. I've got a special account for _The Bun_ to-day--it'san idyll--and just to show how I thought of you, I told 'Dal, cominghome, about your Gubby Dance, and she told Winnie. Winnie came back inour char-à-banc. After a bit we had to get out and dance it in a field. It's quite a dance the way we did it--and Lafone invented a sort ofgorilla lockstep procession at the end. Bat had sent down a film-chap onthe chance of getting something. He was the son of a clergyman--a mostdynamic personality. He said there isn't anything for the cinema inmeetings _qua_ meetings--they lack action. Films are a branch of art bythemselves. But he went wild over the Gubby. He said it was like Peter'svision at Joppa. He took about a million feet of it. Then I photoed itexclusive for _The Bun_. I've sent 'em in already, only remember we musteliminate Winnie's left leg in the first figure. It's too arresting. .. . And there you are! But I tell you I'm afraid of Bat. That man's thePersonal Devil. He did it all. He didn't even come down himself. He saidhe'd distract his people. '

'Why didn't he ask me to come?' I persisted. 

'Because he said you'd distract me. He said he wanted my brains on ice. He got 'em. I believe it's the best thing I've ever done. ' He reachedfor _The Cake_ and re-read it luxuriously. 'Yes, out and away thebest--supremely quotable, ' he concluded, and--after another survey--'ByGod, what a genius I was yesterday!'

I would have been angry, but I had not the time. That morning, Pressagencies grovelled to me in _The Bun_ office for leave to use certainphotos, which, they understood, I controlled, of a certain villagedance. When I had sent the fifth man away on the edge of tears, myself-respect came back a little. Then there was _The Bun's_ poster toget out. Art being elimination, I fined it down to two words (one toomany, as it proved)--'The Gubby!' in red, at which our managerprotested; but by five o'clock he told me that I was _the_ Napoleon ofFleet Street. Ollyett's account in _The Bun_ of the Geoplanarians'Exercises and Love Feast lacked the supreme shock of his version in _TheCake_, but it bruised more; while the photos of 'The Gubby' (which, withWinnie's left leg, was why I had set the doubtful press to work soearly) were beyond praise and, next day, beyond price. But even then Idid not understand. 

A week later, I think it was, Bat Masquerier telephoned to me to come tothe Trefoil. 

'It's your turn now, ' he said. 'I'm not asking Ollyett. Come to thestage-box. '

I went, and, as Bat's guest, was received as Royalty is not. We sat wellback and looked out on the packed thousands. It was _Morgiana andDrexel_, that fluid and electric review which Bat--though he gave Lafonethe credit--really created. 

'Ye-es, ' said Bat dreamily, after Morgiana had given 'the nasty jar' tothe Forty Thieves in their forty oil 'combinations. ' 'As you say, I'vegot 'em and I can hold 'em. What a man does doesn't matter much; and howhe does it don't matter either. It's the _when_--the psychologicalmoment. 'Press can't make up for it; money can't; brains can't. A lot'sluck, but all the rest is genius. I'm not speaking about My people now. I'm talking of Myself. '

Then 'Dal--she was the only one who dared--knocked at the door and stoodbehind us all alive and panting as Morgiana. Lafone was carrying thepolice-court scene, and the house was ripped up crossways with laughter. 

'Ah! Tell a fellow now, ' she asked me for the twentieth time, 'did youlove Nellie Farren when you were young?'

'Did we love her?' I answered. '"If the earth and the sky and thesea"--There were three million of us, 'Dal, and we worshipped her. '

'How did she get it across?' Dal went on. 

'She was Nellie. The houses used to coo over her when she came on. '

'I've had a good deal, but I've never been cooed over yet, ' said 'Dalwistfully. 

'It isn't the how, it's the when, ' Bat repeated. 'Ah!'

He leaned forward as the house began to rock and peal full-throatedly. 'Dal fled. A sinuous and silent procession was filing into thepolice-court to a scarcely audible accompaniment. It was dressed--butthe world and all its picture-palaces know how it was dressed. Itdanced and it danced, and it danced the dance which bit all humanity inthe leg for half a year, and it wound up with the lockstep finale thatmowed the house down in swathes, sobbing and aching. Somebody in thegallery moaned, 'Oh Gord, the Gubby!' and we heard the word run like ashudder, for they had not a full breath left among them. Then 'Dal cameon, an electric star in her dark hair, the diamonds flashing in herthree-inch heels--a vision that made no sign for thirty counted secondswhile the police-court scene dissolved behind her into Morgiana'sManicure Palace, and they recovered themselves. The star on her foreheadwent out, and a soft light bathed her as she took--slowly, slowly to thecroon of adoring strings--the eighteen paces forward. We saw her firstas a queen alone; next as a queen for the first time conscious of hersubjects, and at the end, when her hands fluttered, as a womandelighted, awed not a little, but transfigured and illuminated withsheer, compelling affection and goodwill. I caught the broken mutter ofwelcome--the coo which is more than tornadoes of applause. It died androse and died again lovingly. 

'She's got it across, ' Bat whispered. 'I've never seen her like this. Itold her to light up the star, but I was wrong, and she knew it. She'san artist. '

''Dal, you darling!' some one spoke, not loudly but it carried throughthe house. 

'Thank _you_!' 'Dal answered, and in that broken tone one heard the lastfetter riveted. 'Good evening, boys! I've just come from--now--where thedooce was it I have come from?' She turned to the impassive files ofthe Gubby dancers, and went on: 'Ah, so good of you to remind me, youdear, bun-faced things. I've just come from the village--The Villagethat Voted the Earth was Flat. '

She swept into that song with the full orchestra. It devastated thehabitable earth for the next six months. Imagine, then, what its rageand pulse must have been at the incandescent hour of its birth! She onlygave the chorus once. At the end of the second verse, 'Are you _with_me, boys?' she cried, and the house tore it clean away fromher--'_Earth_ was flat--_Earth_ was flat. Flat as my hat--Flatter thanthat'--drowning all but the bassoons and double-basses that markedthe 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, who threw herup his baton. She caught it with a boy's ease. 'Are you _with_ me?' shecried once more, and--the maddened house behind her--abolished all theinstruments except the guttural belch of the double-basses on'_Earth_'--'The Village that voted the _Earth_ was flat--_Earth_ wasflat!' It was delirium. Then she picked up the Gubby dancers and ledthem in a clattering improvised lockstep thrice round the stage till herlast kick sent her diamond-hiked shoe catherine-wheeling to theelectrolier. 

I saw the forest of hands raised to catch it, heard the roaring andstamping pass through hurricanes to full typhoon; heard the song, pinneddown by the faithful double-basses as the bull-dog pins down thebellowing bull, overbear even those; till at last the curtain fell andBat took me round to her dressing-room, where she lay spent after herseventh call. Still the song, through all those white-washed walls, shook the reinforced concrete of the Trefoil as steam pile-drivers shakethe flanks of a dock. 

'I'm all out--first time in my life. Ah! Tell a fellow now, did I get itacross?' she whispered huskily. 

'You know you did, ' I replied as she dipped her nose deep in a beaker ofbarley-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 was more like mine-pumpsin flood. 

'They'll have the house down if you don't take another, ' some onecalled. 

'Bless 'em!' said 'Dal, and went out for her eighth, when in the face ofthat cataract she said yawning, 'I don't know how _you_ feel, children, but _I_'m dead. You be quiet. '

'Hold a minute, ' said Bat to me. 'I've got to hear how it went in theprovinces. 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 was Jerusalem. ' Heleft me humming the refrain of 'The Holy City. ' Like Ollyett I foundmyself afraid of that man. 

When I got out into the street and met the disgorging picture-palacescapering on the pavements and humming it (for he had put the gramophoneson with the films), and when I saw far to the south the red electricsflash 'Gubby' across the Thames, I feared more than ever. 

 * * * * *

A few days passed which were like nothing except, perhaps, a suspense offever in which the sick man perceives the searchlights of the world'sassembled navies in act to converge on one minute fragment ofwreckage--one only in all the black and agony-strewn sea. Then thosebeams focussed themselves. Earth as we knew it--the full circuit of ourorb--laid the weight of its impersonal and searing curiosity on thisHuckley which had voted that it was flat. It asked for news aboutHuckley--where and what it might be, and how it talked--it knew how itdanced--and how it thought in its wonderful soul. And then, in all thezealous, merciless press, Huckley was laid out for it to look at, as adrop of pond water is exposed on the sheet of a magic-lantern show. ButHuckley's sheet was only coterminous with the use of type among mankind. For the precise moment that was necessary, Fate ruled it that thereshould be 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 wiped outthe significance of our message, as a passing cloud annuls the urgenthelio. But it was halcyon weather in every respect. Ollyett and I didnot need to lift our little fingers any more than the Alpine climberwhose last sentence has unkeyed the arch of the avalanche. The thingroared and pulverised and swept beyond eyesight all by itself--all byitself. And once well away, the fall of kingdoms could not havediverted it. 

Ours is, after all, a kindly earth. While The Song ran and raped it withthe cataleptic kick of 'Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, ' multiplied by the WestAfrican significance of 'Everybody's doing it, ' plus twice the infernalelementality of a certain tune in _Dona et Gamma_; when for allpractical purposes, literary, dramatic, artistic, social, municipal, political, commercial, and administrative, the Earth _was_ flat, theRector of Huckley wrote to us--again as a lover of accuracy--to pointout that the Huckley vote on 'the alleged flatness of this scene of ourlabours here below' was _not_ unanimous; he and the doctor having votedagainst it. And the great Baron Reuter himself (I am sure it could havebeen none other) flashed that letter in full to the front, back, andboth wings of this scene of our labours. For Huckley was News. _The Bun_also contributed a photograph which cost me some trouble to fake. 

'We are a vital nation, ' said Ollyett while we were discussing affairsat a Bat dinner. 'Only an Englishman could have written that letter atthis present juncture. '

'It reminded me of a tourist in the Cave of the Winds under Niagara. Just one figure in a mackintosh. But perhaps you saw our photo?' Isaid proudly. 

'Yes, ' Bat replied. 'I've been to Niagara, too. And how's Huckley takingit?'

'They don't quite understand, of course, ' said Ollyett. 'But it'sbringing pots of money into the place. Ever since the motor-busexcursions were started--'

'I didn't know they had been, ' said Pallant. 

'Oh yes. Motor char-à-bancs--uniformed guides and key-bugles included. They're getting a bit fed up with the tune there nowadays, 'Ollyett added. 

'They play it under his windows, don't they?' Bat asked. 'He can't stopthe right of way across his park. '

'He cannot, ' Ollyett answered. 'By the way, Woodhouse, I've bought thatfont for you from the sexton. I paid fifteen pounds for it. '

'What am I supposed to do with it?' asked Woodhouse. 

'You give it to the Victoria and Albert Museum. It is fourteenth-centurywork all right. You can trust me. '

'Is it worth it--now?' said Pallant. 'Not that I'm weakening, but merelyas a matter of tactics?'

'But this is true, ' said Ollyett. 'Besides, it is my hobby, I alwayswanted to be an architect. I'll attend to it myself. It's too seriousfor _The Bun_ and miles too good for _The Cake_. '

He broke ground in a ponderous architectural weekly, which had neverheard of Huckley. There was no passion in his statement, but mere factbacked by a wide range of authorities. He established beyond doubt thatthe old font at Huckley had been thrown out, on Sir Thomas'sinstigation, twenty years ago, to make room for a new one of Bath stoneadorned with Limoges enamels; and that it had lain ever since in acorner of the sexton's shed. He proved, with learned men to support him, that there was only one other font in all England to compare with it. SoWoodhouse bought it and presented it to a grateful South Kensingtonwhich said it would see the earth still flatter before it returned thetreasure to purblind Huckley. Bishops by the benchful and most of theRoyal Academy, not to mention 'Margaritas ante Porcos, ' wrote ferventlyto the papers. _Punch_ based a political cartoon on it; the _Times_ athird leader, 'The Lust of Newness'; and the _Spectator_ a scholarly anddelightful middle, 'Village Hausmania. ' The vast amused outside worldsaid in all its tongues and types: 'Of course! This is just what Huckleywould do!' And neither Sir Thomas nor the Rector nor the sexton nor anyone else wrote to deny it. 

'You see, ' said Ollyett, 'this is much more of a blow to Huckley than itlooks--because every word of it's true. Your Gubby dance wasinspiration, 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. Whydon't you ever come down and look at the place? You've never seen itsince we were stopped there. '

'I've only my week-ends free, ' I said, 'and you seem to spend yoursthere pretty regularly--with the side-car. I was afraid--'

'Oh, _that's_ all right, ' he said cheerily. 'We're quite an old engagedcouple now. As a matter of fact, it happened after "the gravid polledAngus" business. Come along this Saturday. Woodhouse says he'll run usdown after lunch. He wants to see Huckley too. '

Pallant could not accompany us, but Bat took his place. 

'It's odd, ' said Bat, 'that none of us except Ollyett has ever set eyeson Huckley since that time. That's what I always tell My people. Localcolour is all right after you've got your idea. Before that, it's a merenuisance. ' He regaled us on the way down with panoramic views of thesuccess--geographical and financial--of 'The Gubby' and The Song. 

'By the way, ' said he, 'I've assigned 'Dal all the gramophone rights of"The Earth. " She's a born artist. 'Hadn't sense enough to hit me fortriple-dubs the morning after. She'd have taken it out in 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 my little endof the business, and it's only just beginning. Hear _that_!'

A shell-pink motor-brake roared up behind us to the music on a key-bugleof 'The Village that Voted the Earth was Flat. ' In a few minutes weovertook another, in natural wood, whose occupants were singing itthrough 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 tune the rest of the wayto Huckley. 

Though I knew it would be so, I was disappointed with the actual aspectof the spot we had--it is not too much to say--created in the face ofthe nations. The alcoholic pub; the village green; the Baptist chapel;the church; the sexton's shed; the Rectory whence the so-wonderfulletters had come; Sir Thomas's park gate-pillars still violentlydeclaring 'The Earth _is_ flat, ' were as mean, as average, as ordinaryas the photograph of a room where a murder has been committed. Ollyett, who, of course, knew the place specially well, made the most of it tous. Bat, who had employed it as a back-cloth to one of his own dramas, dismissed it as a thing used and emptied, but Woodhouse expressed myfeelings when he said: 'Is that all--after all we've done?'

'_I_ know, ' said Ollyett soothingly. '"Like that strange song I heardApollo sing: When Ilion like a mist rose into towers. " I've felt thesame sometimes, though it has been Paradise for me. But they_do_ suffer. '

The fourth brake in thirty minutes had just turned into Sir Thomas'spark to tell the Hall that 'The _Earth_ was flat'; a knot of obviouslyAmerican tourists were kodaking his lodge-gates; while the tea-shopopposite the lych-gate was full of people buying postcards of the oldfont as it had lain twenty years in the sexton's shed. We went to thealcoholic pub and congratulated the proprietor. 

'It's bringin' money to the place, ' said he. 'But in a sense you can buymoney too dear. It isn't doin' us any good. People are laughin' at us. That's what they're doin'. .. . Now, with regard to that Vote of ours youmay have heard talk about. .. . '

'For Gorze sake, chuck that votin' business, ' cried an elderly man atthe door. 'Money-gettin' or no money-gettin', we're fed up with it. '

'Well, I do think, ' said the publican, shifting his ground, 'I do thinkSir Thomas might ha' managed better in some things. '

'He tole me, '--the elderly man shouldered his way to the bar--'he toleme twenty years ago to take an' lay that font in my tool-shed. He _tole_me so himself. An' now, after twenty years, me own wife makin' me outlittle better than the common 'angman!'

'That's the sexton, ' the publican explained. 'His good lady sells thepostcards--if you 'aven't got some. But we feel Sir Thomas 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, but we thinkhe might 'ave saved us the font business. Now, in regard to that votin'business--'

'Chuck it! Oh, chuck it!' the sexton roared, 'or you'll 'ave me cuttin'my throat at cock-crow. 'Ere's another parcel of fun-makers!'

A motor-brake had pulled up at the door and a multitude of men andwomen immediately descended. We went out to look. They bore rolledbanners, a reading-desk in three pieces, and, I specially noticed, acollapsible harmonium, such as is used on ships at sea. 

'Salvation Army?' I said, though I saw no uniforms. 

Two of them unfurled a banner between poles which bore the legend: 'TheEarth _is_ flat. ' Woodhouse and I turned to Bat. He shook his head. 'No, no! Not me. .. . If I had only seen their costumes in advance!'

'Good Lord!' said Ollyett. 'It's the genuine Society!'

The company advanced on the green with the precision of people wellbroke to these movements. Scene-shifters could not have been quickerwith the three-piece rostrum, nor stewards with the harmonium. Almostbefore its cross-legs had been kicked into their catches, certainlybefore the tourists by the lodge-gates had begun to move over, a womansat down to it and struck up a hymn:

 Hear ther truth our tongues are telling, Spread ther light from shore to shore, God hath given man a dwelling Flat and flat for evermore. 

 When ther Primal Dark retreated, When ther deeps were undesigned, He with rule and level meted Habitation for mankind!

I saw sick envy on Bat's face. 'Curse Nature, ' he muttered. 'She getsahead of you every time. To think _I_ forgot hymns and a harmonium!'

Then came the chorus:

 Hear ther truth our tongues are telling, Spread ther light from shore to shore-- Oh, be faithful! Oh, be truthful! Earth is flat for evermore. 

They sang several verses with the fervour of Christians awaiting theirlions. Then there were growlings in the air. The sexton, embraced by thelandlord, two-stepped out of the pub-door. Each was trying to outroarthe other. 'Apologising in advarnce for what he says, ' the landlordshouted: 'You'd better go away' (here the sexton began to speak words). 'This isn't the time nor yet the place for--for any more o' this chat. '

The crowd thickened. I saw the village police-sergeant come out of hiscottage buckling his belt. 

'But surely, ' said the woman at the harmonium, 'there must be somemistake. We are not suffragettes. '

'Damn it! They'd be a change, ' cried the sexton. 'You get out of this!Don't talk! _I_ can't stand it for one! Get right out, or we'llfont you!'

The crowd which was being recruited from every house in sight echoed theinvitation. The sergeant pushed forward. A man beside the reading-desksaid: 'But surely we are among dear friends and sympathisers. Listen tome for a moment. '

It was the moment that a passing char-à-banc chose to strike into TheSong. The effect was instantaneous. Bat, Ollyett, and I, who by diversroads have learned the psychology of crowds, retreated towards thetavern door. Woodhouse, the newspaper proprietor, anxious, I presume, tokeep touch with the public, dived into the thick of it. Every one elsetold the Society to go away at once. When the lady at the harmonium (Ibegan to understand why it is sometimes necessary to kill women) pointedat the stencilled park pillars and called them 'the cromlechs of ourcommon faith, ' there was a snarl and a rush. The police-sergeant checkedit, but advised the Society to keep on going. The Society withdrew intothe brake fighting, as it were, a rear-guard action of oratory up eachstep. The collapsed harmonium was hauled in last, and with the perfectunreason of crowds, they cheered it loudly, till the chauffeur slippedin his clutch and sped away. Then the crowd broke up, congratulating allconcerned except the sexton, who was held to have disgraced his officeby having sworn at ladies. We strolled across the green towardsWoodhouse, who was talking to the police-sergeant near the park-gates. We were not twenty yards from him when we saw Sir Thomas Ingell emergefrom the lodge and rush furiously at Woodhouse with an uplifted stick, at the same time shrieking: 'I'll teach you to laugh, you--' but Ollyetthas the record of the language. By the time we reached them, Sir Thomaswas on the ground; Woodhouse, very white, held the walking-stick and wassaying to the sergeant:

'I give this person in charge for assault. '

'But, good Lord!' said the sergeant, whiter than Woodhouse. 'It's SirThomas. '

'Whoever it is, it isn't fit to be at large, ' said Woodhouse. The crowdsuspecting something wrong began to reassemble, and all the Englishhorror of a row in public moved us, headed by the sergeant, inside thelodge. We shut both park-gates and lodge-door. 

'You saw the assault, sergeant, ' Woodhouse went on. 'You can testify Iused no more force than was necessary to protect myself. You can testifythat I have not even damaged this person's property. (Here! take yourstick, you!) You heard the filthy language he used. '

'I--I can't say I did, ' the sergeant stammered. 

'Oh, but _we_ did!' said Ollyett, and repeated it, to the apron-veiledhorror of the lodge-keeper's wife. 

Sir Thomas on a hard kitchen chair began to talk. He said he had 'stoodenough of being photographed like a wild beast, ' and expressed loudregret that he had not killed 'that man, ' who was 'conspiring with thesergeant to laugh at him. '

''Ad you ever seen 'im before, Sir Thomas?' the sergeant asked. 

'No! But it's time an example was made here. I've never seen the sweepin my life. '

I think it was Bat Masquerier's magnetic eye that recalled the past tohim, for his face changed and his jaw dropped. 'But I have!' he groaned. 'I remember now. '

Here a writhing man entered by the back door. He was, he said, thevillage solicitor. I do not assert that he licked Woodhouse's boots, butwe should have respected him more if he had and been done with it. Hisnotion was that the matter could be accommodated, arranged andcompromised for gold, and yet more gold. The sergeant thought so too. Woodhouse undeceived them both. To the sergeant he said, 'Will you orwill you not enter the charge?' To the village solicitor he gave thename of his lawyers, at which the man wrung his hands and cried, 'Oh, Sir T. , Sir T. !' in a miserable falsetto, for it was a Bat Masquerier ofa firm. They conferred together in tragic whispers. 

'I don't dive after Dickens, ' said Ollyett to Bat and me by the window, 'but every time _I_ get into a row I notice the police-court alwaysfills up with his characters. '

'I've noticed that too, ' said Bat. 'But the odd thing is you mustn'tgive the public straight Dickens--not in My business. I wonder whythat is. '

Then Sir Thomas got his second wind and cursed the day that he, or itmay have been we, were born. I feared that though he was a Radical hemight apologise and, since he was an M. P. , might lie his way out of thedifficulty. But he was utterly and truthfully beside himself. He askedfoolish questions--such as what we were doing in the village at all, andhow much blackmail Woodhouse expected to make out of him. But neitherWoodhouse nor the sergeant nor the writhing solicitor listened. Theupshot of their talk, in the chimney-corner, was that Sir Thomas stoodengaged to appear next Monday before his brother magistrates on chargesof assault, disorderly conduct, and language calculated, etc. Ollyettwas specially careful about the language. 

Then we left. The village looked very pretty in the late light--prettyand tuneful as a nest of nightingales. 

'You'll turn up on Monday, I hope, ' said Woodhouse, when we reachedtown. That was his only allusion to the affair. 

So we turned up--through a world still singing that the Earth wasflat--at the little clay-coloured market-town with the large CornExchange and the small Jubilee memorial. We had some difficulty ingetting seats in the court. Woodhouse's imported London lawyer was a manof commanding personality, with a voice trained to convey blastingimputations by tone. When the case was called, he rose and stated hisclient's intention not to proceed with the charge. His client, he wenton to say, had not entertained, and, of course, in the circumstancescould not have entertained, any suggestion of accepting on behalf ofpublic charities any moneys that might have been offered to him on thepart of Sir Thomas's estate. At the same time, no one acknowledged moresincerely than his client the spirit in which those offers had been madeby those entitled to make them. But, as a matter of fact--here he becamethe man of the world colloguing with his equals--certain--er--detailshad come to his client's knowledge _since_ the lamentable outburst, which . .. He shrugged his shoulders. Nothing was served by going intothem, but he ventured to say that, had those painful circumstances onlybeen known earlier, his client would--again 'of course'--never havedreamed--A gesture concluded the sentence, and the ensnared Bench lookedat Sir Thomas with new and withdrawing eyes. Frankly, as they could see, it would be nothing less than cruelty to proceed further withthis--er-unfortunate affair. He asked leave, therefore, to withdraw thecharge _in toto_, and at the same time to express his client's deepestsympathy with all who had been in any way distressed, as his client hadbeen, by the fact and the publicity of proceedings which he could, ofcourse, again assure them that his client would never have dreamed ofinstituting if, as he hoped he had made plain, certain facts had beenbefore his client at the time when. .. . But he had said enough. For hisfee it seemed to me that he had. 

Heaven inspired Sir Thomas's lawyer--all of a sweat lest his client'slanguage should come out--to rise up and thank him. Then, SirThomas--not yet aware what leprosy had been laid upon him, but gratefulto escape on any terms--followed suit. He was heard in interestedsilence, and people drew back a pace as Gehazi passed forth. 

'You hit hard, ' said Bat to Woodhouse afterwards. 'His own people thinkhe'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. We forgot to beamazed, as till then we had been amazed, over the Song or 'The Gubby, 'or the full tide of Fate that seemed to run only for our sakes. It didnot even interest Ollyett that the verb 'to huckle' had passed into theEnglish leader-writers' language. We were studying the interior of asoul, flash-lighted to its grimiest corners by the dread of 'losing itsposition. '

'And then it thanked you, didn't it, for dropping the case?' saidPallant. 

'Yes, and it sent me a telegram to confirm. ' Woodhouse turned to Bat. 'Now d'you think I hit too hard?' he asked. 

'No-o!' said Bat. 'After all--I'm talking of every one's businessnow--one can't ever do anything in Art that comes up to Nature in anygame in life. Just think how this thing has--'

'Just let me run through that little case of yours again, ' said Pallant, and picked up _The Bun_ which had it set out in full. 

'Any chance of 'Dal looking in on us to-night?' Ollyett began. 

'She's occupied with her Art too, ' Bat answered bitterly. 'What's theuse of Art? Tell me, some one!' A barrel-organ outside promptly pointedout that the _Earth_ was flat. 'The gramophone's killing street organs, but I let loose a hundred-and-seventy-four of those hurdygurdys twelvehours after The Song, ' said Bat. 'Not counting the Provinces. ' His facebrightened a little. 

'Look here!' said Pallant over the paper. 'I don't suppose you or thoseasinine J. P. 's knew it--but your lawyer ought to have known that you'veall put your foot in it most confoundedly over this assault case. '

'What's the matter?' said Woodhouse. 

'It's ludicrous. It's insane. There isn't two penn'orth of legality inthe whole thing. Of course, you could have withdrawn the charge, but theway you went about it is childish--besides being illegal. What on earthwas the Chief Constable thinking of?'

'Oh, he was a friend of Sir Thomas's. They all were for that matter, ' Ireplied. 

'He ought to be hanged. So ought the Chairman of the Bench. I'm talkingas a lawyer now. '

'Why, what have we been guilty of? Misprision of treason or compoundinga felony--or what?' said Ollyett. 

'I'll tell you later. ' Pallant went back to the paper with knittedbrows, smiling unpleasantly from time to time. At last he laughed. 

'Thank you!' he said to Woodhouse. 'It ought to be pretty useful--forus. '

'What d'you mean?' said Ollyett. 

'For our side. They are all Rads who are mixed up in this--from theChief Constable down. There must be a Question. There must be aQuestion. '

'Yes, but I wanted the charge withdrawn in my own way, ' Woodhouseinsisted. 

'That's nothing to do with the case. It's the legality of your sillymethods. You wouldn't understand if I talked till morning, ' He began topace the room, his hands behind him. 'I wonder if I can get it throughour Whip's thick head that it's a chance. .. . That comes of stuffing theBench 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-box forto-night. He's an artist too. '

'Then I'm going to see him, ' said Pallant. 'Properly handled this oughtto be a godsend for our side. ' He withdrew without apology. 

'Certainly, this thing keeps on opening up, and up, ' I remarked inanely. 

'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. Woodhouse saidnothing, but his face whitened as he brooded. 

'Well, any way, ' Bat went on, 'I'm glad I always believed in God andProvidence and all those things. Else I should lose my nerve. We've putit over the whole world--the full extent of the geographical globe. Wecouldn't stop it if we wanted to now. It's got to burn itself out. I'mnot in charge any more. What d'you expect'll happen next. Angels?'

I expected nothing. Nothing that I expected approached what I got. Politics are not my concern, but, for the moment, since it seemed thatthey were going to 'huckle' with the rest, I took an interest in them. They impressed me as a dog's life without a dog's decencies, and I wasconfirmed in this when an unshaven and unwashen Pallant called on me atten o'clock one morning, begging for a bath and a couch. 

'Bail too?' I asked. He was in evening dress and his eyes were sunk feetin his head. 

'No, ' he said hoarsely. 'All night sitting. Fifteen divisions. 'Notherto-night. Your place was nearer than mine, so--' He began to undressin the hall. 

When he awoke at one o'clock he gave me lurid accounts of what he saidwas history, but which was obviously collective hysteria. There had beena political crisis. He and his fellow M. P. 's had 'done things'--I neverquite got at the things--for eighteen hours on end, and the pitilessWhips were even then at the telephones to herd 'em up to anotherdog-fight. So he snorted and grew hot all over again while he might havebeen resting. 

'I'm going to pitch in my question about that miscarriage of justice atHuckley this afternoon, if you care to listen to it, ' he said. 'It'll beabsolutely thrown away--in our present state. I told 'em so; but it's myonly chance for weeks. P'raps Woodhouse would like to come. '

'I'm sure he would. Anything to do with Huckley interests us, ' I said. 

'It'll miss fire, I'm afraid. Both sides are absolutely cooked. Thepresent situation has been working up for some time. You see the row wasbound to come, etc. Etc. , ' and he flew off the handle once more. 

I telephoned to Woodhouse, and we went to the House together. It was adull, sticky afternoon with thunder in the air. For some reason orother, each side was determined to prove its virtue and endurance to theutmost. I heard men snarling about it all round me. 'If they won't spareus, we'll show 'em no mercy, ' 'Break the brutes up from the start. Theycan't stand late hours. ' 'Come on! No shirking! I know _you've_ had aTurkish bath, ' were some of the sentences I caught on our way. The Housewas packed already, and one could feel the negative electricity of ajaded crowd wrenching at one's own nerves, and depressing theafternoon soul. 

'This is bad!' Woodhouse whispered. 'There'll be a row before they'vefinished. Look at the Front Benches!' And he pointed out little personalsigns by which I was to know that each man was on edge. He might havespared himself. The House was ready to snap before a bone had beenthrown. A sullen minister rose to reply to a staccato question. Hissupporters cheered defiantly. 'None o' that! None o' that!' came fromthe Back Benches. I saw the Speaker's face stiffen like the face of ahelmsman as he humours a hard-mouthed yacht after a sudden followingsea. The trouble was barely met in time. There came a fresh, apparentlycauseless gust a few minutes later--savage, threatening, but futile. Itdied out--one could hear the sigh--in sudden wrathful realisation ofthe 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 whether theappropriate Minister was aware that there had been a grave miscarriageof justice on such and such a date, at such and such a place, beforesuch and such justices of the peace, in regard to a case which arose--

I heard one desperate, weary 'damn!' float up from the pit of thattorment. Pallant sawed on--'out of certain events which occurred at thevillage of Huckley. '

The House came to attention with a parting of the lips like a hiccough, and it flashed through my mind. .. . Pallant repeated, 'Huckley. Thevillage--'

'That voted the _Earth_ was flat. ' A single voice from a back Bench sangit once like a lone frog in a far pool. 

'_Earth_ was flat, ' croaked another voice opposite. 

'_Earth_ was flat. ' There were several. Then several more. 

It was, you understand, the collective, overstrained nerve of the House, snapping, strand by strand to various notes, as the hawser parts fromits moorings. 

'The Village that voted the _Earth_ was flat. ' The tune was beginning toshape itself. More voices were raised and feet began to beat time. Evenso it did not occur to me that the thing would--

'The Village that voted the _Earth_ was flat!' It was easier now to seewho were not singing. There were still a few. Of a sudden (and thisproves the fundamental instability of the cross-bench mind) across-bencher leaped on his seat and there played an imaginarydouble-bass with tremendous maestro-like wagglings of the elbow. 

The last strand parted. The ship of state drifted out helpless on therocking tide of melody. 

 'The Village that voted the _Earth_ was flat! The Village that voted the _Earth_ was flat!'

The Irish first conceived the idea of using their order-papers asfunnels wherewith to reach the correct '_vroom--vroom_' on '_Earth_. 'Labour, always conservative and respectable at a crisis, stood outlonger than any other section, but when it came in it was howlingsyndicalism. Then, without distinction of Party, fear of constituents, desire for office, or hope of emolument, the House sang at the tops andat the bottoms of their voices, swaying their stale bodies andepileptically beating with their swelled feet. They sang 'The Villagethat voted the _Earth_ was flat': first, because they wanted to, andsecondly--which is the terror of that song--because they could not stop. For no consideration could they stop. 

Pallant was still standing up. Some one pointed at him and they laughed. Others began to point, lunging, as it were, in time with the tune. Atthis moment two persons came in practically abreast from behind theSpeaker's chair, and halted appalled. One happened to be the PrimeMinister and the other a messenger. The House, with tears running downtheir cheeks, transferred their attention to the paralysed couple. Theypointed six hundred forefingers at them. They rocked, they waved, andthey rolled while they pointed, but still they sang. When they weakenedfor an instant, Ireland would yell: 'Are ye _with_ me, bhoys?' and theyall renewed their strength like Antaeus. No man could say afterwardswhat happened in the Press or the Strangers' Gallery. It was the House, the hysterical 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 faces intheir hands; and their moving shoulders jolted the House out of its lastrag of decency. Only the Speaker remained unmoved. The entire press ofGreat Britain bore witness next day that he had not even bowed his head. The Angel of the Constitution, for vain was the help of man, foretoldhim the exact moment at which the House would have broken into 'TheGubby. ' He is reported to have said: 'I heard the Irish beginning toshuffle it. So I adjourned. ' Pallant's version is that he added: 'And Iwas never so grateful to a private member in all my life as I was toMr. Pallant. '

He made no explanation. He did not refer to orders or disorders. Hesimply 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 man who didnot laugh. Woodhouse was beside me all the time. His face was set andquite white--as white, they told me, as Sir Thomas Ingell's when hewent, by request, to a private interview with his Chief Whip. 

THE PRESS

 The Soldier may forget his sword The Sailorman the sea, The Mason may forget the Word And the Priest his litany: The maid may forget both jewel and gem, And the bride her wedding-dress-- But the Jew shall forget Jerusalem Ere we forget the Press!

 Who once hath stood through the loaded hour Ere, roaring like the gale, The Harrild and the Hoe devour Their league-long paper bale, And has lit his pipe in the morning calm That follows the midnight stress-- He hath sold his heart to the old Black Art We call the daily Press. 

 Who once hath dealt in the widest game That all of a man can play, No later love, no larger fame Will lure him long away. As the war-horse smelleth the battle afar, The entered Soul, no less, He saith: 'Ha! Ha!' where the trumpets are And the thunders of the Press. 

 Canst thou number the days that we fulfil, Or the _Times_ that we bring forth? Canst thou send the lightnings to do thy will, And cause them reign on earth? Hast thou given a peacock goodly wings To please his foolishness? Sit down at the heart of men and things, Companion of the Press!

 The Pope may launch his Interdict, The Union its decree, But the bubble is blown and the bubble is pricked By Us and such as We. Remember the battle and stand aside While Thrones and Powers confess That King over all the children of pride Is the Press--the Press--the Press!

In The Presence

(1912)

'So the matter, ' the Regimental Chaplain concluded, 'was correct; inevery way correct. I am well pleased with Rutton Singh and Attar Singh. They have gathered the fruit of their lives. '

He folded his arms and sat down on the verandah. The hot day had ended, and there was a pleasant smell of cooking along the regimental lines, where half-clad men went back and forth with leaf platters andwater-goglets. The Subadar-Major, in extreme undress, sat on a chair, asbefitted his rank; the Havildar-Major, his nephew, leaning respectfullyagainst the wall. The Regiment was at home and at ease in its ownquarters in its own district which takes its name from the greatMuhammadan saint Mian Mir, revered by Jehangir and beloved by Guru HarGobind, sixth of the great Sikh Gurus. 

'Quite correct, ' the Regimental Chaplain repeated. 

No Sikh contradicts his Regimental Chaplain who expounds to him the HolyBook of the Grunth Sahib and who knows the lives and legends of allthe Gurus. 

The Subadar-Major bowed his grey head. The Havildar-Major coughedrespectfully to attract attention and to ask leave to speak. Though hewas the Subadar-Major's nephew, and though his father held twice asmuch land as his uncle, he knew his place in the scheme of things. TheSubadar-Major shifted one hand with an iron 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 thing happened. '

'Yes! Yes! Yes! We all know that thou wast in England eating anddrinking with the Sahibs. We are all surprised that thou canst stillspeak Punjabi. ' The Subadar-Major's carefully-tended beard bristled. 

'There was no woman, ' the Regimental Chaplain growled. 'It was land. Hear, you! Rutton Singh and Attar Singh were the elder of four brothers. These four held land in--what was the village's name?--oh, Pishapur, near Thori, in the Banalu Tehsil of Patiala State, where men can stillrecognise right behaviour when they see it. The two younger brotherstilled the land, while Rutton Singh and Attar Singh took service withthe Regiment, according to the custom of the family. '

'True, true, ' said the Havildar-Major. 'There is the same arrangement inall good families. '

'Then, listen again, ' the Regimental Chaplain went on. 'Their kin ontheir mother's side put great oppression and injustice upon the twoyounger brothers who stayed with the land in Patiala State. Theirmother's kin loosened beasts into the four brothers' crops when thecrops were green; they cut the corn by force when it was ripe; theybroke down the water-courses; they defiled the wells; and they broughtfalse charges in the law-courts against all four brothers. They did notspare even the cotton-seed, as the saying is. 

'Their mother's kin trusted that the young men would thus be forced byweight of trouble, and further trouble and perpetual trouble, to quittheir lands in Pishapur village in Banalu Tehsil in Patiala State. Ifthe young men ran away, the land would come whole 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 not the onlyplace where the fence eats the field instead of protecting it. Butperhaps 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 land which wastheir own by inheritance. They made appeal to Rutton Singh and AttarSingh, their brethren who had taken service with _us_ in the Regiment, and so knew the world, to help them in their long war against theirmother's kin in Pishapur. For that reason, because their own land andthe honour of their house was dear to them, Rutton Singh and Attar Singhneeds must very often ask for leave to go to Patiala and attend to thelawsuits and cattle-poundings there. 

'It was not, look you, as though they went back to their own village andsat, garlanded with jasmine, in honour, upon chairs before the eldersunder the trees. They went back always to perpetual trouble, either oflawsuits, or theft, or strayed cattle; and they sat on thorns. '

'I knew it, ' said the Subadar-Major. 'Life was bitter for them both. Butthey were well-conducted men. It was not hard to get them their leavefrom the Colonel Sahib. '

'They spoke to me also, ' said the Chaplain. '_"Let him who desires thefour great gifts apply himself to the words of holy men. "_ That iswritten. Often they showed me the papers of the false lawsuits broughtagainst them. Often they wept on account of the persecution put uponthem by their mother's kin. Men thought it was drugs when their eyesshowed red. '

'They wept in my presence too, ' said the Subadar-Major. 'Well-conductedmen of nine years' service apiece. Rutton Singh was drill-Naik, too. '

'They did all things correctly as Sikhs should, ' said the RegimentalChaplain. 'When the persecution had endured seven years, Attar Singhtook leave to Pishapur once again (that was the fourth time in that yearonly) and he called his persecutors together before the village elders, and he cast his turban at their feet and besought them by his mother'sblood to cease from their persecutions. For he told them earnestly thathe had marched to the boundaries of his patience, and that there couldbe but one end to the matter. 

'They gave him abuse. They mocked him and his tears, which was the sameas though they had mocked the Regiment. Then Attar Singh returned to theRegiment, and laid this last trouble before Rutton Singh, the eldestbrother. But Rutton Singh could not get leave all at once. '

'Because he was drill-Naik and the recruits were to be drilled. I myselftold him so, ' said the Subadar-Major. 'He was a well-conducted man. Hesaid he could wait. '

'But when permission was granted, those two took four days' leave, ' theChaplain went on. 

'I do not think Attar Singh should have taken Baynes Sahib's revolver. He was Baynes Sahib's orderly, and all that Sahib's things were open tohim. It was, therefore, as I count it, shame to Attar Singh, ' said theSubadar-Major. 

'All the words had been said. There was need of arms, and how couldsoldiers use Government rifles upon mere cultivators in the fields?' theRegimental Chaplain replied. 'Moreover, the revolver was sent back, together with a money-order for the cartridges expended. _"Borrow not;but if thou borrowest, pay back soon!"_ That is written in the Hymns. Rutton Singh took a sword, and he and Attar Singh went to Pishapur and, after word given, the four brethren fell upon their persecutors inPishapur village and slew seventeen, wounding ten. A revolver is betterthan a lawsuit. I say that these four brethren, the two with _us_, andthe two mere cultivators, slew and wounded twenty-seven--all theirmother's kin, male and female. 

'Then the four mounted to their housetop, and Attar Singh, who wasalways one of the impetuous, said "My work is done, " and he made_shinan_ (purification) in all men's sight, and he lent Rutton SinghBaynes Sahib's revolver, and Rutton Singh shot him in the head. 

'So Attar Singh abandoned his body, as an insect abandons a blade ofgrass. But Rutton Singh, having more work to do, went down from thehousetop and sought an enemy whom he had forgotten--a Patiala man ofthis regiment who had sided with the persecutors. When he overtook theman, Rutton Singh hit him twice with bullets and 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. Then RuttonSingh returned to the housetop, and the three brothers together, AttarSingh being dead, sent word by a lad to the police station for an armyto be dispatched against them that they might die with honours. But nonecame. And yet Patiala State is not under English law and they shouldknow virtue there when they see it!

'So, on the third day, Rutton Singh also made _shinan_, and the youngestof the brethren shot him also in the head, and _he_ abandoned his body. 

'Thus was all correct. There was neither heat, nor haste, nor abuse inthe matter from end to end. There remained alive not one man or woman oftheir mother's kin which had oppressed them. Of the other villagers ofPishapur, who had taken no part in the persecutions, not one was slain. Indeed, the villagers sent them food on the housetop for those threedays while they waited for the police who would not dispatch that army. 

'Listen again! I know that Attar Singh and Rutton Singh omitted noceremony of the purifications, and when all was done Baynes Sahib'srevolver was thrown down from the housetop, together with three rupeestwelve annas; and order was given for its return by post. '

'And what befell the two younger brethren who were not in the service?'the Havildar-Major asked. 

'Doubtless they too are dead, but since they were not in the Regimenttheir honour concerns themselves only. So far as _we_ were touched, seehow correctly we came out of the matter! I think the King should betold; for where could you match such a tale except among us Sikhs? _Sriwah guru ji ki Khalsa! Sri wah guru ji ki futteh!_' said theRegimental Chaplain. 

'Would three rupees twelve annas pay for the used cartridges?' said theHavildar-Major. 

'Attar Singh knew the just price. All Baynes Sahib's gear was in hischarge. They expended one tin box of fifty cartouches, lacking two whichwere returned. As I said--as I say--the arrangement was made not withheat nor blasphemies as a Mussulman would have made it; not with criesnor caperings as an idolater would have made it; but conformably to theritual and doctrine of the Sikhs. Hear you! _"Though hundreds ofamusements are offered to a child it cannot live without milk. If a manbe divorced from his soul and his soul's desire he certainly will notstop to play upon the road, but he will make haste with hispilgrimage_. " That is written. I rejoice in my disciples. '

'True! True! Correct! Correct!' said the Subadar-Major. There was along, easy silence. One heard a water-wheel creaking somewhere and thenearer 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 months there, andhe was chosen for good cause. '

Theoretically, all Sikhs are equal. Practically, there are differences, as none know better than well-born, land-owning folk, or long-descendedchaplains from Amritsar. 

'Hast thou heard anything in England to match my tale?' the Chaplainsneered. 

'I saw more than I could understand, so I have locked up my stories inmy own mouth, ' the Havildar-Major replied meekly. 

'Stories? What stories? I know all the stories about England, ' said theChaplain. 'I know that _terains_ run underneath their bazaars there, andas for their streets stinking with _mota kahars_, only this morning Iwas nearly killed by Duggan Sahib's _mota-kahar_. That young man isa devil. '

'I expect Grunthi-jee, ' said the Subadar-Major, 'you and I grow too oldto care for the Kahar-ki-nautch--the Bearer's dance. ' He named one ofthe sauciest of the old-time nautches, and smiled at his own pun. Thenhe turned to his nephew. 'When I was a lad and came back to my villageon leave, I waited the convenient hour, and, the elders givingpermission, I spoke of what I had seen elsewhere. '

'Ay, my father, ' said the Havildar-Major, softly and affectionately. Hesat himself down with respect, as behoved a mere lad of thirty with abare half-dozen campaigns to his credit. 

'There were four men in this affair also, ' he began, 'and it was anaffair that touched the honour, not of one regiment, nor two, but of allthe Army in Hind. Some part of it I saw; some I heard; but _all_ thetale is true. My father's brother knows, and my priest knows, that I wasin England on business with my Colonel, when the King--the Great Queen'sson--completed his life. 

'First, there was a rumour that sickness was upon him. Next, we knewthat he lay sick in the Palace. A very great multitude stood outside thePalace by night and by day, in the rain as well as the sun, waitingfor 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, and groaned. This I saw with my own eyes, because the office where my Colonel Sahibwent daily to talk with Colonel Forsyth Sahib was at the east end of thevery gardens where the Palace stood. They are larger gardens thanShalimar here'--he pointed with his chin up the lines--'or Shahderaacross the river. 

'Next day there was a darkness in the streets, because all the city'smultitude were clad in black garments, and they spoke as a man speaks inthe presence of his dead--all those multitudes. In the eyes, in the air, and in the heart, there was blackness. I saw it. But that is notmy tale. 

'After ceremonies had been accomplished, and word had gone out to theKings of the Earth that they should come and mourn, the new King--thedead King's son--gave commandment that his father's body should be laid, coffined, in a certain Temple which is near the river. There are noidols in that Temple; neither any carvings, nor paintings, nor gildings. It is all grey stone, of one colour as though it were cut out of thelive rock. It is larger than--yes, than the Durbar Sahib at Amritsar, even though the Akal Bunga and the Baba-Atal were added. How old it maybe God knows. It is the Sahibs' most sacred Temple. 

'In that place, by the new King's commandment, they made, as it were, ashrine for a saint, with lighted candles at the head and the feet of theDead, and duly appointed watchers for every hour of the day and thenight, until the dead King should be taken to the place 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! allthe world entered, walking through that Temple to take farewell of theDead. There was neither distinction, nor price, nor ranking in the host, except an order that they should walk by fours. 

'As they gathered in the streets without--very, very far off--so theyentered the Temple, walking by fours: the child, the old man; mother, virgin, harlot, trader, priest; of all colours and faiths and customsunder the firmament of God, from dawn till late at night. I saw it. MyColonel gave me leave to go. I stood in the line, many hours, one_koss_, two _koss_, distant from the temple. '

'Then why did the multitude not sit down under the trees?' asked thepriest. 

'Because we were still between houses. The city is many _koss_ wide, 'the Havildar-Major resumed. 'I submitted myself to that slow-movingriver and thus--thus--a pace at a time--I made pilgrimage. There were inmy rank a woman, a cripple, and a lascar from the ships. 

'When we entered the Temple, the coffin itself was as a shoal in theRavi River, splitting the stream into two branches, one on either sideof the Dead; and the watchers of the Dead, who were soldiers, stoodabout It, moving no more than the still flame of the candles. Theirheads were bowed; their hands were clasped; their eyes were cast uponthe ground--thus. They were not men, but images, and the multitude wentpast them in fours by day, and, except for a little while, bynight also. 

'No, there was no order that the people should come to pay respect. Itwas a free-will pilgrimage. Eight kings had been commanded to come--whoobeyed--but upon his own Sahibs the new King laid no commandment. Ofthemselves they came. 

'I made pilgrimage twice: once for my Salt's sake, and once again forwonder and terror and worship. But my mouth cannot declare one thing ofa hundred thousand things in this matter. There were _lakhs_ of _lakhs_, _crores_ of _crores_ of people. I saw them. '

'More than at our great pilgrimages?' the Regimental Chaplain demanded. 

'Yes. Those are only cities and districts coming out to pray. This wasthe world walking in grief. And now, hear you! It is the King's customthat four swords of Our Armies in Hind should stand always before thePresence in case of need. '

'The King's custom, our right, ' said the Subadar-Major curtly. 

'Also our right. These honoured ones are changed after certain months oryears, that the honour may be fairly spread. Now it chanced that whenthe old King--the Queen's son--completed his days, the four that stoodin the Presence were Goorkhas. Neither Sikhs alas, nor Pathans, Rajputs, nor Jats. Goorkhas, my father. '

'Idolaters, ' said the Chaplain. 

'But soldiers; for I remember in the Tirah--' the Havildar-Major began. 

'_But_ soldiers, for I remember fifteen campaigns. Go on, ' said theSubadar-Major. 

'And it was their honour and right to furnish one who should stand inthe Presence by day and by night till It went out to burial. There wereno more than four all told--four old men to furnish that guard. '

'Old? Old? What talk is this of old men?' said the Subadar-Major. 

'Nay. My fault! Your pardon!' The Havildar-Major spread a deprecatinghand. 'They were strong, hot, valiant men, and the youngest was a lad offorty-five. '

'That is better, ' the Subadar-Major laughed. 

'But for all their strength and heat they could not eat strange foodfrom the Sahibs' hands. There was no cooking place in the Temple; but acertain Colonel Forsyth Sahib, who had understanding, made arrangementwhereby they should receive at least a little caste-clean parched grain;also cold rice maybe, and water which was pure. Yet, at best, this wasno more than a hen's mouthful, snatched as each came off his guard. Theylived on grain and were thankful, as the saying is. 

'One hour's guard in every four was each man's burden, for, as I haveshown, they were but four all told; and the honour of Our Armies in Hindwas on their heads. The Sahibs could draw upon all the armies in Englandfor the other watchers--thousands upon thousands of fresh men--if theyneeded; but these four were but four. 

'The Sahibs drew upon the Granadeers for the other watchers. Granadeersbe very tall men under very tall bearskins, such as Fusilier regimentswear in cold weather. Thus, when a Granadeer bowed his head but a verylittle over his stock, the bearskin sloped and showed as though hegrieved exceedingly. Now the Goorkhas wear flat, green caps--'

'I see, I see, ' said the Subadar-Major impatiently. 

'They are bull-necked, too; and their stocks are hard, and when theybend deeply--deeply--to match the Granadeers--they come nigh to chokingthemselves. That was a handicap against them, when it came to theobservance of ritual. 

'Yet even with their tall, grief-declaring bearskins, the Granadeerscould not endure the full hour's guard in the Presence. There was goodcause, as I will show, why no man could endure that terrible hour. Sofor them the hour's guard was cut to one-half. What did it matter to theSahibs? They could draw on ten thousand Granadeers. Forsyth Sahib, whohad comprehension, put this choice also before the four, and they said, "No, ours is the Honour of the Armies of Hind. Whatever the Sahibs do, we will suffer the full hour. "

'Forsyth Sahib, seeing that they were--knowing that they could neithersleep long nor eat much, said, "Is it great suffering?" They said, "Itis great honour. We will endure. "

'Forsyth Sahib, who loves us, said then to the eldest, "Ho, father, tellme truly what manner of burden it is; for the full hour's watch breaksup our men like water. "

'The eldest answered, "Sahib, the burden is the feet of the multitudethat pass us on either side. Our eyes being lowered and fixed, we seethose feet only from the knee down--a river of feet, Sahib, thatnever--never--never stops. It is not the standing without any motion; itis not hunger; nor is it the dead part before the dawn when maybe asingle one comes here to weep. It is the burden of the unendurableprocession of feet from the knee down, that never--never--never stops!"

'Forsyth Sahib said, "By God, I had not considered that! Now I know whyour men come trembling and twitching off that guard. But at least, myfather, ease the stock a little beneath the bent chin for thatone hour. "

'The eldest said, "We are in the Presence. Moreover _He_ knew everybutton and braid and hook of every uniform in all His armies. "

'Then Forsyth Sahib said no more, except to speak about their parchedgrain, but indeed they could not eat much after their hour, nor couldthey sleep much because of eye-twitchings and the renewed procession ofthe feet before the eyes. Yet they endured each his full hour--not halfan hour--his one full hour in each four hours. '

'Correct! correct!' said the Subadar-Major and the Chaplain together. '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, couldnot arrangements have been made, or influence have been secured, or apetition presented, whereby a well-born Sikh might have eased them ofsome portion of their great burden, even though his substantive rank--'

'Then they would most certainly have slain me, ' said the Havildar-Majorwith a smile. 

'And they would have done correctly, ' said the Chaplain. 'What befellthe honourable ones later?'

'This. The Kings of the earth and all the Armies sent flowers andsuch-like to the dead King's palace at Wanidza, where the funeralofferings were accepted. There was no order given, but all the worldmade oblation. So the four took counsel--three at a time--and eitherthey asked Forsyth Sahib to choose flowers, or themselves they wentforth and bought flowers--I do not know; but, however it was arranged, the flowers were bought and made in the shape of a great drum-likecircle weighing half a _maund_. 

'Forsyth Sahib had said, "Let the flowers be sent to Wanidza with theother flowers which all the world is sending. " But they said amongthemselves, "It is not fit that these flowers, which are the offeringsof His Armies in Hind, should come to the Palace of the Presence by thehands of hirelings or messengers, or of any man not in His service. "

'Hearing this, Forsyth Sahib, though he was much occupied withoffice-work, said, "Give me the flowers, and I will steal a time andmyself 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 Presence when Iput on uniform. I am a Colonel in the Armies of Hind. " The eldest said, "Of what regiment?" And Forsyth Sahib looked on the carpet and pulledthe hair of his lip. He saw the trap. '

'Forsyth Sahib's regiment was once the old Forty-sixth Pathans whichwas called--' the Subadar-Major gave the almost forgotten title, addingthat he had met them in such and such campaigns, when Forsyth Sahib wasa young captain. 

The Havildar-Major took up the tale, saying, 'The eldest knew that also, my father. He laughed, and presently Forsyth Sahib laughed. 

'"It is true, " said Forsyth Sahib. "I have no regiment. For twenty yearsI have been a clerk tied to a thick pen. Therefore I am the more fit tobe your orderly and messenger in this business. "

'The eldest then said, "If it were a matter of my life or the honour of_any_ of my household, it would be easy. " And Forsyth Sahib joined hishands together, half laughing, though he was ready to weep, and he said, "Enough! I ask pardon. Which one of you 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 in Hisservice, " 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 papers where myColonel Sahib consulted Forsyth Sahib upon the business that had broughtmy Colonel Sahib to England. '

'And what was that business?' the Regimental Chaplain asked of a sudden, looking full at the Havildar-Major, who returned the look withouta quiver. 

'That was not revealed to me, ' said the Havildar-Major. 

'I heard it might have been some matter touching the integrity ofcertain 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 his robe. 'Letus hear the tale that it is permitted thee to tell, ' he said, and theHavildar-Major went on:

'So then the three, having returned to the Temple, called the fourth, who had only forty-five years, when he came off guard, and said, "We goto the Palace at Wanidza with the offerings. Remain thou in thePresence, and take all our guards, one after the other, till we return. "

'Within that next hour they hired a large and strong _mota-kahar_ forthe journey from the Temple to Wanidza, which is twenty _koss_ or more, and they promised expedition. But he who took their guards said, "It isnot seemly that we should for any cause appear to be in haste. There areeighteen medals with eleven clasps and three Orders to consider. Go atleisure. I can endure. "

'So the three with the offerings were absent three hours and a half, andhaving delivered the offering at Wanidza in the correct manner theyreturned and found the lad on guard, and they did not break his guardtill his full hour was ended. So _he_ endured four hours in thePresence, not stirring one hair, his eyes abased, and the river offeet, from the knee down, passing continually before his eyes. When hewas relieved, it was seen that his eyeballs worked likeweavers' shuttles. 

'And so it was done--not in hot blood, not for a little while, nor yetwith the smell of slaughter and the noise of shouting to sustain, but insilence, for a very long time, rooted to one place before the Presenceamong the most terrible feet of the multitude. '

'Correct!' the Chaplain chuckled. 

'But the Goorkhas had the honour, ' said the Subadar-Major sadly. 

'Theirs was the Honour of His Armies in Hind, and that was Our Honour, 'the nephew replied. 

'Yet I would one Sikh had been concerned in it--even one low-caste Sikh. And after?'

'They endured the burden until the end--until It went out of the Templeto be laid among the older kings at Wanidza. When all was accomplishedand It was withdrawn under the earth, Forsyth Sahib said to the four, "The King gives command that you be fed here on meat cooked by your owncooks. Eat and take ease, my fathers. "

'So they loosed their belts and ate. They had not eaten food except bysnatches for some long time; and when the meat had given them strengththey slept for very many hours; and it was told me that the processionof the unendurable feet ceased to pass before their eyes any more. '

He threw out one hand palm upward to show that the tale was ended. 

'We came well and cleanly out of it, ' said the Subadar-Major. 

'Correct! Correct! Correct!' said the Regimental Chaplain. 'In an evilage it is good to hear such things, and there is certainly no doubt thatthis is a very evil age. '

JOBSON'S AMEN

 'Blessed be the English and all their ways and works. Cursed be the Infidels, Hereticks, and Turks!' 'Amen, ' quo' Jobson, 'but where I used to lie Was neither Candle, Bell nor Book to curse my brethren by:

 'But a palm-tree in full bearing, bowing down, bowing down, To a surf that drove unsparing at the brown-walled town-- Conches in a temple, oil-lamps in a dome-- And a low moon out of Africa said: "This way home!"'

 'Blessed be the English and all that they profess. Cursed be the Savages that prance in nakedness!' 'Amen, ' quo' Jobson, 'but where I used to lie Was neither shirt nor pantaloons to catch my brethren by:

 'But a well-wheel slowly creaking, going round, going round, By a water-channel leaking over drowned, warm ground-- Parrots very busy in the trellised pepper-vine-- And a high sun over Asia shouting: "Rise and shine!"'

 'Blessed be the English and everything they own. Cursed be the Infidels that bow to wood and stone!' 'Amen, ' quo' Jobson, 'but where I used to lie Was neither pew nor Gospelleer to save my brethren by:

 'But a desert stretched and stricken, left and right, left and right, Where the piled mirages thicken under white-hot light-- A skull beneath a sand-hill and a viper coiled inside-- And a red wind out of Libya roaring: "Run and hide!"'

 'Blessed be the English and all they make or do. Cursed be the Hereticks who doubt that this is true!' 'Amen, ' quo' Jobson, 'but where I mean to die Is neither rule nor calliper to judge the matter by:

 'But Himalaya heavenward-heading, sheer and vast, sheer and vast, In a million summits bedding on the last world's past; A certain sacred mountain where the scented cedars climb, And--the feet of my Beloved hurrying back through Time!'

REGULUS

(1917)

_Regulus, a Roman general, defeated the Carthaginians 256 B. C. , but wasnext year defeated and taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, who sent himto Rome with an embassy to ask for peace or an exchange of prisoners. Regulus strongly advised the Roman Senate to make no terms with theenemy. He then returned to Carthage and was put to death. _

The Fifth Form had been dragged several times in its collective life, from one end of the school Horace to the other. Those were the yearswhen 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 iterabimus aequor. _Our portion to-day is the Fifth Ode of the Third Book, Ibelieve--concerning one Regulus, a gentleman. And how often have we beenthrough 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-voce_ examinations--ugh!--I shall exactsomewhat freer and more florid renditions. With feeling andcomprehension if that be possible. I except'--here his eye swept theback benches--'our friend and companion Beetle, from whom, now asalways, I demand an absolutely literal translation. ' The form laughedsubserviently. 

'Spare his blushes! Beetle charms us first. '

Beetle stood up, confident in the possession of a guaranteed construe, left behind by M'Turk, who had that day gone into the sick-house with acold. Yet he was too wary a hand to show confidence. 

'_Credidimus_, we--believe--we have believed, ' he opened inhesitating slow time, '_tonantem Joven_, thundering Jove--_regnare_, to reign--_caelo_, in heaven. _Augustus_, Augustus--_habebitur_, will be held or considered--_praesens divus_, a presentGod--_adjectis Britannis_, the Britons being added--_imperio_, to theEmpire--_gravibusque Persis_, with the heavy--er, stern Persians. '

'What?'

'The grave or stern Persians. ' Beetle pulled up with the'Thank-God-I-have-done-my-duty' air of Nelson in the cockpit. 

'I am quite aware, ' said King, 'that the first stanza is about theextent 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 (which carriesover to the third) of that Ode is what is technically called a'stinker. ' But M'Turk had done him handsomely. 

'_Milesne Crassi_, had--has the soldier of Crassus--_vixit_, lived--_turpis maritus_, a disgraceful husband--'

'You slurred the quantity of the word after _turpis_, ' said King. 'Let'shear it. '

Beetle guessed again, and for a wonder hit the correct quantity. 'Er--adisgraceful husband--_conjuge barbara_, with a barbarous spouse. '

'Why do you select _that_ disgustful equivalent out of all thedictionary?' King snapped. 'Isn't "wife" good enough for you?'

'Yes, sir. But what do I do about this bracket, sir? Shall I take itnow?'

'Confine yourself at present to the soldier of Crassus. '

'Yes, sir. _Et_, and--_consenuit_, has he grown old--_in armis_, inthe--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 _in armis_?'

'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--_inversique mores_, and mannersupset--upside down. '

'Ve-ry like your translation. Meantime, the soldier of Crassus?'

'_Sub rege Medo_, under a Median King--_Marsus et Apulus_, he being aMarsian and an Apulian. '

'Who? The Median King?'

'No, sir. The soldier of Crassus. _Oblittus_ agrees with _milesneCrassi_, sir, ' volunteered too-hasty Beetle. 

'Does it? It doesn't with _me_. '

'_Oh-blight-us_, ' Beetle corrected hastily, 'forgetful--_anciliorum_, ofthe shields, or trophies--_et nominis_, and the--his name--_et togae_, and the toga--_eternaeque Vestae_, and eternal Vesta--_incolumi Jove_, Jove being safe--_et urbe Roma_, and the Roman city. ' With an air ofhardly restrained zeal--'Shall I go on, sir?'

Mr. King winced. 'No, thank you. You have indeed given us a translation!May I ask if it conveys any meaning whatever to your so-called mind?'

'Oh, I think so, sir. ' This with gentle toleration for Horace and allhis 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 and cameunscathed to port. 

'Here we require drama, ' said King. 'Regulus himself is speaking now. Who shall represent the provident-minded Regulus? Winton, will youkindly oblige?'

Winton of King's House, a long, heavy, tow-headed Second Fifteenforward, overdue for his First Fifteen colours, and in aspect like anearnest, elderly horse, rose up, and announced, among other things, that he had seen 'signs affixed to Punic deluges. ' Half the Form shoutedfor joy, and the other half for joy that there was something toshout about. 

Mr. King opened and shut his eyes with great swiftness. '_Signa adfixadelubris_, ' he gasped. 'So _delubris_ is "deluges" is it? Winton, in allour dealings, have I ever suspected you of a jest?'

'No, sir, ' said the rigid and angular Winton, while the Form rockedabout him. 

'And yet you assert _delubris_ means "deluges. " Whether I am a fitsubject for such a jape is, of course, a matter of opinion, but. .. . Winton, you are normally conscientious. May we assume you looked out_delubris_?'

'No, sir. ' Winton was privileged to speak that truth dangerous to allwho stand before Kings. 

''Made a shot at it then?'

Every line of Winton's body showed he had done nothing of the sort. Indeed, the very idea that 'Pater' Winton (and a boy is not called'Pater' by companions for his frivolity) would make a shot at anythingwas beyond belief. But he replied, 'Yes, ' and all the while worked withhis right heel as though he were heeling a ball at punt-about. 

Though none dared to boast of being a favourite with King, the taciturn, three-cornered Winton stood high in his House-Master's opinion. Itseemed to save him neither rebuke nor punishment, but the two were insome fashion sympathetic. 

'Hm!' said King drily. 'I was going to say--_Flagito additis damnum_, but I think--I think I see the process. Beetle, the translation of_delubris_, please. '

Beetle raised his head from his shaking arm long enough to answer:'Ruins, sir. '

There was an impressive pause while King checked off crimes on hisfingers. Then to Beetle the much-enduring man addressed winged words:

'Guessing, ' said he. 'Guessing, Beetle, as usual, from the look of_delubris_ that it bore some relation to _diluvium_ or deluge, youimparted the result of your half-baked lucubrations to Winton who seemsto have been lost enough to have accepted it. Observing next, yourcompanion's fall, from the presumed security of your undistinguishedposition in the rear-guard, you took another pot-shot. The turbid chaosof your mind threw up some memory of the word "dilapidations" which youhave pitifully attempted to disguise under the synonym of "ruins. "'

As this was precisely what Beetle had done he looked hurt but forgiving. 'We will attend to this later, ' said King. 'Go on, Winton, and retrieveyourself. '

_Delubris_ happened to be the one word which Winton had not looked outand had asked Beetle for, when they were settling into their places. Heforged ahead with no further trouble. Only when he rendered _scilicet_as 'forsooth, ' King erupted. 

'Regulus, ' he said, 'was not a leader-writer for the penny press, nor, for that matter, was Horace. Regulus says: "The soldier ransomed by goldwill come keener for the fight--will he by--by gum!" _That's_ themeaning of _scilicet_. It indicates contempt--bitter contempt. "Forsooth, " forsooth! You'll be talking about "speckled beauties" and"eventually transpire" next. Howell, what do you make of that doubled"Vidi ego--ego vidi"? It wasn't put in to fill up the metre, you know. '

'Isn't it intensive, sir?' said Howell, afflicted by a genuine interestin what he read. 'Regulus was a bit in earnest about Rome making noterms with Carthage--and he wanted to let the Romans understand it, didn't he, sir?'

'Less than your usual grace, but the fact. Regulus _was_ in earnest. Hewas also engaged at the same time in cutting his own throat with everyword he uttered. He knew Carthage which (your examiners won't ask youthis so you needn't take notes) was a sort of God-forsaken niggerManchester. Regulus was not thinking about his own life. He was tellingRome the truth. He was playing for his side. Those lines from theeighteenth to the fortieth ought to be written in blood. Yet there arethings in human garments which will tell you that Horace was aflâneur--a man about town. Avoid such beings. Horace knew a very greatdeal. _He_ knew! _Erit ille fortis_--"will he be brave who once tofaithless foes has knelt?" And again (stop pawing with your hooves, Thornton!) _hic unde vitam sumeret inscius_. That means roughly--but Iperceive I 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 ofHartopp's House, but, as must often be the case with growing boys, hismind was in abeyance for the time being, and he said, all in a rush, onbehalf of Regulus: '_O magna Carthago probrosis altior Italiae ruinis_, O Carthage, thou wilt stand forth higher than the ruins of Italy. '

Even Beetle, most lenient of critics, was interested at this point, though he did not join the half-groan of reprobation from the wiserheads of the Form. 

'_Please_ don't mind me, ' said King, and Vernon very kindly did not. Heploughed on thus: 'He (Regulus) is related to have removed from himselfthe kiss of the shameful wife and of his small children as less by thehead, and, being stern, to have placed his virile visage on the ground. '

Since King loved 'virile' about as much as he did 'spouse' or 'forsooth'the Form looked up hopefully. But Jove thundered not. 

'Until, ' Vernon continued, 'he should have confirmed the sliding fathersas being the author of counsel never given under an alias. '

He stopped, conscious of stillness round him like the dread calm of thetyphoon's centre. King's opening voice was sweeter than honey. 

'I am painfully aware by bitter experience that I cannot give you anyidea of the passion, the power, the--the essential guts of the lineswhich you have so foully outraged in our presence. But--' the notechanged, 'so far as in me lies, I will strive to bring home to you, Vernon, the fact that there exist in Latin a few pitiful rules ofgrammar, of syntax, nay, even of declension, which were not created foryour incult sport--your Boeotian diversion. You will, therefore, Vernon, write out and bring to me to-morrow a word-for-word English-Latintranslation of the Ode, together with a full list of all adjectives--anadjective is not a verb, Vernon, as the Lower Third will tell you--alladjectives, their number, case, and gender. Even now I haven't begun todeal with you faithfully. '

'I--I'm very sorry, sir, ' Vernon stammered. 

'You mistake the symptoms, Vernon. You are possibly discomfited by theimposition, but sorrow postulates some sort of mind, intellect, _nous_. Your rendering of _probrosis_ alone stamps you as lower than the beastsof the field. Will some one take the taste out of our mouths?And--talking of tastes--' He coughed. There was a distinct flavour ofchlorine gas in the air. Up went an eyebrow, though King knew perfectlywell what it meant. 

'Mr. Hartopp's st--science class next door, ' said Malpass. 

'Oh yes. I had forgotten. Our newly established Modern Side, of course. Perowne, open the windows; and Winton, go on once more from _interquemaerentes_. '

'And hastened away, ' said Winton, 'surrounded by his mourning friends, into--into illustrious banishment. But I got that out of Conington, sir, ' he added in one conscientious breath. 

'I am aware. The master generally knows his ass's crib, though I acquit_you_ of any intention that way. Can you suggest anything for _egregiusexul_? Only "egregious exile"? I fear "egregious" is a good word ruined. No! You can't in this case improve on Conington. Now then for _atquisciebat quae sibi barbarus tortor pararet_. The whole force of it liesin the _atqui_. '

'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 getting ready forhim, ' said Winton. 

'Ye-es. Had in store for him. '

'Yet he brushed aside his kinsmen and the people delaying his return. '

'Ye-es; but then how do you render _obstantes_?'

'If it's a free translation mightn't _obstantes_ and _morantem_ come toabout the same thing, sir?'

'Nothing comes to "about the same thing" with Horace, Winton. As I havesaid, Horace was not a journalist. No, I take it that his kinsmen bodilywithstood his departure, whereas the crowd--_populumque_--the democracystood about futilely pitying him and getting in the way. Now for thatnoblest of endings--_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 dodging the freshair yonder, give me the meaning of _tendens_--and turn downyour collar. '

'Me, sir? _Tendens_, sir? Oh! Stretching away in the direction of, sir. '

'Idiot! Regulus was not a feature of the landscape. He was a man, self-doomed to death by torture. _Atqui, sciebat_--knowing it--havingachieved it for his country's sake--can't you hear that _atqui_ cut likea knife?--he moved off with some dignity. That is why Horace out of thewhole golden Latin tongue chose the one word "tendens"--which is utterlyuntranslatable. '

The gross injustice of being asked to translate it, converted Beetleinto a young Christian martyr, till King buried his nose in hishandkerchief again. 

'I think they've broken another gas-bottle next door, sir, ' said Howell. 'They're always doing it. ' The Form coughed as more chlorine came in. 

'Well, I suppose we must be patient with the Modern Side, ' said King. 'But it is almost insupportable for this Side. Vernon, what are yougrinning at?'

Vernon's mind had returned to him glowing and inspired. He chuckled ashe underlined his Horace. 

'It appears to amuse you, ' said King. 'Let us participate. What is it?'

'The last two lines of the Tenth Ode, in this book, sir, ' was Vernon'samazing reply. 

'What? Oh, I see. _Non hoc semper erit liminis aut aquae caelestispatiens latus_[2]. ' King's mouth twitched to hide a grin. 'Was thatdone with intention?'

[Footnote 2: 'This side will not always be patient of rain and waitingon the threshold. ']

'I--I thought it fitted, sir. '

'It does. It's distinctly happy. What put it into your thick head, Paddy?'

'I don't know, sir, except we did the Ode last term. '

'And you remembered? The same head that minted _probrosis_ as a verb!Vernon, you are an enigma. No! This Side will _not_ always be patient ofunheavenly gases and waters. I will make representations to ourso-called Moderns. Meantime (who shall say I am not just?) I remit youyour accrued pains and penalties in regard to _probrosim, probrosis, probrosit_ and other enormities. I oughtn't to do it, but this Side isoccasionally human. By no means bad, Paddy. '

'Thank you, sir, ' said Vernon, wondering how inspiration had visitedhim. 

Then King, with a few brisk remarks about Science, headed them back toRegulus, of whom and of Horace and Rome and evil-minded commercialCarthage and of the democracy eternally futile, he explained, in allages and climes, he spoke for ten minutes; passing thence to the nextOde--_Delicta Majorum_--where he fetched up, full-voiced, upon--'_Dis teminorem quod geris imperas_' (Thou rulest because thou bearest thyselfas lower than the Gods)--making it a text for a discourse on manners, morals, and respect for authority as distinct from bottled gases, whichlasted till the bell rang. Then Beetle, concertinaing his books, observed to Winton, 'When King's really on tap he's an interestin' dog. Hartopp's chlorine uncorked him. '

'Yes; but why did you tell me _delubris_ was "deluges, " you silly ass?'said Winton. 

'Well, that uncorked him too. Look out, you hoof-handed old owl!' Wintonhad cleared for action as the Form poured out like puppies at play andwas scragging Beetle. Stalky from behind collared Winton low. The threefell in confusion. 

'_Dis te minorem quod geris imperas_, ' quoth Stalky, ruffling Winton'slint-white locks. 'Mustn't jape with Number Five study. Don't be toovirtuous. Don't brood over it. 'Twon't count against you in your futurecaree-ah. Cheer up, Pater. '

'Pull him off my--er--essential guts, will you?' said Beetle frombeneath. 'He's squashin' 'em. '

They dispersed to their studies. 

 * * * * *

No one, the owner least of all, can explain what is in a growing boy'smind. It might have been the blind ferment of adolescence; Stalky'srandom remarks about virtue might have stirred him; like his betters hemight have sought popularity by way of clowning; or, as the Headasserted years later, the only known jest of his serious life might haveworked on him, as a sober-sided man's one love colours and dislocatesall his after days. But, at the next lesson, mechanical drawing with Mr. Lidgett who as drawing-master had very limited powers of punishment, Winton fell suddenly from grace and let loose a live mouse in theform-room. The whole form, shrieking and leaping high, threw at it allthe plaster cones, pyramids, and fruit in high relief--not to mentionink-pots--that they could lay hands on. Mr. Lidgett reported at once tothe Head; Winton owned up to his crime, which, venial in the UpperThird, pardonable at a price in the Lower Fourth, was, of course, rankruffianism on the part of a Fifth Form boy; and so, by graduated stages, he arrived at the Head's study just before lunch, penitent, perturbed, annoyed with himself and--as the Head said to King in the corridor afterthe meal--more human than he had known him in seven years. 

'You see, ' the Head drawled on, 'Winton's only fault is a certaincostive and unaccommodating virtue. So this comes very happily. '

'I've never noticed any sign of it, ' said King. Winton was in King'sHouse, and though King as pro-consul might, and did, infernally oppresshis own Province, once a black and yellow cap was in trouble at thehands of the Imperial authority King fought for him to the very laststeps of Caesar's throne. 

'Well, you yourself admitted just now that a mouse was beneath theoccasion, ' the Head answered. 

'It was. ' Mr. King did not love Mr. Lidgett. 'It should have been a rat. But--but--I hate to plead it--it's the lad's first offence. '

'Could you have damned him more completely, King?'

'Hm. What is the penalty?' said King, in retreat, but keeping up arear-guard action. 

'Only my usual few lines of Virgil to be shown up by tea-time. '

The Head's eyes turned slightly to that end of the corridor whereMullins, Captain of the Games ('Pot, ' 'old Pot, ' or 'Potiphar' Mullins), was pinning up the usual Wednesday notice--'Big, Middle, and Little SideFootball--A to K, L to Z, 3 to 4. 45 P. M. '

You cannot write out the Head's usual few (which means five hundred)Latin lines and play football for one hour and three-quarters betweenthe hours of 1. 30 and 5 P. M. Winton had evidently no intention of tryingto do so, for he hung about the corridor with a set face and an uneasyfoot. Yet it was law in the school, compared with which that of theMedes and Persians was no more than a non-committal resolution, that anyboy, outside the First Fifteen, who missed his football for any reasonwhatever, and had not a written excuse, duly signed by competentauthority to explain his absence, would receive not less than threestrokes with a ground-ash from the Captain of the Games, generally ayouth between 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 such excuse. 

'But he is practically a member of the First Fifteen. He has played forit all this term, ' said King. 'I believe his Cap should have arrivedlast week. '

'His Cap has not been given him. Officially, therefore, he is naught. Irely on old Pot. '

'But Mullins is Winton's study-mate, ' King persisted. 

Pot Mullins and Pater Winton were cousins and rather close friends. 

'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 going torecommend Winton for extra sub-prefect in my House, now Cartonhas gone. '

'Certainly, ' said the Head. 'Why not? He will be excellent by tea-time, I hope. '

At that moment they saw Mr. Lidgett, tripping down the corridor, waylaidby Winton. 

'It's about that mouse-business at mechanical drawing, ' Winton opened, swinging across his path. 

'Yes, yes, highly disgraceful, ' Mr. Lidgett panted. 

'I know it was, ' said Winton. 'It--it was a cad's trick because--'

'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 kindly man, 'Ithink that shows quite right feeling. I'll tell the Head at once I'msatisfied. '

'No--no!' The boy's still unmended voice jumped from the growl to thesqueak. 'I didn't mean _that_! I--I did it on principle. Pleasedon'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 between ourselves. '

'You heard?' said King, indecent pride in his voice. 

'Of course. You thought he was going to get Lidgett to beg him off theimpot. '

King denied this with so much warmth that the Head laughed and King wentaway in a huff. 

'By the way, ' said the Head, 'I've told Winton to do his lines in yourform-room--not in his study. '

'Thanks, ' said King over his shoulder, for the Head's orders had savedWinton and Mullins, who was doing extra Army work in the study, from anembarrassing afternoon together. 

An hour later, King wandered into his still form-room as though byaccident. Winton was hard at work. 

'Aha!' said King, rubbing his hands. 'This does not look like games, Winton. Don't let me arrest your facile pen. Whence this sudden lovefor Virgil?'

'Impot from the Head, sir, for that mouse-business this morning. '

'Rumours thereof have reached us. That was a lapse on your part intoLower Thirdery which I don't quite understand. '

The 'tump-tump' of the puntabouts before the sides settled to games camethrough the open window. Winton, like his House-Master, loved fresh air. Then they heard Paddy Vernon, sub-prefect on duty, calling the roll inthe field and marking defaulters. Winton wrote steadily. King curledhimself up on a desk, hands round knees. One would have said that theman was gloating over the boy's misfortune, but the boy understood. 

'_Dis te minorem quod geris imperas_, ' King quoted presently. 'It isnecessary to bear oneself as lower than the local gods--even thandrawing-masters who are precluded from effective retaliation. I _do_wish you'd tried that mouse-game with me, Pater. '

Winton grinned; then sobered 'It was a cad's trick, sir, to play on Mr. Lidgett. ' He peered forward at the page he was copying. 

'Well, "the sin _I_ impute to each frustrate ghost"--' King stoppedhimself. 'Why do you goggle like an owl? Hand me the Mantuan and I'lldictate. No matter. Any rich Virgilian measures will serve. I mayperadventure 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 once again. '

For the next forty minutes, with never a glance at the book, King paidout the glorious hexameters (and King could read Latin as though it werealive), Winton hauling them in and coiling them away behind him astrimmers in a telegraph-ship's hold coil away deep-sea cable. King brokefrom the Aeneid to the Georgics and back again, pausing now and then totranslate some specially loved line or to dwell on the treble-shottexture of the ancient fabric. He did not allude to the coming interviewwith Mullins except at the last, when he said, 'I think at thisjuncture, Pater, I need not ask you for the precise significance of_atqui sciebat quae sibi barbarus tortor_. '

The ungrateful Winton flushed angrily, and King loafed out to take fiveo'clock call-over, after which he invited little Hartopp to tea and atalk on chlorine-gas. Hartopp accepted the challenge like a bantam, andthe two went up to King's study about the same time as Winton returnedto the form-room beneath it to finish his lines. 

Then half a dozen of the Second Fifteen, who should have been washing, strolled in to condole with 'Pater' Winton, whose misfortune and itsconsequences were common talk. No one was more sincere than the long, red-headed, knotty-knuckled 'Paddy' Vernon, but, being a carelessanimal, 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, so Vernon, sinking his sub-prefectship, replied peacefully enough:

'Well, don't be wrathy, Pater. '

'I'm not, ' said Winton. 'Get out! This ain't your House form-room. '

''Form-room don't belong to you. Why don't you go to your own study?'Vernon replied. 

'Because Mullins is there waitin' for the victim, ' said Stalkydelicately, and they all laughed. 'You ought to have shaken that mouseout of your trouser-leg, Pater. That's the way _I_ did in my youth. Pater's revertin' to his second childhood. Never mind, Pater, we allrespect you and your future caree-ah. '

Winton, still writhing, growled. Vernon leaning on the desk somehowshook it again. Then he laughed. 

'What are you grinning at?' Winton asked. 

'I was only thinkin' of _you_ being sent up to take a lickin' from Pot. I swear I don't think it's fair. You've never shirked a game in yourlife, and you're as good as in the First Fifteen already. Your Cap oughtto have been delivered last week, oughtn't it?'

It was law in the school that no man could by any means enjoy theprivileges and immunities of the First Fifteen till the black velvet capwith the gold tassel, made by dilatory Exeter outfitters, had beenactually set on his head. Ages ago, a large-built and unruly SecondFifteen had attempted to change this law, but the prefects of that agewere still larger, and the lively experiment had never been repeated. 

'Will you, ' said Winton very slowly, 'kindly mind your own damnedbusiness, you cursed, clumsy, fat-headed fool?'

The form-room was as silent as the empty field in the darkness outside. Vernon shifted his feet uneasily. 

'Well, _I_ shouldn't like to take a lickin' from Pot, ' he said. 

'Wouldn't you?' Winton asked, as he paged the sheets of lines with handsthat shook. 

'No, I shouldn't, ' said Vernon, his freckles growing more distinct onthe bridge of his white nose. 

'Well, I'm going to take it'--Winton moved clear of the desk as hespoke. 'But _you're_ going to take a lickin' from me first. ' Before anyone realised it, he had flung himself neighing against Vernon. Nodecencies were observed on either side, and the rest looked on amazed. The two met confusedly, Vernon trying to do what he could with hislonger reach; Winton, insensible to blows, only concerned to drive hisenemy into a corner and batter him to pulp. This he managed over againstthe fire-place, where Vernon dropped half-stunned. 'Now I'm going togive you your lickin', ' said Winton. 'Lie there till I get a ground-ashand I'll cut you to pieces. If you move, I'll chuck you out of thewindow. ' He wound his hands into the boy's collar and waistband, and hadactually heaved him half off the ground before the others with oneaccord dropped on his head, shoulders, and legs. He fought them crazilyin an awful hissing silence. Stalky's sensitive nose was rubbed alongthe floor; Beetle received a jolt in the wind that sent him whistlingand crowing against the wall; Perowne's forehead was cut, and Malpasscame out with an eye that explained itself like a dying rainbow througha whole week. 

'Mad! Quite mad!' said Stalky, and for the third time wriggled back toWinton's throat. The door opened and King came in, Hartopp's littlefigure just behind him. The mound on the floor panted and heaved but didnot rise, for Winton still squirmed vengefully. 'Only a little play, sir, ' said Perowne. ''Only hit my head against a form. ' This wasquite true. 

'Oh, ' said King. '_Dimovit obstantes propinquos. _ You, I presume, arethe _populus_ delaying Winton's return to--Mullins, eh?'

'No, sir, ' said Stalky behind his claret-coloured handkerchief. 'We'rethe _maerentes amicos_. '

'Not bad! You see, some of it sticks after all, ' King chuckled toHartopp, 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 him rise. Heheld out his hand to the bruised and bewildered Vernon. 'Sorry, Paddy. I--I must have lost my temper. I--I don't know what's the matterwith me. '

''Fat lot of good that'll do my face at tea, ' Vernon grunted. 'Whycouldn't you say there was something wrong with you instead of lammingout like a lunatic? Is my lip puffy?'

'Just a trifle. Look at my beak! Well, we got all these pretty marks atfooter--owin' to the zeal with which we played the game, ' said Stalky, dusting himself. 'But d'you think you're fit to be let loose again, Pater? 'Sure you don't want to kill another sub-prefect? I wish _I_ wasPot. I'd cut your sprightly young soul out. '

'I s'pose I ought to go to Pot now, ' said Winton. 

'And let all the other asses see you lookin' like this! Not much. We'llall come up to Number Five Study and wash off in hot water. Beetle, youaren't damaged. Go along and light the gas-stove. '

'There's a tin of cocoa in my study somewhere, ' Perowne shouted afterhim. 'Rootle round till you find it, and take it up. '

Separately, by different roads, Vernon's jersey pulled half over hishead, the boys repaired to Number Five Study. Little Hartopp and King, Iam sorry to say, leaned over the banisters of King's landingand watched. 

'Ve-ry human, ' said little Hartopp. 'Your virtuous Winton, having gothimself into trouble, takes it out of my poor old Paddy. I wonder whatprecise lie Paddy will tell about his face. '

'But surely you aren't going to embarrass him by asking?' said King. 

'_Your_ boy won, ' said Hartopp. 

'To go back to what we were discussing, ' said King quickly, 'do youpretend that your modern system of inculcating unrelated facts aboutchlorine, for instance, all of which may be proved fallacies by the timethe boys grow up, can have any real bearing on education--even the lowtype of it that examiners expect?'

'I maintain nothing. But is it any worse than your Chinese reiterationof uncomprehended syllables in a dead tongue?'

'Dead, forsooth!' King fairly danced. 'The only living tongue on earth!Chinese! On my word, Hartopp!'

'And at the end of seven years--how often have I said it?' Hartopp wenton, --'seven years of two hundred and twenty days of six hours each, yourvictims go away with nothing, absolutely nothing, except, perhaps, ifthey've been very attentive, a dozen--no, I'll grant you twenty--onescore of totally unrelated Latin tags which any child of twelve couldhave absorbed in two terms. '

'But--but can't you realise that if our system brings later--at anyrate--at a pinch--a simple understanding--grammar and Latinity apart--amere glimpse of the significance (foul word!) of, we'll say, one Ode ofHorace, one twenty lines of Virgil, we've got what we poor devils ofushers are striving after?'

'And what might that be?' said Hartopp. 

'Balance, proportion, perspective--life. Your scientific man is theunrelated animal--the beast without background. Haven't you everrealised _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 this morning. (But he made _probrosis_ a verb, he did!) You yourself heard youngCorkran's reference to _maerentes amicos_. It sticks--a little of itsticks among the barbarians. '

'Absolutely and essentially Chinese, ' said little Hartopp, who, alone ofthe common-room, refused to be outfaced by King. 'But I don't yetunderstand how Paddy came to be licked by Winton. Paddy's supposed to besomething of a boxer. '

'Beware of vinegar made from honey, ' King replied. 'Pater, like someother people, is patient and long-suffering, but he has his limits. TheHead is oppressing him damnably, too. As I pointed out, the boy haspractically been in the First Fifteen since term began. '

'But, my dear fellow, I've known you give a boy an impot and refuse himleave off games, again and again. '

'Ah, but that was when there was real need to get at some oaf whocouldn't be sensitised in any other way. Now, in our esteemed Head'saction I see nothing but--'

The conversation from this point does not concern us. 

Meantime Winton, very penitent and especially polite towards Vernon, wasbeing cheered with cocoa in Number Five Study. They had some difficultyin stemming the flood of his apologies. He himself pointed out to Vernonthat he had attacked a sub-prefect for no reason whatever, and, therefore, deserved official punishment. 

'I can't think what was the matter with me to-day, ' he mourned. 'Eversince that blasted mouse-business--'

'Well, then, don't think, ' said Stalky. 'Or do you want Paddy to make arow about it before all the school?'

Here Vernon was understood to say that he would see Winton and all theschool somewhere else. 

'And if you imagine Perowne and Malpass and me are goin' to giveevidence at a prefects' meeting just to soothe your beastly conscience, you jolly well err, ' said Beetle. 'I know what you did. '

'What?' croaked Pater, out of the valley of his humiliation. 

'You went Berserk. I've read all about it in _Hypatia_. '

'What's "going Berserk"?' Winton asked. 

'Never you mind, ' was the reply. 'Now, don't you feel awfully weak andseedy?'

'I _am_ rather tired, ' said Winton, sighing. 

'That's what you ought to be. You've gone Berserk and pretty soon you'llgo to sleep. But you'll probably be liable to fits of it all your life, 'Beetle concluded. ''Shouldn't wonder if you murdered some one some day. '

'Shut up--you and your Berserks!' said Stalky. 'Go to Mullins now andget it over, Pater. '

'I call it filthy unjust of the Head, ' said Vernon. 'Anyhow, you'vegiven me my lickin', old man. I hope Pot'll give you yours. '

'I'm awfully sorry--awfully sorry, ' was Winton's last word. 

It was the custom in that consulship to deal with games' defaultersbetween five o'clock call-over and tea. Mullins, who was old enough topity, did not believe in letting boys wait through the night till thechill of the next morning for their punishments. He was finishing offthe last of the small fry and their excuses when Winton arrived. 

'But, please, Mullins'--this was Babcock tertius, a dear littletwelve-year-old mother's darling--'I had an awful hack on the knee. I'vebeen to the Matron about it and she gave me some iodine. I've beenrubbing it in all day. I thought that would be an excuse off. '

'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 youthe iodine. '

Babcock yelled loudly as he had many times before. The face of Jevons, aged eleven, a new boy that dark wet term, low in the House, low in theLower School, and lowest of all in his home-sick little mind turnedwhite at the horror of the sight. They could hear his working lips partstickily as Babcock wailed his way out of hearing. 

'Hullo, Jevons! What brings you here?' said Mullins. 

'Pl-ease, sir, I went for a walk with Babcock tertius. '

'Did you? Then I bet you went to the tuck-shop--and you paid, didn'tyou?'

A nod. Jevons was too terrified to speak. 

'Of course, and I bet Babcock told you that old Pot 'ud let you offbecause 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 what wascoming, laid him on the table with one hand, with the other gave himthree emphatic spanks, then held him high in air. 

'Now you tell Babcock tertius that he's got you a licking from me, andsee you jolly well pay it back to him. And when you're prefect of gamesdon't you let any one shirk his footer without a written excuse. Whered'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 next game, will you? Cut along. '

Jevons left, warm for the first time that day, enormously set up in hisown esteem, and very hot against the deceitful Babcock. 

Mullins turned to Winton. 'Your name's on the list, Pater. ' Wintonnodded. 

'I know it. The Head landed me with an impot for that mouse-business atmechanical drawing. No excuse. '

'He meant it then?' Mullins jerked his head delicately towards theground-ash on the table. 'I heard something about it. '

Winton nodded. 'A rotten thing to do, ' he said. 'Can't think what I wasdoing ever to do it. It counts against a fellow so; and there's somemore too--'

'All right, Pater. Just stand clear of our photo-bracket, will you?'

The little formality over, there was a pause. Winton swung round, yawnedin Pot's astonished face and staggered towards the window-seat. 

'What's the matter with you, Dick? Ill?'

'No. Perfectly all right, thanks. Only--only a little sleepy. ' Wintonstretched himself out, and then and there fell deeply andplacidly asleep. 

'It isn't a faint, ' said the experienced Mullins, 'or his pulse wouldn'tact. 'Tisn't a fit or he'd snort and twitch. It can't be sunstroke, thisterm, and he hasn't been over-training for anything. ' He opened Winton'scollar, packed a cushion under his head, threw a rug over him and satdown to listen to the regular breathing. Before long Stalky arrived, onpretence of borrowing a book. He looked at the window-seat. 

''Noticed anything wrong with Winton lately?' said Mullins. 

''Notice anything wrong with my beak?' Stalky replied. 'Pater wentBerserk after call-over, and fell on a lot of us for jesting with himabout 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 just now. Iexpect he'll be all right when he wakes up. Rummy business!Conscientious old bargee. You ought to have heard his apologies. '

'But Pater can't fight one little bit, ' Mullins repeated. 

''Twasn't fighting. He just tried to murder every one. ' Stalky describedthe affair, and when he left Mullins went off to take counsel with theHead, who, out of a cloud of blue smoke, told him that all would yetbe well. 

'Winton, ' said he, 'is a little stiff in his moral joints. He'll getover that. If he asks you whether to-day's doings will count againsthim in his--'

'But you know it's important to him, sir. His people aren't--very welloff, ' said Mullins. 

'That's why I'm taking all this trouble. You must reassure him, Pot. Ihave overcrowded him with new experiences. Oh, by the way, has hisCap come?'

'It came at dinner, sir. ' Mullins laughed. 

Sure enough, when he waked at tea-time, Winton proposed to take Mullinsall through every one of his day's lapses from grace, and 'Do you thinkit will count against me?' said he. 

'Don't you fuss so much about yourself and your silly career, ' saidMullins. 'You're all right. And oh--here's your First Cap at last. Shoveit up on the bracket and come on to tea. '

They met King on their way, stepping statelily and rubbing his hands. 'Ihave applied, ' said he, 'for the services of an additional sub-prefectin Carton's unlamented absence. Your name, Winton, seems to have foundfavour with the powers that be, and--and all things considered--I amdisposed to give my support to the nomination. You are therefore aquasi-lictor. '

'Then it didn't count against me, ' Winton gasped as soon as they wereout 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 his stiffneck and ran him down to the hall where the sub-prefects, who sit belowthe salt, made him welcome with the economical bloater-pasteof mid-term. 

King and little Hartopp were sparring in the Reverend John Gillett'sstudy at 10 P. M. --classical _versus_ modern as usual. 

'Character--proportion--background, ' snarled King. 'That is the essenceof the Humanities. '

'Analects of Confucius, ' little Hartopp answered. 

'Time, ' said the Reverend John behind the soda-water. 'You men oppressme. Hartopp, what did you say to Paddy in your dormitories to-night?Even _you_ couldn't have overlooked his face. '

'But I did, ' said Hartopp calmly. 'I wasn't even humorous about it assome clerics might have been. I went straight through and said naught. '

'Poor Paddy! Now, for my part, ' said King, 'and you know I am not lavishin my praises, I consider Winton a first-class type; absolutelyfirst-class. '

'Ha-ardly, ' said the Reverend John. 'First-class of the second class, Iadmit. The very best type of second class but'--he shook his head--'itshould have been a rat. Pater'll never be anything more than a Colonelof 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 a K. C. B. '

Ten o'clock struck and the Army class boys in the further studies comingto their houses after an hour's extra work passed along the gravel pathbelow. Some one was chanting, to the tune of 'White sand and grey sand, '_Dis te minorem quod geris imperas_. 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 the waits. Wehave come to inquire after the local Berserk. Is he doin' as well as canbe 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 been carriedto the sick-house in ravin' delirium. They think it's concussion ofthe brain. '

'Why, he was all right at prayers, ' Winton began earnestly, and theyheard a laugh in the background as Mullins slammed down the window. 

''Night, Regulus, ' Stalky sang out, and the light footsteps went on. 

'You see. It sticks. A little of it sticks among the barbarians, ' saidKing. 

'Amen, ' said the Reverend John. 'Go to bed. '

A TRANSLATION

HORACE, Bk. V. _Ode 3_

 There are whose study is of smells, And to attentive schools rehearse How something mixed with something else Makes something worse. 

 Some cultivate in broths impure The clients of our body--these, Increasing without Venus, cure, Or cause, disease. 

 Others the heated wheel extol, And all its offspring, whose concern Is how to make it farthest roll And fastest turn. 

 Me, much incurious if the hour Present, or to be paid for, brings Me to Brundusium by the power Of wheels or wings;

 Me, in whose breast no flame hath burned Life-long, save that by Pindar lit, Such lore leaves cold: I am not turned Aside to it

 More than when, sunk in thought profound Of what the unaltering Gods require, My steward (friend but slave) brings round Logs for my fire. 

The Edge of the Evening

(1913)

 Ah! What avails the classic bent, And what the chosen word, Against the undoctored incident That actually occurred?

 And what is Art whereto we press Through paint and prose and rhyme-- When Nature in her nakedness Defeats us every time?

'Hi! Hi! Hold your horses! Stop!. .. Well! Well!' A lean man in asable-lined overcoat leaped from a private car and barred my way up PallMall. 'You don't know me? You're excusable. I wasn't wearing much ofanything last time we met--in South Africa. '

The scales fell from my eyes, and I saw him once more in a sky-blue armyshirt, behind barbed wire, among Dutch prisoners bathing at Simonstown, more than a dozen years ago[3]. 'Why, it's Zigler--Laughton O. Zigler!'I cried. 'Well, I _am_ glad to see you. '

[Footnote 3: 'The Captive': _Traffics and Discoveries_. ]

'Oh no! You don't work any of your English on me. "So glad to see you, doncher know--an' ta-ta!" Do you reside in this village?'

'No. I'm up here buying stores. '

'Then you take my automobile. Where to?. .. Oh, I know _them_! My LordMarshalton is one of the Directors. Pigott, drive to the Army and NavyCooperative Supply Association Limited, Victoria Street, Westminister. '

He settled himself on the deep dove-colour pneumatic cushions, and hissmile was like the turning on of all the electrics. His teeth werewhiter than the ivory fittings. He smelt of rare soap andcigarettes--such cigarettes as he handed me from a golden box with anautomatic lighter. On my side of the car was a gold-mounted mirror, cardand toilette case. I looked at him inquiringly. 

'Yes, ' he nodded, 'two years after I quit the Cape. She's not an Ohiogirl, though. She's in the country now. Is that right? She's at ourlittle place in the country. We'll go there as soon as you're throughwith your grocery-list. Engagements? The only engagement you've got isto grab your grip--get your bag from your hotel, I mean--and come rightalong and meet her. You are the captive of _my_ bow and spear now. '

'I surrender, ' I said meekly. 'Did the Zigler automatic gun do allthis?' I pointed to the car fittings. 

'Psha! Think of your rememberin' that! Well, no. The Zigler is a greatgun--the greatest ever--but life's too short, an' too interestin', tosquander on pushing her in military society. I've leased my rights inher to a Pennsylvanian-Transylvanian citizen full of mentality and moraluplift. If those things weigh with the Chancelleries of Europe, he willmake good and--I shall be surprised. Excuse me!'

He bared his head as we passed the statue of the Great Queen outsideBuckingham Palace. 

'A very great lady!' said he. 'I have enjoyed her hospitality. Sherepresents one of the most wonderful institutions in the world. The nextis the one we are going to. Mrs. Zigler uses 'em, and they break her upevery week on returned empties. '

'Oh, you mean the Stores?' I said. 

'Mrs. Zigler means it more. They are quite ambassadorial in theiroutlook. I guess I'll wait outside and pray while you wrestle with 'em. '

My business at the Stores finished, and my bag retrieved from the hotel, his moving palace slid us into the country. 

'I owe it to you, ' Zigler began as smoothly as the car, 'to tell youwhat I am now. I represent the business end of the American Invasion. Not the blame cars themselves--I wouldn't be found dead in one--but thetools that make 'em. I am the Zigler Higher-Speed Tool and Lathe Trust. The Trust, sir, is entirely my own--in my own inventions. I am theRenzalaer ten-cylinder aërial--the lightest aeroplane-engine on themarket--one price, one power, one guarantee. I am the OrlebarPaper-welt, Pulp-panel Company for aeroplane bodies; and I am the RushSilencer for military aeroplanes--absolutely silent--which the Continentleases under royalty. With three exceptions, the British aren't wise toit yet. That's all I represent at present. You saw me take off my hatto your late Queen? I owe every cent I have to that great an' good Lady. Yes, sir, I came out of Africa, after my eighteen months' rest-cure andopen-air treatment and sea-bathing, as her prisoner of war, like a giantrefreshed. There wasn't anything could hold me, when I'd got my hooksinto it, after that experience. And to you as a representative Britishcitizen, I say here and now that I regard you as the founder of thefamily fortune--Tommy's and mine. '

'But I only gave you some papers and tobacco. '

'What more does any citizen need? The Cullinan diamond wouldn't havehelped me as much then; an'--talking about South Africa, tell me--'

We talked about South Africa till the car stopped at the Georgian lodgeof a great park. 

'We'll get out here. I want to show you a rather sightly view, ' saidZigler. 

We walked, perhaps, half a mile, across timber-dotted turf, past a lake, entered a dark rhododendron-planted wood, ticking with the noise ofpheasants' feet, and came out suddenly, where five rides met, at a smallclassic temple between lichened stucco statues which faced a circle ofturf, several acres in extent. Irish yews, of a size that I had neverseen before, walled the sunless circle like cliffs of riven obsidian, except at the lower end, where it gave on to a stretch of undulatingbare ground ending in a timbered slope half-a-mile away. 

'That's where the old Marshalton race-course used to be, ' said Zigler. 'That ice-house is called Flora's Temple. Nell Gwynne and Mrs. Siddonsan' Taglioni an' all that crowd used to act plays here for King Georgethe Third. Wasn't it? Well, George is the only king I play. Let it go atthat. This circle was the stage, I guess. The kings an' the nobility satin Flora's Temple. I forget who sculped these statues at the door. They're the Comic and Tragic Muse. But it's a sightly view, ain't it?'

The sunlight was leaving the park. I caught a glint of silver to thesouthward beyond the wooded ridge. 

'That's the ocean--the Channel, I mean, ' said Zigler. 'It's twenty-threemiles as a man flies. A sightly view, ain't it?'

I looked at the severe yews, the dumb yelling mouths of the two statues, at the blue-green shadows on the unsunned grass, and at the still brightplain in front where some deer were feeding. 

'It's a most dramatic contrast, but I think it would be better on asummer's day, ' I said, and we went on, up one of the noiseless rides, aquarter of a mile at least, till we came to the porticoed front of anenormous Georgian pile. Four footmen revealed themselves in a hall hungwith pictures. 

'I hired this off of my Lord Marshalton, ' Zigler explained, while theyhelped us out of our coats under the severe eyes of ruffed andperiwigged ancestors. 'Ya-as. They always look at _me_ too, as if I'dblown in from the gutter. Which, of course, I have. That's Mary, LadyMarshalton. Old man Joshua painted her. Do you see any likeness to myLord Marshalton? Why, haven't you ever met up with him? He was CaptainMankeltow--my Royal British Artillery captain that blew up my gun in thewar, an' then tried to bury me against my religious principles[4]. Ya-as. His father died and he got the lordship. That was about all hegot by the time that your British death-duties were through with him. Sohe said I'd oblige him by hiring his ranch. It's a hell an' a half of aproposition to handle, but Tommy--Mrs. Laughton--understands it. Comeright in to the parlour and be very welcome. '

[Footnote 4: "The Captive": _Traffics and Discoveries_. ]

He guided me, hand on shoulder, into a babble of high-pitched talk andlaughter that filled a vast drawing-room. He introduced me as thefounder of the family fortunes to a little, lithe, dark-eyed woman whosespeech and greeting were of the soft-lipped South. She in turn presentedme to her mother, a black-browed snowy-haired old lady with a cap ofpriceless Venetian point, hands that must have held many hearts in theirtime, and a dignity as unquestioned and unquestioning as an empress. Shewas, indeed, a Burton of Savannah, who, on their own ground, out-rankthe Lees of Virginia. The rest of the company came from Buffalo, Cincinnati, Cleveland and Chicago, with here and there a softeningsouthern strain. A party of young folk popped corn beneath a mantelpiecesurmounted by a Gainsborough. Two portly men, half hidden by a casedharp, discussed, over sheaves of typewritten documents, the terms ofsome contract. A knot of matrons talked servants--Irish _versus_German--across the grand piano. A youth ravaged an old bookcase, whilebeside him a tall girl stared at the portrait of a woman of many loves, dead three hundred years, but now leaping to life and warning under theshaded frame-light. In a corner half-a-dozen girls examined the glazedtables that held the decorations--English and foreign--of the late LordMarshalton. 

'See heah! Would this be the Ordeh of the Gyartah?' one said, pointing. 

'I presoom likely. No! The Garter has "_Honey swore_"--I know that much. This is "Tria juncta" something. '

'Oh, what's that cunning little copper cross with "For Valurr"?' a thirdcried. 

'Say! Look at here!' said the young man at the bookcase. 'Here's a firstedition of _Handley Cross_ and a Beewick's _Birds_ right next toit--just like so many best sellers. Look, Maidie!'

The girl beneath the picture half turned her body but not her eyes. 

'You don't tell _me_!' she said slowly. 'Their women amounted tosomething after all. '

'But Woman's scope, and outlook was vurry limmutted in those days, ' oneof the matrons put in, from the piano. 

'Limmutted? For _her_? If they whurr, I guess she was the limmut. Whowas she? Peters, whurr's the cat'log?'

A thin butler, in charge of two footmen removing the tea-batteries, slidto a table and handed her a blue-and-qilt book. He was button-holed byone of the men behind the harp, who wished to get a telephone callthrough to Edinburgh. 

'The local office shuts at six, ' said Peters. 'But I can get throughto'--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 early morningtrain to-morrow--but the other one--on the other line--whateverthey call it. '

'The nine twenty-seven, sir. Yes, sir. Early breakfast will be athalf-past eight and the car will be at the door at nine. '

'Peters!' an imperious young voice called. 'What's the matteh with LordMarshalton's Ordeh of the Gyartah? We cyan't find it anyweah. '

'Well, miss, I _have_ heard that that Order is usually returned to HisMajesty on the death of the holder. Yes, miss. ' Then in a whisper to afootman, 'More butter for the pop-corn in King Charles's Corner. ' Hestopped behind my chair. 'Your room is Number Eleven, sir. May I troubleyou 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 dressing fordinner. 'Not at all, sir, ' he replied to some compliment I paid him. 'Ivaleted the late Lord Marshalton for fifteen years. He was very abruptin his movements, sir. As a rule I never received more than an hour'snotice of a journey. We used to go to Syria frequently. I have beentwice to Babylon. Mr. And Mrs. Zigler's requirements are, comparativelyspeaking, few. '

'But the guests?'

'Very little out of the ordinary as soon as one knows their ordinaries. Extremely simple, if I may say so, sir. '

I had the privilege of taking Mrs. Burton in to dinner, and was rewardedwith an entirely new, and to me rather shocking view, of AbrahamLincoln, who, she said, had wasted the heritage of his land by blood andfire, and had surrendered the remnant to aliens. 'My brother, suh, ' shesaid, 'fell at Gettysburg in order that Armenians should colonise NewEngland to-day. If I took any interest in any dam-Yankee outside of myson-in-law Laughton yondah, I should say that my brother's death hadbeen amply avenged. '

The man at her right took up the challenge, and the war spread. Her eyestwinkled over the flames she had lit. 

'Don't these folk, ' she said a little later, 'remind you of Arabspicnicking 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 I laughed, 'Are you?'

'Always. It saves trouble. '

'Now that's just what I find so significant among the English'--this wasAlice's mother, I think, with one elbow well forward among the saltedalmonds. 'Oh, I know how _you_ feel, Madam Burton, but a Northernerlike myself--I'm Buffalo--even though we come over every year--noticesthe desire for comfort in England. There's so little conflict or upliftin British society. '

'But we like being comfortable, ' I said. 

'I know it. It's very characteristic. But ain't it a little, just alittle, lacking in adaptability an' imagination?'

'They haven't any need for adaptability, ' Madam Burton struck in. 'Theyhaven'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 as the blessedword 'assimilation' woke up all the old arguments for and against. 

There was not a dull moment in that dinner for me--nor afterwards whenthe boys and girls at the piano played the rag-time tunes of their ownland, while their elders, inexhaustibly interested, replunged into thediscussion of that land's future, till there was talk of coon-can. Whenall the company had been set to tables Zigler led me into his book-linedstudy, where I noticed he kept his golf-clubs, and spoke simply as achild, gravely as a bishop, of the years that were past since ourlast meeting. 

'That's about all, I guess--up to date, ' he said when he had unrolledthe bright map of his fortunes across three continents. 'Bein' richsuits me. So does your country, sir. My own country? You heard whatthat Detroit man said at dinner. "A Government of the alien, by thealien, for the alien. " Mother's right, too. Lincoln killed us. From thehighest motives--but he killed us. Oh, say, that reminds me. 'J'everkill a man from the highest motives?'

'Not from any motive--as far as I remember. '

'Well, I have. It don't weigh on my mind any, but it was interesting. Life _is_ interesting for a rich--for any--man in England. Ya-as! Lifein England is like settin' in the front row at the theatre and neverknowin' when the whole blame drama won't spill itself into your lap. Ididn't always know that. I lie abed now, and I blush to think of some ofthe breaks I made in South Africa. About the British. Not your officialmethod of doin' business. But the Spirit. I was 'way, 'way off on theSpirit. Are you acquainted with any other country where you'd have tokill a man or two to get at the National Spirit?'

'Well, ' I answered, 'next to marrying one of its women, killing one ofits men makes for pretty close intimacy with any country. I take it youkilled a British citizen. '

'Why, no. Our syndicate confined its operations to aliens--dam-foolaliens. .. . 'J'ever know an English lord called Lundie[5]? Looks like aframe-food and soap advertisement. I imagine he was in your SupremeCourt before he came into his lordship. '

[Footnote 5: 'The Puzzler': _Actions and Reactions_. ]

'He is a lawyer--what we call a Law Lord--a Judge of Appeal--not a realhereditary lord. '

'That's as much beyond me as _this_!' Zigler slapped a fat Debrett onthe table. 'But I presoom this unreal Law Lord Lundie is kind o' real inhis decisions? I judged so. And--one more question. 'Ever meet a mancalled Walen?'

'D'you mean Burton-Walen, the editor of--?' I mentioned the journal. 

'That's him. 'Looks like a tough, talks like a Maxim, and trains withkings. '

'He does, ' I said. 'Burton-Walen knows all the crowned heads of Europeintimately. It's his hobby. '

'Well, there's the whole outfit for you--exceptin' my Lord Marshalton, _né_ Mankeltow, an' me. All active murderers--specially the Law Lord--oraccessories after the fact. And what do they hand you out for _that_, inthis country?'

'Twenty years, I believe, ' was my reply. 

He reflected a moment. 

'No-o-o, ' he said, and followed it with a smoke-ring. 'Twenty months atthe Cape is my limit. Say, murder ain't the soul-shatterin' event thosenature-fakers in the magazines make out. It develops naturally like anyother proposition. .. . Say, 'j'ever play this golf game? It's come up inthe States from Maine to California, an' we're prodoocin' all thechampions in sight. Not a business man's play, but interestin'. I've gota golf-links in the park here that they tell me is the finest inlandcourse ever. I had to pay extra for that when I hired the ranche--lastyear. It was just before I signed the papers that our murdereventuated. My Lord Marshalton he asked me down for the week-end to fixup something or other--about Peters and the linen, I think 'twas. Mrs. Zigler took a holt of the proposition. She understood Peters from theword "go. " There wasn't any house-party; only fifteen or twenty folk. Afull house is thirty-two, Tommy tells me. 'Guess we must be near on thatto-night. In the smoking-room here, my Lord Marshalton--Mankeltow thatwas--introduces me to this Walen man with the nose. He'd been in the Wartoo, from start to finish. He knew all the columns and generals that I'dbattled with in the days of my Zigler gun. We kinder fell into eachother's arms an' let the harsh world go by for a while. 

'Walen he introduces me to your Lord Lundie. _He_ was a new propositionto me. If he hadn't been a lawyer he'd have made a lovely cattle-king. Ithought I had played poker some. Another of my breaks. Ya-as! It cost meeleven hundred dollars besides what Tommy said when I retired. I have nofault to find with your hereditary aristocracy, or your judiciary, oryour press. 

'Sunday we all went to Church across the Park here. .. . Psha! Think o'your rememberin' my religion! I've become an Episcopalian since Imarried. Ya-as. .. . After lunch Walen did his crowned-heads-of-Europestunt in the smokin'-room here. He was long on Kings. And Continentalcrises. I do not pretend to follow British domestic politics, but in theaeroplane business a man has to know something of internationalpossibilities. At present, you British are settin' in kimonoes ondynamite kegs. Walen's talk put me wise on the location and size of someof the kegs. Ya-as!

'After that, we four went out to look at those golf-links I was hirin'. We each took a club. Mine'--he glanced at a great tan bag by thefire-place--'was the beginner's friend--the cleek. Well, sir, this golfproposition took a holt of me as quick as--quick as death. They had toprise me off the greens when it got too dark to see, and then we wentback to the house. I was walkin' ahead with my Lord Marshalton talkin'beginners' golf. (_I_ was the man who ought to have been killed byrights. ) We cut 'cross lots through the woods to Flora's Temple--thatplace I showed you this afternoon. Lundie and Walen were, maybe, twentyor thirty rod behind us in the dark. Marshalton and I stopped at thetheatre to admire 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--and downcomes a bi-plane into the theatre with no more noise than the dead. MyRush Silencer is the only one on the market that allows that sort ofgumshoe work. .. . What? A bi-plane--with two men in it. Both men jump outand start fussin' with the engines. I was starting to tell Mankeltow--Ican't remember to call him Marshalton any more--that it looked as if theRoyal British Flying Corps had got on to my Rush Silencer at last; buthe steps out from under the yew to these two Stealthy Steves and says, "What's the trouble? Can I be of any service?" He thought--so didI--'twas some of the boys from Aldershot or Salisbury. Well, sir, fromthere on, the situation developed like a motion-picture in Hell. The manon the nigh side of the machine whirls round, pulls his gun and firesinto Mankeltow'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'm withinreach. He drops. Mankeltow rubs his neck with his handkerchief. The manthe far side of the machine starts to run. Lundie down the ride, or itmight have been Walen, shouts, "What's happened?" Mankeltow says, "Collar that chap. "

'The second man runs ring-a-ring-o'-roses round the machine, one handreachin' behind him. Mankeltow heads him off to me. He breaks blind forWalen and Lundie, who are runnin' up the ride. There's some sort ofmix-up among 'em, which it's too dark to see, and a thud. Walen says, "Oh, well collared!" Lundie says, "That's the only thing I never learnedat Harrow!". .. Mankeltow runs up to 'em, still rubbin' his neck, andsays, "_He_ didn't fire at me. It was 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't breathin'at all. Didn't you hear somethin' crack when he lit, Lundie?"

'"My God!" says Lundie. "Did I? I thought it was my suspenders"--no, hesaid "braces. "

'Right there I left them and sort o' tiptoed back to my man, hopin' he'drevived and quit. But he hadn't. That darned cleek had hit him on theback of the neck just where his helmet stopped. He'd got _his_. I knewit by the way the head rolled in my hands. Then the others came up theride totin' _their_ load. No mistakin' that shuffle on grass. D'youremember it--in South Africa? Ya-as. 

'"Hsh!" says Lundie. "Do you know I've broken this man's neck?"

'"Same here, " I says. 

'"What? Both?" says Mankeltow. 

'"Nonsense!" says Lord Lundie. "Who'd have thought he was that out oftraining? A man oughtn't to fly if he ain't fit. "

'"What did they want here, anyway?" said Walen; and Mankeltow says, "Wecan't leave them in the open. Some one'll come. Carry 'em toFlora's Temple. "

We toted 'em again and laid 'em out on a stone bench. They were stilldead in spite of our best attentions. We knew it, but we went throughthe motions till it was quite dark. 'Wonder if all murderers do that?"We want a light on this, " says Walen after a spell. "There ought to beone in the machine. Why didn't they light it?"

'We came out of Flora's Temple, and shut the doors behind us. Somestars were showing then--same as when Cain did his little act, I guess. I climbed up and searched the machine. She was very well equipped, Ifound two electric torches in clips alongside her barometers by therear seat. 

'"What make is she?" says Mankeltow. 

'"Continental Renzalaer, " I says. "My engines and my Rush Silencer. "

'Walen whistles. "Here--let me look, " he says, and grabs the othertorch. She was sure well equipped. We gathered up an armful of camerasan' maps an' note-books an' an album of mounted photographs which wetook to Flora's Temple and spread on a marble-topped table (I'll showyou to-morrow) which the King of Naples had presented to grandfatherMarshalton. Walen starts to go through 'em. We wanted to know why ourfriends had been so prejudiced against our society. 

'"Wait a minute, " says Lord Lundie. "Lend me a handkerchief. "

'He pulls out his own, and Walen contributes his green-and-red bandanna, and Lundie covers their faces. "Now, " he says, "we'll go into theevidence. "

'There wasn't any flaw in that evidence. Walen read out their lastobservations, and Mankeltow asked questions, and Lord Lundie sort o'summarised, and I looked at the photos in the album. 'J'ever see abird's-eye telephoto-survey of England for military purposes? It'sinterestin' but indecent--like turnin' a man upside down. None of thoseclose-range panoramas of forts could have been taken without myRush Silencer. 

'"I wish _we_ was as thorough as they are, " says Mankeltow, when Walenstopped translatin'. 

'"We've been thorough enough, " says Lord Lundie. "The evidence againstboth accused is conclusive. Any other country would give 'em seven yearsin a fortress. We should probably give 'em eighteen months asfirst-class misdemeanants. But their case, " he says, "is out of ourhands. We must review our own. Mr. Zigler, " he said, "will you tell uswhat steps you took to bring about the death of the first accused?" Itold him. He wanted to know specially whether I'd stretched firstaccused before or after he had fired at Mankeltow. Mankeltow testifiedhe'd been shot at, and exhibited his neck as evidence. It was scorched. 

'"Now, Mr. Walen, " says Lord Lundie. "Will you kindly tell us what stepsyou took with regard to the second accused?"

'"The man ran directly at me, me lord, " says Walen. "I said, 'Oh no, youdon't, ' and hit him in the face. "

'Lord Lundie lifts one hand and uncovers second accused's face. Therewas a bruise on one cheek and the chin was all greened with grass. Hewas 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 round theankles, " he says. "The sudden check threw him partially over my leftshoulder. I jerked him off that shoulder, still holding his ankles, andhe fell heavily on, it would appear, the point of his chin, death beinginstantaneous. "

'"Death being instantaneous, " says Walen. 

'Lord Lundie takes off his gown and wig--you could see him do it--andbecomes our fellow-murderer. "That's our case, " he says. "I know how _I_should direct the jury, but it's an undignified business for a Lord ofAppeal to lift his hand to, and some of my learned brothers, " he says, "might be disposed to be facetious. "

'I guess I can't be properly sensitised. Any one who steered me out ofthat trouble might have had the laugh on me for generations. But I'monly a millionaire. I said we'd better search second accused in casehe'd been carryin' concealed weapons. 

'"That certainly is a point, " says Lord Lundie. "But the question forthe jury would be whether I exercised more force than was necessary toprevent him from usin' them. " _I_ didn't say anything. He wasn't talkin'my language. Second accused had his gun on him sure enough, but it hadjammed in his hip-pocket. He was too fleshy to reach behind for businesspurposes, and he didn't look a gun-man anyway. Both of 'em carried wadsof private letters. By the time Walen had translated, we knew how manychildren the fat one had at home and when the thin one reckoned to bemarried. Too bad! Ya-as. 

'Says Walen to me while we was rebuttonin' their jackets (they was notin 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 it now, Iassure you. "

'"I'll remember, " I says. "But I don't see how this song and dance helpsus any. Here's our corpses, here's their machine, and daylight'sbound to come. "

'"Heavens! That reminds me, " says Lundie. "What time's dinner?"

'"Half-past eight, " says Mankeltow. "It's half-past five now. We knockedoff golf at twenty to, and if they hadn't been such silly asses, firin'pistols like civilians, we'd have had them to dinner. Why, they might besitting with us in the smoking-room this very minute, " he says. Then hesaid that no man had a right to take his profession so seriously asthese two mountebanks. 

'"How interestin'!" says Lundie. "I've noticed this impatient attitudetoward their victim in a good many murderers. I never understood itbefore. Of course, it's the disposal of the body that annoys 'em. Now, Iwonder, " he says, "who our case will come up before? Let's run throughit again. "

'Then Walen whirls in. He'd been bitin' his nails in a corner. We wasall nerved up by now. .. . Me? The worst of the bunch. I had to think forTommy as well. 

'"We _can't_ be tried, " says Walen. "We _mustn't_ be tried! It'll makean infernal international stink. What did I tell you in the smoking-roomafter lunch? The tension's at breaking-point already. This 'ud snap it. Can't you see that?"

'"I was thinking of the legal aspect of the case, " says Lundie. "With agood jury we'd likely be acquitted. "

'"Acquitted!" says Walen. "Who'd dare acquit us in the face of what 'udbe demanded by--the other party? Did you ever hear of the War ofJenkins' ear? 'Ever hear of Mason and Slidel? 'Ever hear of anultimatum? You know who _these_ two idiots are; you know who _we_ are--aLord of Appeal, a Viscount of the English peerage, and me--_me_ knowingall I know, which the men who know dam' well know that I _do_ know! It'sour necks or Armageddon. Which do you think this Government wouldchoose? We _can't_ be tried!" he says. 

'"Then I expect I'll have to resign me club, " Lundie goes on. "I don'tthink that's ever been done before by an _ex-officio_ member. I must askthe secretary. " I guess he was kinder bunkered for the minute, or maybe'twas the lordship comin' out on him. 

'"Rot!" says Mankeltow. "Walen's right. We can't afford to be tried. We'll have to bury them; but my head-gardener locks up all the tools atfive o'clock. "

'"Not on your life!" says Lundie. He was on deck again--as thehigh-class lawyer. "Right or wrong, if we attempt concealment of thebodies we're done for. "

"'I'm glad of that, " says Mankeltow, "because, after all, it ain'tcricket to bury 'em. "

'Somehow--but I know I ain't English--that consideration didn't worryme as it ought. An' besides, I was thinkin'--I had to--an' I'd begun tosee a light 'way off--a little glimmerin' light o' salvation. 

'"Then what _are_ we to do?" says Walen. "Zigler, what do you advise?Your neck's in it too. "

'"Gentlemen, " I says, "something Lord Lundie let fall a while back givesme an idea. I move that this committee empowers Big Claus and LittleClaus, who have elected to commit suicide in our midst, to leave thepremises _as_ they came. I'm asking you to take big chances, " I says, "but they're all we've got, " and then I broke for the bi-plane. 

'Don't tell me the English can't think as quick as the next man whenit's up to them! They lifted 'em out o' Flora's Temple--reverent, butnot wastin' time--whilst I found out what had brought her down. Onecylinder was misfirin'. I didn't stop to fix it. My Renzalaer will holdup on six. We've proved that. If her crew had relied on my guarantees, they'd have been half-way home by then, instead of takin' their seatswith hangin' heads like they was ashamed. They ought to have beenashamed too, playin' gun-men in a British peer's park! I took bigchances startin' her without controls, but 'twas a dead still night an'a clear run--you saw it--across the Theatre into the park, and I prayedshe'd rise before she hit high timber. I set her all I dared for a quicklift. 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 her and Iworked her up to full power. My Renzalaer's no ventilation-fan to pullagainst. But I climbed out just in time. I'd hitched the signallin' lampto her tail so's we could track her. Otherwise, with my Rush Silencer, we might's well have shooed an owl out of a barn. She left just that waywhen we let her go. No sound except the propellers--_Whoo-oo-oo!Whoo-oo-oo!_ There was a dip in the ground ahead. It hid her lamp for asecond--but there's no such thing as time in real life. Then that lamptravelled up the far slope slow--too slow. Then it kinder lifted, wejudged. Then it sure was liftin'. Then it lifted good. D'you know why?Our four naked perspirin' souls was out there underneath her, hikin' herheavens high. Yes, sir. _We_ did it!. .. And that lamp kept liftin' andliftin'. Then she side-slipped! My God, she side-slipped twice, whichwas what I'd been afraid of all along! Then she straightened up, andwent away climbin' to glory, for that blessed star of our hope gotsmaller and smaller till we couldn't track it any more. Then webreathed. We hadn't breathed any since their arrival, but we didn't knowit till we breathed that time--all together. Then we dug ourfinger-nails out of our palms an' came alive again--in instalments. 

'Lundie spoke first. "We therefore commit their bodies to the air, " hesays, an' puts his cap on. 

'"The deep--the deep, " says Walen. "It's just twenty-three miles to theChannel. "

'"Poor chaps! Poor chaps!" says Mankeltow. "We'd have had 'em to dinnerif they hadn't lost their heads. I can't tell you how this distressesme, Laughton. "

'"Well, look at here, Arthur, " I says. "It's only God's Own Mercy youan' me ain't lyin' in Flora's Temple now, and if that fat man had knownenough to fetch his gun around while he was runnin', Lord Lundie andWalen would have been alongside us. "

'"I see that, " he says. "But we're alive and they're dead, don't yeknow. "

'"I know it, " I says. "That's where the dead are always so damned unfairon the survivors. "

'"I see that too, " he says. "But I'd have given a good deal if it hadn'thappened, poor chaps!"

'"Amen!" says Lundie. Then? Oh, then we sorter walked back two an' twoto Flora's Temple an' lit matches to see we hadn't left anything behind. Walen, he had confiscated the note-books before they left. There was thefirst man's pistol which we'd forgot to return him, lyin' on the stonebench. Mankeltow puts his hand on it--he never touched the trigger--an', bein' an automatic, of course the blame thing jarred off--spiteful asa rattler!

'"Look out! They'll have one of us yet, " says Walen in the dark. Butthey didn't--the Lord hadn't quit being our shepherd--and we heard thebullet 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? I neverworried about killing _my_ man. I was too busy figurin' how a Britishjury might regard the proposition. I guess Lundie felt that way too. 

'Oh, but say! We had an interestin' time at dinner. Folks was expectedwhose auto had hung up on the road. They hadn't wired, and Peters hadlaid two extra places. We noticed 'em as soon as we sat down. I'd hateto say how noticeable they were. Mankeltow with his neck bandaged (he'dcaught a relaxed throat golfin') sent for Peters and told him to takethose empty places away--_if you please_. It takes something to rattlePeters. He was rattled that 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 and girls aredoin?' But say, ain't life in England inter_es_tin'?

 REBIRTH

 If any God should say "I will restore The world her yesterday Whole as before My Judgment blasted it"--who would not lift Heart, eye, and hand in passion o'er the gift?

 If any God should will To wipe from mind The memory of this ill Which is mankind In soul and substance now--who would not bless Even to tears His loving-tenderness?

 If any God should give Us leave to fly These present deaths we live, And safely die In those lost lives we lived ere we were born-- What man but would not laugh the excuse to scorn?

 For we are what we are-- So broke to blood And the strict works of war-- So long subdued To sacrifice, that threadbare Death commands Hardly observance at our busier hands. 

 Yet we were what we were, And, fashioned so, It pleases us to stare At the far show Of unbelievable years and shapes that flit, In our own likeness, on the edge of it. 

The Horse Marines

(1911)

_The Rt. Hon. R. B. Haldane, Secretary of State for War[6], wasquestioned in the House of Commons on April 8th about the rocking-horseswhich the War Office is using for the purpose of teaching recruits toride. Lord Ronaldshay asked the War Secretary if rocking-horses were tobe supplied to all the cavalry regiments for teaching recruits to ride. 'The noble Lord, ' replied Mr. Haldane, 'is doubtless alluding to certaindummy horses on rockers which have been tested with very satisfactoryresults. '. .. The mechanical steed is a wooden horse with an astonishingtail. It is painted brown and mounted on swinging rails. The recruitleaps into the saddle and pulls at the reins while the riding-instructorrocks the animal to and fro with his foot. The rocking-horses are beingmade at Woolwich. They are quite cheap_. 

--Daily Paper. 

[Footnote 6: Now Viscount Haldane of Cloan. ]

My instructions to Mr. Leggatt, my engineer, had been accurately obeyed. He was to bring my car on completion of annual overhaul, from Coventry_via_ London, to Southampton Docks to await my arrival; and very prettyshe looked, under the steamer's side among the railway lines, at six inthe morning. Next to her new paint and varnish I was most impressed byher four brand-new tyres. 

'But I didn't order new tyres, ' I said as we moved away. 'These areIrresilients, 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 I askedLeggatt for an explanation. 

'I don't know that I could very well explain, sir, ' was the answer. 'It'ud come better from Mr. Pyecroft. He's on leaf at Portsmouth--stayingwith his uncle. His uncle 'ad the body all night. I'd defy you to find ascratch on her even with a microscope. '

'Then we will go home by the Portsmouth road, ' I said. 

And we went at those speeds which are allowed before the working-daybegins or the police are thawed out. We were blocked near Portsmouth bya battalion of Regulars on the move. 

'Whitsuntide manoeuvres just ending, ' said Leggatt. 'They've had afortnight in the Downs. '

He said no more until we were in a narrow street somewhere behindPortsmouth Town Railway Station, where he slowed at a green-groceryshop. The door was open, and a small old man sat on three potato-basketsswinging his feet over a stooping blue back. 

'You call that shinin' 'em?' he piped. 'Can you see your face in 'emyet? No! Then shine 'em, or I'll give you a beltin' you'll remember!'

'If you stop kickin' me in the mouth perhaps I'd do better, ' saidPyecroft's voice meekly. 

We blew the horn. 

Pyecroft arose, put away the brushes, and received us not otherwise thanas a king in his own country. 

'Are you going to leave me up here all day?' said the old man. 

Pyecroft lifted him down and he hobbled into the back room. 

'It's his corns, ' Pyecroft explained. 'You can't shine corny feet--andhe 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's half-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'--he patted mycar's bonnet--'you earned 'em. '

'I want to know why--, ' I went on. 

'Quite justifiable. You haven't noticed anything in the papers, haveyou?'

'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 in theJunior Service--the Army, I believe they call 'em. '

A bag of coffee-beans pitched on the counter. 'Roast that, ' said theuncle from within. 

Pyecroft rigged a small coffee-roaster, while I took down the shutters, and sold a young lady in curl-papers two bunches of mixed greens and onesoft orange. 

'Sickly stuff to handle on an empty stomach, ain't it?' said Pyecroft. 

'What about my new tyres?' I insisted. 

'Oh, any amount. But the question is'--he looked at me steadily--'isthis what you might call a court-martial or a post-mortem inquiry?'

'Strictly a post-mortem, ' said I. 

'That being so, ' said Pyecroft, 'we can rapidly arrive at facts. LastThursday--the shutters go behind those baskets--last Thursday at fivebells in the forenoon watch, otherwise ten-thirty A. M. , your Mr. Leggattwas discovered on Westminster Bridge laying his course for the OldKent Road. '

'But that doesn't lead to Southampton, ' I interrupted. 

'Then perhaps he was swinging the car for compasses. Be that as it may, we found him in that latitude, simultaneous as Jules and me was _ongroute_ for Waterloo to rejoin our respective ships--or Navies I shouldsay. Jules was a _permissionaire_, which meant being on leaf, same asme, from a French cassowary-cruiser at Portsmouth. A party of her trustyand well-beloved petty officers 'ad been seeing London, chaperoned bythe R. C. Chaplain. Jules 'ad detached himself from the squadron and wascruisin' on his own when I joined him, in company of copiouslady-friends. _But_, mark you, your Mr. Leggatt drew the line at thegirls. 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 know the pub--"I_am_ going to Southampton, " he says, "and I'll stretch a point to go_via_ Portsmouth; _but_, " says he, "seeing what sort of one hell of atime invariably trarnspires when we cruise together, Mr. Pyecroft, I do_not_ feel myself justified towards my generous and long-sufferingemployer in takin' on that kind of ballast as well. " I assure you heconsidered your interests. '

'And the girls?' I asked. 

'Oh, I left that to Jules. I'm a monogomite by nature. So we embarkedstrictly _ong garçong_. But I should tell you, in case he didn't, thatyour Mr. Leggatt's care for your interests 'ad extended to sheathing thecar in matting and gunny-bags to preserve her paint-work. She was allswathed up like an I-talian baby. '

'He _is_ careful about his paint-work, ' I said. 

'For a man with no Service experience I should say he was fair homicidalon the subject. If we'd been Marines he couldn't have been more pointedin his allusions to our hob-nailed socks. However, we reduced him to amalleable condition, and embarked for Portsmouth. I'd seldom rejoinedmy _vaisseau ong automobile, avec_ a fur coat and goggles. Nor'ad Jules. '

'Did Jules say much?' I asked, helplessly turning the handle of thecoffee-roaster. 

'That's where I pitied the pore beggar. He 'adn't the language, so tospeak. He was confined to heavings and shruggin's and copious _MongJews_! The French are very badly fitted with relief-valves. And then ourMr. Leggatt drove. He drove. '

'Was he in a very malleable condition?'

'Not him! We recognised the value of his cargo from the outset. Hehadn't a chance to get more than moist at the edges. After which we wentto sleep; and now we'll go to breakfast. '

We entered the back room where everything was in order, and a screechingcanary made us welcome. The uncle had added sausages and piles ofbuttered toast to the kippers. The coffee, cleared with a piece offish-skin, was a revelation. 

Leggatt, who seemed to know the premises, had run the car into the tinybackyard where her mirror-like back almost blocked up the windows. Heminded shop while we ate. Pyecroft passed him his rations through a flapin the door. The uncle ordered him in, after breakfast, to wash up, andhe jumped in his gaiters at the old man's commands as he has neverjumped to mine. 

'To resoom the post-mortem, ' said Pyecroft, lighting his pipe. 'Myslumbers were broken by the propeller ceasing to revolve, and by vilelanguage from your Mr. Leggatt. '

'I--I--' Leggatt began, a blue-checked duster in one hand and a cup inthe other. 

'When you're wanted aft you'll be sent for, Mr. Leggatt, ' said Pyecroftamiably. 'It's clean mess decks for you now. Resooming once more, we wason a lonely and desolate ocean near Portsdown, surrounded by gorsebushes, and a Boy Scout was stirring my stomach with his littlecopper-stick. '

'"You count ten, " he says. 

'"Very good, Boy Jones, " I says, "count 'em, " and I hauled him in overthe gunnel, and ten I gave him with my large flat hand. The remarks hepassed, lying face down tryin' to bite my leg, would have reflectedcredit on any Service. Having finished I dropped him overboard again, which was my gross political error. I ought to 'ave killed him; becausehe began signalling--rapid and accurate--in a sou'westerly direction. Few equatorial calms are to be apprehended when B. P. 's little pets taketo signallin'. Make a note o' that! Three minutes later we were stoppedand boarded by Scouts--up our backs, down our necks, and in our boots!The last I heard from your Mr. Leggatt as he went under, brushin' 'emoff his cap, 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 had begun, buthis mackintosh hampered him. 

'You told me to bring the mackintosh, ' Leggatt whispered to me. 

'And when I 'ad 'em half convinced he was a French vicomte coming downto visit the Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth, he tried to take it off. Seeing his uniform underneath, some sucking Sherlock Holmes of the PinkEye Patrol (they called him Eddy) deduced that I wasn't speakingthe truth. Eddy said I was tryin' to sneak into Portsmouthunobserved--unobserved mark you!--and join hands with the enemy. Ittrarnspired that the Scouts was conducting a field-day against opposin'forces, ably assisted by all branches of the Service, and they was soafraid the car wouldn't count ten points to them in the fray, thatthey'd have scalped us, but for the intervention of an umpire--also inshort under-drawers. A fleshy sight!'

Here Mr. Pyecroft shut his eyes and nodded. 'That umpire, ' he saidsuddenly, 'was our Mr. Morshed--a gentleman whose acquaintance you havealready made _and_ profited by, if I mistake not[7]. '

[Footnote 7: 'Their Lawful Occasions, ' _Traffics and Discoveries_. ]

'Oh, was the Navy in it too?' I said; for I had read of wild doingsoccasionally among the Boy Scouts on the Portsmouth Road, in which Navy, Army, and the world at large seemed to have taken part. 

'The Navy _was_ in it. I was the only one out of it--for severalseconds. Our Mr. Morshed failed to recognise me in my fur boa, and myappealin' winks at 'im behind your goggles didn't arrive. But when Eddydarling had told his story, I saluted, which is difficult in furs, and Istated I was bringin' him dispatches from the North. My Mr. Morshedcohered on the instant. I've never known his ethergram installations outof order yet. "Go and guard your blessed road, " he says to the FrattonOrphan Asylum standing at attention all round him, and, when they wasremoved--"Pyecroft, " he says, still _sotte voce_, "what in Hong-Kong areyou doing with this dun-coloured _sampan_?"

'It was your Mr. Leggatt's paint-protective matting which caught hiseye. She _did_ resemble a _sampan_, especially about the stern-works. Atthese remarks I naturally threw myself on 'is bosom, so far as Serviceconditions permitted, and revealed him all, mentioning that the car wasyours. You know his way of working his lips like a rabbit? Yes, he wasquite pleased. "_His_ car!" he kept murmuring, working his lips like arabbit. "I owe 'im more than a trifle for things he wrote about me. I'llkeep the car. "

'Your Mr. Leggatt now injected some semi-mutinous remarks to the effectthat he was your chauffeur in charge of your car, and, as such, capableof so acting. Mr. Morshed threw him a glarnce. It sufficed. Didn't itsuffice, 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 through hisunfortunate lack of language. I had to introduce him as part of the_entente cordiale_, and he was put under arrest, too. Then we sat on thegrass and smoked, while Eddy and Co. Violently annoyed the traffic onthe Portsmouth Road, till the umpires, all in short panties, conferredon the valuable lessons of the field-day and added up points, same as attarget-practice. I didn't hear their conclusions, but our Mr. Morsheddelivered a farewell address to Eddy and Co. , tellin' 'em they ought tohave deduced from a hundred signs about me, that I was a friendlybringin' in dispatches from the North. We left 'em tryin' to find thosesigns in the Scout book, and we reached Mr. Morshed's hotel atPortsmouth at 6. 27 P. M. _ong automobile_. Here endeth thefirst chapter. '

'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 our Mr. Morshed began to talk about uncles?'

'When he came back to the bar, after he'd changed into those rat-catcherclothes, ' said Leggatt. 

'That's right. "Pye, " said he, "have you an uncle?" "I have, " I says. "Here's santy to him, " and I finished my sherry and bitters to_you_, uncle. '

'That's right, ' said Pyecroft's uncle sternly. 'If you hadn't I'd havebelted you worth rememberin', Emmanuel. I had the body all night. '

Pyecroft smiled affectionately. 'So you 'ad, uncle, an' beautifully youlooked after her. But as I was saying, "I have an uncle, too, " says Mr. Morshed, dark and lowering. "Yet somehow I can't love him. I want tomortify the beggar. Volunteers to mortify my uncle, one pace tothe front. "

'I took Jules with me the regulation distance. Jules was gettinginterested. Your Mr. Leggatt preserved a strictly nootral attitude. 

'"You're a pressed man, " says our Mr. Morshed. "I owe your late employermuch, so to say. The car will manoeuvre all night, as requisite. "

'Mr. Leggatt come out noble as your employee, and, by 'Eaven's divinegrace, instead of arguing, he pleaded his new paint and varnish whichwas Mr. Morshed's one vital spot (he's lootenant on one of the newcatch-'em-alive-o's now). "True, " says he, "paint's an 'oly thing. I'llgive you one hour to arrange a _modus vivendi_. Full bunkers and steamready by 9 P. M. To-night, _if_ you please. "

'Even so, Mr. Leggatt was far from content. _I_ 'ad to arrange thedetails. We run her into the yard here. ' Pyecroft nodded through thewindow at my car's glossy back-panels. 'We took off the body with itsmats and put it in the stable, substitooting (and that yard's a tightfit for extensive repairs) the body of uncle's blue delivery cart. Itoverhung a trifle, but after I'd lashed it I knew it wouldn't fetchloose. Thus, in our composite cruiser, we repaired once more to thehotel, and was immediately dispatched to the toy-shop in the High Streetwhere we took aboard one rocking-horse which was waiting for us. '

'Took aboard _what_?' I cried. 

'One fourteen-hand dapple-grey rocking-horse, with pure green rockersand detachable tail, pair gashly glass eyes, complete set 'orriblegrinnin' teeth, and two bloody-red nostrils which, protruding from thebrown papers, produced the _tout ensemble_ of a Ju-ju sacrifice in theBenin campaign. Do I make myself comprehensible?'

'Perfectly. Did you say anything?' I asked. 

'Only to Jules. To him, I says, wishing to try him. "_Allez à votrebateau. Je say mon Lootenong. Eel voo donneray porkwor_. " To me, sayshe, "_Vous ong ate hurroo! Jamay de la vee_!" and I saw by his eye he'dtaken on for the full term of the war. Jules was a blue-eyed, brindle-haired beggar of a useful make 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 hotel andpartook of a sumptuous repast, under the able and genial chairmanship ofour Mr. Morshed, who laid his projecks unreservedly before us. "In thefirst place, " he says, opening out bicycle-maps, "my uncle, who, Iregret to say, is a brigadier-general, has sold his alleged soul toDicky Bridoon for a feathery hat and a pair o' gilt spurs. Jules, _conspuez l'oncle_!" So Jules, you'll be glad to hear--'

'One minute, Pye, ' I said. 'Who is Dicky Bridoon?'

'I don't usually mingle myself up with the bickerings of the JuniorService, but it trarnspired that he was Secretary o' State for CivilWar, an' he'd been issuing mechanical leather-belly gee-gees whichdoctors recommend for tumour--to the British cavalry in loo of real meathorses, to learn to ride on. Don't you remember there was quite a stirin the papers owing to the cavalry not appreciatin' 'em? But that's aminor item. The main point was that our uncle, in his capacity ofbrigadier-general, mark you, had wrote to the papers highly approvin' o'Dicky Bridoon's mechanical substitutes an 'ad thus obtainedpromotion--all same as a agnosticle stoker psalm-singin' 'imself up theService under a pious captain. At that point of the narrative we caughta phosphorescent glimmer why the rocking-horse might have been issued;but none the less the navigation was intricate. Omitting the fact it wasdark and cloudy, our brigadier-uncle lay somewhere in the South Downswith his brigade, which was manoeuvrin' at Whitsum manoeuvres on a largescale--Red Army _versus_ Blue, et cetera; an' all we 'ad to go by wasthose flapping bicycle-maps and your Mr. Leggatt's groans. '

'I was thinking what the Downs mean after dark, ' said Leggatt angrily. 

'They was worth thinkin' of, ' said Pyecroft. 'When we had studied themap till it fair spun, we decided to sally forth and creep for uncle byhand in the dark, dark night, an' present 'im with the rocking-horse. Sowe embarked at 8. 57 P. M. '

'One minute again, please. How much did Jules understand by that time?'I asked. 

'Sufficient unto the day--or night, perhaps I should say. He told ourMr. Morshed he'd follow him _more sang frays_, which is French for dead, drunk, or damned. Barrin' 'is paucity o' language, there wasn't ablemish on Jules. But what I wished to imply was, when we climbed intothe back parts of the car, our Lootenant Morshed says to me, "I doubt ifI'd flick my cigar-ends about too lavish, Mr. Pyecroft. We ought to besitting on five pounds' worth of selected fireworks, and I think therockets are your end. " Not being able to smoke with my 'ead over theside I threw it away; and then your Mr. Leggatt, 'aving been as nearlymutinous as it pays to be with my Mr. Morshed, arched his backand drove. '

'Where did he drive to, please?' said I. 

'Primerrily, in search of any or either or both armies; seconderrily, ofcourse, in search of our brigadier-uncle. Not finding him on the road, we ran about the grass looking for him. This took us to a great manyplaces in a short time. Ow 'eavenly that lilac did smell on top of thatfirst Down--stinkin' its blossomin' little heart out!'

'I 'adn't leesure to notice, ' said Mr. Leggatt. 'The Downs were full o'chalk-pits, and we'd no lights. '

'We 'ad the bicycle-lamp to look at the map by. Didn't you notice theold lady at the window where we saw the man in the night-gown? I thoughtnight-gowns as sleepin' rig was extinck, so to speak. '

'I tell you I 'adn't leesure to notice, ' Leggatt repeated. 

'That's odd. Then what might 'ave made you tell the sentry at the firstcamp we found that you was the _Daily Express_ delivery-waggon?'

'You can't touch pitch without being defiled, ' Leggatt answered. ''Ootold the officer in the bath we were umpires?'

'Well, he asked us. That was when we found the Territorial battalionundressin' in slow time. It lay on the left flank o' the Blue Army, andit cackled as it lay, too. But it gave us our position as regards therespective armies. We wandered a little more, and at 11. 7 P. M. , nothaving had a road under us for twenty minutes, we scaled the heights ofsomething or other--which are about six hundred feet high. Here we'alted to tighten the lashings of the superstructure, and we smeltleather and horses three counties deep all round. We was, as you mightsay, in the thick of it. '

'"Ah!" says my Mr. Morshed. "My 'orizon has indeed broadened. What alittle thing is an uncle, Mr. Pyecroft, in the presence o' theseglitterin' constellations! Simply ludicrous!" he says, "to waste arocking-horse on an individual. We must socialise it. But we must gettheir 'eads up first. Touch off one rocket, if you please. "

'I touched off a green three-pounder which rose several thousand metres, and burst into gorgeous stars. "Reproduce the manoeuvre, " he says, "atthe other end o' this ridge--if it don't end in another cliff. " So westeamed down the ridge a mile and a half east, and then I let Julestouch off a pink rocket, or he'd ha' kissed me. That was his only way toexpress his emotions, so to speak. Their heads come up then all aroundus to the extent o' thousands. We hears bugles like cocks crowing below, and on the top of it a most impressive sound which I'd never enjoyedbefore because '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 athreshin'-machine. "Tutt! Tutt! This is childish!" says LootenantMorshed. "We can't wait till they've finished cutting chaff for theirhorses. We must make 'em understand we're not to be trifled with. Expedite 'em with another rocket, Mr. Pyecroft. "

'"It's barely possible, sir, " I remarks, "that that's a searchlightchurnin' up, " and by the time we backed into a providential chalkcutting (which was where our first tyre went pungo) she broke out to thenorthward, and began searching the ridge. A smart bit o' work. '

''Twasn't a puncture. The inner tube had nipped because we skidded so, 'Leggatt interrupted. 

'While your Mr. Leggatt was effectin' repairs, another searchlight brokeout to the southward, and the two of 'em swept our ridge on both sides. Right at the west end of it they showed us the ground rising into ahill, so to speak, crowned with what looked like a little fort. Morshedsaw it before the beams shut off. "That's the key of the position!" hesays. "Occupy it at all hazards. "

'"I haven't half got occupation for the next twenty minutes, " says yourMr. Leggatt, rootin' and blasphemin' in the dark. Mark, now, 'owMorshed changed his tactics to suit 'is environment. "Right!" says he. "I'll stand by the ship. Mr. Pyecroft and Jules, oblige me by doublingalong the ridge to the east with all the maroons and crackers you cancarry without spilling. Read the directions careful for the maroons, Mr. Pyecroft, and touch them off at half-minute intervals. Jules representsmusketry an' maxim fire under your command. Remember, it's death orSalisbury Gaol! Prob'ly both!"

'By these means and some moderately 'ard runnin', we distracted 'em tothe eastward. Maroons, you may not be aware, are same as bombs, with theanarchism left out. In confined spots like chalk-pits, they knock afour-point-seven silly. But you should read the directions before'and. In the intervals of the slow but well-directed fire of my cow-guns, Jules, who had found a sheep-pond in the dark a little lower down, gavewhat you might call a cinematograph reproduction o' sporadic musketry. They was large size crackers, and he concluded with the dull, sickenin'thud o' blind shells burstin' on soft ground. '

'How did he manage that?' I said. 

'You throw a lighted squib into water and you'll see, ' said Pyecroft. 'Thus, then, we improvised till supplies was exhausted and thesurrounding landscapes fair 'owled and 'ummed at us. The Jun or Servicemight 'ave 'ad their doubts about the rockets but they couldn't overlookour gunfire. Both sides tumbled out full of initiative. I told Jules notwo flat-feet 'ad any right to be as happy as us, and we went backalong the ridge to the derelict, and there was our Mr. Morshedapostrophin' his 'andiwork over fifty square mile o' country with"Attend, all ye who list to hear!" out of the Fifth Reader. He'd got asfar as "And roused the shepherds o' Stonehenge, the rangers o' Beaulieu"when we come up, and he drew our attention to its truth as well as itsbeauty. That's rare in poetry, I'm told. He went right on to--"The redglare on Skiddaw roused those beggars at Carlisle"--which he pointed outwas poetic license for Leith Hill. This allowed your Mr. Leggatt time tofinish pumpin' up his tyres. I 'eard the sweat 'op off his nose. '

'You know what it is, sir, ' said poor Leggatt to me. 

'It warfted across my mind, as I listened to what was trarnspirin', thatit might be easier to make the mess than to wipe it up, but suchconsiderations weighed not with our valiant leader. 

'"Mr. Pyecroft, " he says, "it can't have escaped your notice that 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 yourecommend?"

'Most men would have besought 'im to do a lateral glide while there wasyet time, but all I said was: "The rocking-horse isn't expendedyet, sir. "

'He laid his hand on my shoulder. "Pye, " says he, "there's worse menthan you in loftier places. They shall 'ave it. None the less, " heremarks, "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 you mightsay, and hurryin' into each other's arms. Here endeth thesecond chapter. '

He filled his pipe slowly. The uncle had fallen asleep. Leggatt litanother cigarette. 

'We then proceeded _ong automobile_ along the ridge in a westerlydirection towards the miniature fort which had been so kindly revealedby the searchlight, but which on inspection (your Mr. Leggatt bumpedinto an outlyin' reef of it) proved to be a wurzel-clump;_c'est-à-dire_, a parallelogrammatic pile of about three millionmangold-wurzels, brought up there for the sheep, I suppose. On allsides, excep' the one we'd come by, the ground fell away moderatelyquick, and down at the bottom there was a large camp lit up an' full ofharsh words of command. 

'"I said it was the key to the position, " Lootenant Morshed remarks. "Trot out Persimmon!" which we rightly took to read, "Un-wrap therocking-horse. "

'"Houp la!" says Jules in a insubordinate tone, an' slaps Persimmon onthe flank. 

'"Silence!" says the Lootenant. "This is the Royal Navy, not Newmarket";and we carried Persimmon to the top of the mangel-wurzel clumpas directed. 

'Owing to the inequalities of the terrain (I _do_ think your Mr. Leggattmight have had a spirit-level in his kit) he wouldn't rock free on thebed-plate, and while adjustin' him, his detachable tail fetched adrift. Our Lootenant was quick to seize the advantage. 

'"Remove that transformation, " he says. "Substitute one Roman candle. Gas-power is superior to manual propulsion. "

'So we substituted. He arranged the _pièce de resistarnce_ in the shapeof large drums--not saucers, mark you--drums of coloured fire, withprinted instructions, at proper distances round Persimmon. There was abrief interregnum while we dug ourselves in among the wurzels by hand. Then he touched off the fires, _not_ omitting the Roman candle, and, youmay take it from me, all was visible. Persimmon shone out in his nakedsplendour, red to port, green to starboard, and one white light at hisbows, as per Board o' Trade regulations. Only he didn't so much rock, you might say, as shrug himself, in a manner of speaking, every time thecandle went off. One can't have everything. But the rest surpassed ourhighest expectations. I think Persimmon was noblest on the starboard orgreen side--more like when a man thinks he's seeing mackerel in hell, don't you know? And yet I'd be the last to deprecate the effect of theport light on his teeth, or that blood-shot look in his left eye. Heknew there was something going on he didn't approve of. Helooked worried. '

'Did you laugh?' I said. 

'I'm not much of a wag myself; nor it wasn't as if we 'ad time to allowthe spectacle to sink in. The coloured fires was supposed to burn tenminutes, whereas it was obvious to the meanest capacity that the JuniorService would arrive by forced marches in about two and a half. Theygrarsped our topical allusion as soon as it was across 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 armythat was learnin' to ride on 'em partook of the nature of a _doubleentender_, as the French say--same as waggling the tiller lines at a manwho's had a hanging in the family. I knew the cox of the_Archimandrite's_ galley 'arf killed for a similar _plaisan-teree. _ Butwe never anticipated lobsters being so sensitive. That was why weshifted. We could 'ardly tear our commandin' officer away. He put hishead on one side, and kept cooin'. The only thing he 'ad neglected toprovide was a line of retreat; but your Mr. Leggatt--an 'eroic soul inthe last stage of wet prostration--here took command of the van, or, rather, the rear-guard. We walked downhill beside him, holding on to thesuperstructure to prevent her capsizing. These technical details, 'owever, are beyond me. ' He waved his pipe towards Leggatt. 

'I saw there was two deepish ruts leadin' down 'ill somewhere, ' saidLeggatt. 'That was when the soldiers stopped laughin', and begun torun uphill. '

'Stroll, lovey, stroll!' Pyecroft corrected. 'The Dervish rush tookplace later. '

'So I laid her in these ruts. That was where she must 'ave scraped hersilencer a bit. Then they turned sharp right--the ruts did--and then shestopped bonnet-high in a manure-heap, sir; but I'll swear it was all ofa one in three gradient. I think it was a barnyard. We waited there, 'said Leggatt. 

'But not for long, ' said Pyecroft. 'The lights were towering out of thedrums on the position we 'ad so valiantly abandoned; and the JuniorService was escaladin' it _en masse_. When numerous bodies of 'ighlytrained men arrive simultaneous in the same latitude from oppositedirections, each remarking briskly, "What the 'ell did you do _that_for?" detonation, as you might say, is practically assured. They didn'task for extraneous aids. If we'd come out with sworn affidavits of whatwe'd done they wouldn't 'ave believed us. They wanted each other'scompany exclusive. Such was the effect of Persimmon on their clarssfeelings. Idol'try, _I_ call it! Events transpired with the utmostvelocity and rapidly increasing pressures. There was a few remarks aboutDicky Bridoon 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-fifth Dragoons, ' saidLeggatt. 'He got as far as Drag . .. '

'Was it?' said Pyecroft dreamily. 'Well, he couldn't say they didn'tcome. They all came, and they all fell to arguin' whether the Infantryshould 'ave Persimmon for a regimental pet or the Cavalry should keephim for stud purposes. Hence the issue was soon clouded withmangold-wurzels. Our commander said we 'ad sowed the good seed, and itwas bearing abundant fruit. (They weigh between four and seven poundsapiece. ) Seein' the children 'ad got over their shyness, and 'ad reallybegun to play games, we backed out o' the pit and went down, by steps, to the camp below, no man, as you might say, making us afraid. Here weenjoyed a front view of the battle, which rolled with renewed impetus, owing to both sides receiving strong reinforcements every minute. Allarms were freely represented; Cavalry, on this occasion only, acting inconcert with Artillery. They argued the relative merits of horses_versus_ feet, so to say, but they didn't neglect Persimmon. The woundedrolling downhill with the wurzels informed us that he had long ago beensocialised, and the smallest souvenirs were worth a man's life. Speakingbroadly, the Junior Service appeared to be a shade out of 'and, if I mayventure so far. They did _not_ pay prompt and unhesitating obedience tothe "Retires" or the "Cease Fires" or the "For 'Eaven's sake come tobed, ducky" of their officers, who, I regret to say, were 'otlyembroiled at the heads of their respective units. '

'How did you find that out?' I asked. 

'On account of Lootenant Morshed going to the Mess tent to call on hisuncle and raise a drink; but all hands had gone to the front. We thoughtwe 'eard somebody bathing behind the tent, and we found an oldishgentleman tryin' to drown a boy in knickerbockers in a horse-trough. Hekept him under with a bicycle, so to speak. He 'ad nearly accomplishedhis fell design, when we frustrated him. He was in a highly malleablecondition and full o' _juice de spree_. "Arsk not what I am, " he says. "My wife 'll tell me that quite soon enough. Arsk rather what I'vebeen, " he says. "I've been dinin' here, " he says. "I commanded 'em inthe Eighties, " he says, "and, Gawd forgive me, " he says, sobbin''eavily, "I've spent this holy evening telling their Colonel they was aset of educated inefficients. 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 marched andfought thirty mile to-day, " he shouts, "and now they're tearin' the_intestines_ out of the Cavalry up yonder! They won't stop this side thegates o' Delhi, " he says. "I commanded their ancestors. There's nothingwrong with the Service, " he says, wringing out his trousers on his lap. "'Eaven pardon me for doubtin' 'em! Same old game--same young beggars. "

'The boy in the knickerbockers, languishing on a chair, puts in a claimfor one drink. "Let him go dry, " says our friend in shirt-tails. "He's areporter. He run into me on his filthy bicycle and he asked me if Icould furnish 'im with particulars about the mutiny in the Army. Youfalse-'earted proletarian publicist, " he says, shakin' his finger at'im--for he was reelly annoyed--"I'll teach you to defile what you can'tcomprebend! When my regiment's in a state o' mutiny, I'll do myself thehonour of informing you personally. You particularly ignorant and verynarsty little man, " he says, "you're no better than a dhobi's donkey! Ifthere wasn't dirty linen to wash, you'd starve, " he says, "and why Ihaven't drowned you will be the lastin' regret of my life. "

'Well, we sat with 'em and 'ad drinks for about half-an-hour in frontof the Mess tent. He'd ha' killed the reporter if there hadn't beenwitnesses, and the reporter might have taken notes of the battle; so weacted as two-way buffers, in a sense. I don't hold with the Pressmingling up with Service matters. They draw false conclusions. Now, markyou, at a moderate estimate, there were seven thousand men in thefighting line, half of 'em hurt in their professional feelings, an' theother half rubbin' in the liniment, as you might say. All due toPersimmon! If you 'adn't seen it you wouldn't 'ave believed it. And yet, mark you, not one single unit of 'em even resorted to his belt. Theyconfined themselves to natural producks--hands and the wurzels. Ithought Jules was havin' fits, till it trarnspired the same thought hadimpressed him in the French language. He called it _incroyable_, Ibelieve. Seven thousand men, with seven thousand rifles, belts, andbayonets, in a violently agitated condition, and not a ungenteel blowstruck from first to last. The old gentleman drew our attention to it aswell. It was quite noticeable. 

'Lack of ammunition was the primerry cause of the battle ceasin'. ABrigade-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 moorings without attractin' attention;so we shifted. They 'ad called the cows 'ome by then. The Junior Servicewas going to bye-bye all round us, as happy as the ship's monkey whenhe's been playin' with the paints, and Lootenant Morshed and Jules keptbowin' to port and starboard of the superstructure, acknowledgin' theunstinted applause which the multitude would 'ave given 'em if they'dknown the 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 be gainedby entering Portsmouth at that hour, so we turned off on the grass (thiswas after we had found a road under us), and we cast anchors out at thestern and prayed for the day. 

'But your Mr. Leggatt he had to make and mend tyres all our watch below. It trarnspired she had been running on the rim o' two or three wheels, which, very properly, he hadn't reported till the close of the action. And that's the reason of your four new tyres. Mr. Morshed was of opinionyou'd earned 'em. Do you dissent?'

I stretched out my hand, which Pyecroft crushed to pulp. 'No, Pye, ' Isaid, deeply moved, 'I agree entirely. But what happened to Jules?'

'We returned him to his own Navy after breakfast. He wouldn't have keptmuch longer without some one in his own language to tell it to. I don'tknow any man I ever took more compassion on than Jules. 'Is sufferingsswelled him up centimetres, and all he could do on the Hard was to kissLootenant Morshed and me, _and_ your Mr. Leggatt. He deserved that much. A cordial beggar. '

Pyecroft looked at the washed cups on the table, and the low sunshineon my car's back in the yard. 

'Too early to drink to him, ' he said. 'But I feel it just the same. '

The uncle, sunk in his chair, snored a little; the canary answered witha shrill lullaby. Pyecroft picked up the duster, threw it over the cage, put his finger to his lips, and we tiptoed out into the shop, whileLeggatt brought the car round. 

'I'll look out for the news in the papers, ' I said, as I got in. 

'Oh, we short-circuited that! Nothing trarnspired excep' a statement tothe effect that some Territorial battalions had played about withturnips at the conclusion of the manoeuvres The taxpayer don't know allhe gets for his money. Farewell!'

We moved off just in time to be blocked by a regiment coming towards thestation to entrain for London. 

'Beg your pardon, sir, ' said a sergeant in charge of the baggage, 'butwould you mind backin' a bit till we get the waggons past?'

'Certainly, ' I said. 'You don't happen to have a rocking-horse amongyour kit, do you?'

The rattle of our reverse drowned his answer, but I saw his eyes. One ofthem was blackish-green, about four days old. 

THE LEGEND OF MIRTH

 The Four Archangels, so the legends tell, Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, Azrael, Being first of those to whom the Power was shown, Stood first of all the Host before The Throne, And when the Charges were allotted burst Tumultuous-winged from out the assembly first. Zeal was their spur that bade them strictly heed Their own high judgment on their lightest deed. Zeal was their spur that, when relief was given, Urged them unwearied to fresh toil in Heaven; For Honour's sake perfecting every task Beyond what e'en Perfection's self could ask. .. . And Allah, Who created Zeal and Pride, Knows how the twain are perilous-near allied. 

 It chanced on one of Heaven's long-lighted days, The Four and all the Host having gone their ways Each to his Charge, the shining Courts were void Save for one Seraph whom no charge employed, With folden wings and slumber-threatened brow. To whom The Word: 'Beloved, what dost thou?' 'By the Permission, ' came the answer soft, 'Little I do nor do that little oft. As is The Will in Heaven so on Earth Where by The Will I strive to make men mirth. ' He ceased and sped, hearing The Word once more: 'Beloved, go thy way and greet the Four. '

 Systems and Universes overpast, The Seraph came upon the Four, at last, Guiding and guarding with devoted mind The tedious generations of mankind Who lent at most unwilling ear and eye When they could not escape the ministry. .. . Yet, patient, faithful, firm, persistent, just Toward all that gross, indifferent, facile dust, The Archangels laboured to discharge their trust By precept and example, prayer and law, Advice, reproof, and rule, but, labouring, saw Each in his fellow's countenance confessed, The Doubt that sickens: 'Have I done my best?'

 Even as they sighed and turned to toil anew, The Seraph hailed them with observance due; And after some fit talk of higher things Touched tentative on mundane happenings. This they permitting, he, emboldened thus, Prolused of humankind promiscuous. And, since the large contention less avails Than instances observed, he told them tales--Tales of the shop, the bed, the court, the street, Intimate, elemental, indiscreet: Occasions where Confusion smiting swift Piles jest on jest as snow-slides pile the drift. 

 Whence, one by one, beneath derisive skies, The victims bare, bewildered heads arise: Tales of the passing of the spirit, graced With humour blinding as the doom it faced: Stark tales of ribaldry that broke aside To tears, by laughter swallowed ere they dried: Tales to which neither grace nor gain accrue, But only (Allah be exalted!) true, And only, as the Seraph showed that night, Delighting to the limits of delight. 

 These he rehearsed with artful pause and halt, And such pretence of memory at fault, That soon the Four--so well the bait was thrown-- Came to his aid with memories of their own-- Matters dismissed long since as small or vain, Whereof the high significance had lain Hid, till the ungirt glosses made it plain. Then as enlightenment came broad and fast, Each marvelled at his own oblivious past Until--the Gates of Laughter opened wide-- The Four, with that bland Seraph at their side, While they recalled, compared, and amplified, In utter mirth forgot both zeal and pride. 

 High over Heaven the lamps of midnight burned Ere, weak with merriment, the Four returned, Not in that order they were wont to keep-- Pinion to pinion answering, sweep for sweep, In awful diapason heard afar, But shoutingly adrift 'twixt star and star. Reeling a planet's orbit left or right As laughter took them in the abysmal Night; Or, by the point of some remembered jest, Winged and brought helpless down through gulfs unguessed, Where the blank worlds that gather to the birth Leaped in the womb of Darkness at their mirth, And e'en Gehenna's bondsmen understood. They were not damned from human brotherhood. 

 Not first nor last of Heaven's high Host, the Four That night took place beneath The Throne once more. O lovelier than their morning majesty, The understanding light behind the eye! O more compelling than their old command, The new-learned friendly gesture of the hand! O sweeter than their zealous fellowship, The wise half-smile that passed from lip to lip! O well and roundly, when Command was given, They told their tale against themselves to Heaven, And in the silence, waiting on The Word, Received the Peace and Pardon of The Lord!

'My Son's Wife'

(1913)

He had suffered from the disease of the century since his early youth, and before he was thirty he was heavily marked with it. He and a fewfriends had rearranged Heaven very comfortably, but the reorganisationof Earth, which they called Society, was even greater fun. It demandedWork in the shape of many taxi-rides daily; hours of brilliant talk withbrilliant talkers; some sparkling correspondence; a few silences (but onthe understanding that their own turn should come soon) while otherpeople expounded philosophies; 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 of cigarette-smoke. Such strong days sent Frankwell Midmore back to his flat assured that heand his friends had helped the World a step nearer the Truth, the Dawn, and the New Order. 

His temperament, he said, led him more towards concrete data thanabstract ideas. People who investigate detail are apt to be tired at theday's end. The same temperament, or it may have been a woman, made himearly attach himself to the Immoderate Left of his Cause in the capacityof an experimenter in Social Relations. And since the Immoderate Leftcontains plenty of women anxious to help earnest inquirers with largeindependent incomes to arrive at evaluations of essentials, FrankwellMidmore's lot was far from contemptible. 

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 creed whichdenied the existence of death, naturally could not stoop to burial; butMidmore had to leave London for the dank country at a season when SocialRegeneration works best through long, cushioned conferences, two by two, after tea. There he faced the bracing ritual of the British funeral, andwas wept at across the raw grave by an elderly coffin-shaped female witha long nose, who called him 'Master Frankie'; and there he wascongratulated behind an echoing top-hat by a man he mistook for a mute, who turned out to be his aunt's lawyer. He wrote his mother next day, after a bright account of the funeral:

'So far as I can understand, she has left me between four and fivehundred a year. It all comes from Ther Land, as they call it down here. The unspeakable attorney, Sperrit, and a green-eyed daughter, who humsto herself as she tramps but is silent on all subjects except "huntin', "insisted on taking me to see it. Ther Land is brown and green inalternate slabs like chocolate and pistachio cakes, speckled withoccasional peasants who do not utter. In case it should not be wetenough there is a wet brook in the middle of it. Ther House is by thebrook. I shall look into it later. If there should be any little mementoof Jenny that you care for, let me know. Didn't you tell me thatmid-Victorian furniture is coming into the market again? Jenny's oldmaid--it is called Rhoda Dolbie--tells me that Jenny promised it thirtypounds a year. The will does not. Hence, I suppose, the tears at thefuneral. But that is close on ten per cent of the income. I fancy Jennyhas destroyed all her private papers and records of her _vie intime_, if, indeed, life be possible in such a place. The Sperrit man told methat if I had means of my own I might come and live on Ther Land. Ididn't tell him how much I would pay not to! I cannot think it rightthat any human being should exercise mastery over others in themerciless fashion our tom-fool social system permits; so, as it is allmine, I intend to sell it whenever the unholy Sperrit can find apurchaser. '

And he went to Mr. Sperrit with the idea next day, just before returningto town. 

'Quite so, ' said the lawyer. 'I see your point, of course. But the houseitself is rather old-fashioned--hardly the type purchasers demandnowadays. There's no park, of course, and the bulk of the land is let toa life-tenant, a Mr. Sidney. As long as he pays his rent, he can't beturned out, and even if he didn't'--Mr. Sperrit's face relaxed ashade--'you might have a difficulty. '

'The property brings four hundred a year, I understand, ' said Midmore. 

'Well, hardly--ha-ardly. Deducting land and income tax, tithes, fireinsurance, cost of collection and repairs of course, it returned twohundred and eighty-four pounds last year. The repairs are rather a largeitem--owing to the brook. I call it Liris--out of 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 littlegrey eyes held his large brown ones firmly--'except about Rhoda Dolbie, Mrs. Werf's maid. I may tell you that we did not draw up your aunt'slast will. She grew secretive towards the last--elderly people oftendo--and had it done in London. I expect her memory failed her, or shemislaid her notes. She used to put them in her spectacle-case. .. . Mymotor only takes eight minutes to get to the station, Mr. Midmore . .. But, as I was saying, whenever she made her will with _us_, Mrs. Werfalways left Rhoda thirty pounds per annum. Charlie, the wills!' A clerkwith a baldish head and a long nose dealt documents on to the table likecards, and breathed heavily behind Midmore. 'It's in no sense a legalobligation, of course, ' said Mr. Sperrit. 'Ah, that one is dated Januarythe 11th, eighteen eighty-nine. '

Midmore looked at his watch again and found himself saying with no goodgrace: 'Well, I suppose she'd better have it--for the present atany rate. '

He escaped with an uneasy feeling that two hundred and fifty-four poundsa year was not exactly four hundred, and that Charlie's long noseannoyed him. Then he returned, first-class, to his own affairs. 

Of the two, perhaps three, experiments in Social Relations which he hadthen in hand, one interested him acutely. It had run for some months andpromised most variegated and interesting developments, on which he dweltluxuriously all the way to town. When he reached his flat he was notwell prepared for a twelve-page letter explaining, in the diction of theImmoderate Left which rubricates its I's and illuminates its T's, thatthe lady had realised greater attractions in another Soul. Shere-stated, rather than 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 pointed out, she could pass but once. She added that if, later, she should discoverMidmore was 'essentially complementary to her needs, ' she would tell himso. That Midmore had himself written much the same sort ofepistle--barring the hint of return--to a woman of whom his needs forself-expression had caused him to weary three years before, did notassist him in the least. He expressed himself to the gas-fire in termsessential but not complimentary. Then he reflected on the detachedcriticism of his best friends and her best friends, male and female, with whom he and she and others had talked so openly while their gayadventure was in flower. He recalled, too--this must have been aboutmidnight--her analysis from every angle, remote and most intimate, ofthe mate to whom she had been adjudged under the base convention whichis styled marriage. Later, at that bad hour when the cattle wake for alittle, he remembered her in other aspects and went down into the hellappointed; desolate, desiring, with no God to call upon. About eleveno'clock next morning Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, andZophar the Naamathite called upon him 'for they had made appointmenttogether' to see how he took it; but the janitor told them that Job hadgone--into the country, he believed. 

Midmore's relief when he found his story was not written across hisaching temples for Mr. Sperrit to read--the defeated lover, like thesuccessful one, believes all earth privy to his soul--was put down byMr. Sperrit to quite different causes. He led him into a morning-room. The rest of the house seemed to be full of people, singing to a loudpiano idiotic songs about cows, and the hall smelt of damp cloaks. 

'It's our evening to take the winter cantata, ' Mr. Sperrit explained. 'It's "High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire. " I hoped you'd come back. There are scores of little things to settle. As for the house, ofcourse, it stands ready for you at any time. I couldn't get Rhoda out ofit--nor could Charlie for that matter. She's the sister, isn't she, ofthe nurse who brought you down here when you were four, she says, torecover from measles?'

'Is she? Was I?' said Midmore through the bad tastes in his mouth. 'D'you suppose I could stay there the night?'

Thirty joyous young voices shouted appeal to some one to leave their'pipes of parsley 'ollow--'ollow--'ollow!' Mr. Sperrit had to raise hisvoice above the din. 

'Well, if I asked you to stay _here_, I should never hear the last of itfrom Rhoda. She's a little cracked, of course, but the soul of devotionand capable of anything. _Ne sit ancillae_, you know. '

'Thank you. Then I'll go. I'll walk. ' He stumbled out dazed and sickinto the winter twilight, and sought the square house by the brook. 

It was not a dignified entry, because when the door was unchained andRhoda exclaimed, he took two valiant steps into the hall and thenfainted--as men sometimes will after twenty-two hours of strong emotionand little food. 

'I'm sorry, ' he said when he could speak. He was lying at the foot ofthe stairs, his head on Rhoda's lap. 

'Your 'ome is your castle, sir, ' was the reply in his hair. 'I smelt itwasn't drink. You lay on the sofa till I get your supper. '

She settled him in a drawing-room hung with yellow silk, heavy with thesmell of dead leaves and oil lamp. Something murmured soothingly in thebackground and overcame the noises in his head. He thought he heardhorses' feet on wet gravel and a voice singing about ships and flocksand grass. It passed close to the shuttered bay-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 thenI'll put you to bed, ' she said. 'Sidney's coming in the morning. 'Midmore asked no questions. He dragged his poor bruised soul to bed andwould have pitied it all over again, but the food and warm sherry andwater drugged him to instant sleep. 

Rhoda's voice wakened him, asking whether he would have ''ip, foot, orsitz, ' which he understood were the baths of the establishment. 'Supposeyou try all three, ' she suggested. 'They're all yours, you know, sir. '

He would have renewed his sorrows with the daylight, but her wordsstruck him pleasantly. Everything his eyes opened upon was his very ownto keep for ever. The carved four-post Chippendale bed, obviously worthhundreds; the wavy walnut William and Mary chairs--he had seen worseones labelled twenty guineas apiece; the oval medallion mirror; thedelicate eighteenth-century wire fireguard; the heavy brocaded curtainswere his--all his. So, too, a great garden full of birds that faced himwhen he shaved; a mulberry tree, a sun-dial, and a dull, steel-colouredbrook that murmured level with the edge of a lawn a hundred yards away. Peculiarly and privately his own was the smell of sausages and coffeethat he sniffed at the head of the wide square landing, all set roundwith mysterious doors and Bartolozzi prints. He spent two hours afterbreakfast in exploring his new possessions. His heart leaped up at suchthings as sewing-machines, a rubber-tyred bath-chair in a tiled passage, a malachite-headed Malacca cane, boxes and boxes of unopened stationery, seal-rings, bunches of keys, and at the bottom of a steel-net reticule alittle leather purse with seven pounds ten shillings in gold and elevenshillings in silver. 

'You used to play with that when my sister brought you down here afteryour measles, ' said Rhoda as he slipped the money into his pocket. 'Now, this was your pore dear auntie's business-room. ' She opened a low door. 'Oh, I forgot about Mr. Sidney! There he is. ' An enormous old man withrheumy red eyes that blinked under downy white eyebrows sat in an Empirechair, his cap in his hands. Rhoda withdrew sniffing. The man lookedMidmore over in silence, then jerked a thumb towards the door. 'I reckonshe told you who I be, ' he began. 'I'm the only farmer you've got. Nothin' goes off my place '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 are getting moreparticular. Did ye know there was swine fever at Pashell'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't say shewasn't a just woman, but she didn't read the lease same way I did. I beused to bein' put upon, but there's no doing any longer 'thout thatpig-pound. '

'When would you like it?' Midmore asked. It seemed the easiest road totake. 

'Any time or other suits me, I reckon. He ain't thrivin' where he is, an' I paid eighteen shillin' for him. ' He crossed his hands on his stickand gave no further sign of life. 

'Is that all?' Midmore stammered. 

'All now--excep''--he glanced fretfully at the table beside him--'excep'my usuals. Where's that Rhoda?'

Midmore rang the bell. Rhoda came in with a bottle and a glass. The oldman helped himself to four stiff fingers, rose in one piece, and stumpedout. At the door he cried ferociously: 'Don't suppose it's any odds toyou whether I'm drowned or not, but them floodgates want a wheel andwinch, they do. I be too old for liftin' 'em with the bar--my timeo' life. '

'Good riddance if 'e was drowned, ' said Rhoda. 'But don't you mind him. He's only amusin' himself. Your pore dear auntie used to give 'im 'isusual--'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 lookat 'is lease--third drawer on the left in that Bombay cab'net--an' nexttime 'e comes you ask 'im to read it. That'll choke '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, but Rhodainterpreted. 

'It don't mean anything reelly, ' was her cheerful conclusion, 'excep'you mustn't get rid of him anyhow, an' 'e can do what 'e likes 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 his fourthsince--to my knowledge. He was a takin' man from the first. '

'Any families?'

'They'd be grown up by now if there was, wouldn't they? But you can'tspend all your days considerin' 'is interests. That's what gave yourpore aunt 'er indigestion. 'Ave you seen the gun-room?'

Midmore held strong views on the immorality of taking life for pleasure. But there was no denying that the late Colonel Werf's seventy-guineabreechloaders were good at their filthy job. He loaded one, took it outand pointed--merely pointed--it at a cock-pheasant which rose out of ashrubbery behind the kitchen, and the flaming bird came down in a longslant on the lawn, stone dead. Rhoda from the scullery said it was alovely shot, and told him lunch was ready. 

He spent the afternoon gun in one hand, a map in the other, beating thebounds of his lands. They lay altogether in a shallow, uninterestingvalley, flanked with woods and bisected by a brook. Up stream was hisown house; down stream, less than half a mile, a low red farm-housesquatted in an old orchard, beside what looked like small lock-gates onthe Thames. There was no doubt as to ownership. Mr. Sidney saw him whileyet far off, and bellowed at him about pig-pounds and floodgates. Theselast were two great sliding shutters of weedy oak across the brook, which were prised up inch by inch with a crowbar along a notched stripof iron, and when Sidney opened them they at once let out half thewater. 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 wenton, pointing to an old ship's bell in a rude belfry at the end of anouthouse. 'Was that a chapel once?' The red-eyed giant seemed to havedifficulty in expressing himself for the moment and blinked savagely. 

'Yes, ' he said at last. 'My chapel. When you 'ear that bell ring you'll'ear something. Nobody but me 'ud put up with it--but I reckon it don'tmake any odds to you. ' He slammed the gates down again, and the brookrose behind them with a suck and a grunt. 

Midmore moved off, conscious that he might be safer with Rhoda to holdhis conversational hand. As he passed the front of the farm-house asmooth fat woman, with neatly parted grey hair under a widow's cap, curtsied to him deferentially through the window. By every teaching ofthe Immoderate Left she had a perfect right to express herself in anyway she pleased, but the curtsey revolted him. And on his way home hewas hailed from behind a hedge by a manifest idiot with no roof to hismouth, who hallooed and danced round 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'llgo anywhere so long as 'tisn't across running water. That gives 'im 'isseizures. 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 pay for 'im. If 'e was locked up 'e'd die all off at once, like a wild rabbit. Won'tyou, please, look at the drive, sir?'

Midmore looked in the fading light. The neat gravel was pitted withlarge roundish holes, and there was a punch or two of the same sorton the lawn. 

'That's the 'unt comin' 'ome, ' Rhoda explained. 'Your pore dear auntiealways let 'em use our drive for a short cut after the Colonel died. TheColonel wouldn't so much because he preserved; but your auntie wasalways an 'orsewoman till 'er sciatica. '

'Isn't there some one who can rake it over or--or something?' saidMidmore vaguely. 

'Oh yes. You'll never see it in the morning, but--you was out when theycame 'ome an' Mister Fisher--he's the Master--told me to tell you with'is compliments that if you wasn't preservin' and cared to 'old to theold understanding', is gravel-pit is at your service same as before. 'Ethought, perhaps, you mightn't know, and it 'ad slipped my mind to tellyou. It's good gravel, Mister Fisher's, and it binds beautiful on thedrive. 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. You may wantto 'unt yourself some day. '

That evening it rained and his misery returned on him, the worse forhaving been diverted. At last he was driven to paw over a few scorebooks in a panelled room called the library, and realised with horrorwhat the late Colonel Werf's mind must have been in its prime. Thevolumes smelt of a dead world as strongly as they did of mildew. Heopened and thrust them back, one after another, till crude colouredillustrations of men on horses held his eye. He began at random and reada little, moved into the drawing-room with the volume, and settled downby the fire still reading. It was a foul world into which he peeped forthe first time--a heavy-eating, hard-drinking hell of horse-copers, swindlers, matchmaking mothers, economically dependent virgins sellingthemselves blushingly for cash and lands: Jews, tradesmen, and anill-considered spawn of Dickens-and-horsedung characters (I giveMidmore's own criticism), but he read on, fascinated, and behold, fromthe pages leaped, as it were, the brother to the red-eyed man of thebrook, bellowing at a landlord (here Midmore realised that _he_ was thatvery animal) for new barns; and another man who, like himself again, objected to hoof-marks on gravel. Outrageous as thought and conceptionwere, the stuff seemed to have the rudiments of observation. He dug outother volumes by the same author, till Rhoda came in with a silvercandlestick. 

'Rhoda, ' said he, 'did you ever hear about a character called JamesPigg--and Batsey?'

'Why, o' course, ' said she. 'The Colonel used to come into the kitchenin 'is dressin'-gown an' read us all those Jorrockses. '

'Oh, Lord!' said Midmore, and went to bed with a book called _HandleyCross_ under his arm, and a lonelier Columbus into a stranger world thewet-ringed moon never looked upon. 

 * * * * *

Here we omit much. But Midmore never denied that for the epicure insensation the urgent needs of an ancient house, as interpreted by Rhodapointing to daylight through attic-tiles held in place by moss, gives anedge to the pleasure of Social Research elsewhere. Equally he found thatthe reaction following prolonged research loses much of its grey terrorif one knows one can at will bathe the soul in the society of plumbers(all the water-pipes had chronic appendicitis), village idiots (Jimmyhad taken Midmore under his weak wing and camped daily at thedrive-gates), and a giant with red eyelids whose every action is anunpredictable outrage. 

Towards spring Midmore filled his house with a few friends of theImmoderate Left. It happened to be the day when, all things and Rhodaworking together, a cartload of bricks, another of sand, and some bagsof lime had been despatched to build Sidney his almost daily-demandedpig-pound. Midmore took his friends across the flat fields with someidea of showing them Sidney as a type of 'the peasantry. ' They hit theminute when Sidney, hoarse with rage, was ordering bricklayer, mate, carts and all off his premises. The visitors disposed themselvesto listen. 

'You never give me no notice about changin' the pig, ' Sidney shouted. The pig--at least eighteen inches long--reared on end in the old sty andsmiled at the company. 

'But, my good man--' Midmore opened. 

'I ain't! For aught you know I be a dam' sight worse than you be. Youcan't come and be'ave arbit'ry with me. You _are_ be'avin' arbit'ry! Allyou men go clean away an' don't set foot on my land till I bid ye. '

'But you asked'--Midmore felt his voice jump up--'to have the pig-poundbuilt. '

''Spose I did. That's no reason you shouldn't send me notice to changethe pig. 'Comin' down on me like this 'thout warnin'! That pig's got tobe 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 myland. I won't be treated arbit'ry. '

The carts moved off without a word, and Sidney went into the house andslammed the door. 

'Now, I hold that is enormously significant, ' said a visitor. 'Here youhave the logical outcome of centuries of feudal oppression--the frenzyof fear. ' The company looked at Midmore with grave pain. 

'But he _did_ worry my life out about his pig-sty, ' was all Midmorefound to say. 

Others took up the parable and proved to him if he only held true to thegospels of the Immoderate Left the earth would soon be covered with'jolly little' pig-sties, built in the intervals of morris-dancing by'the peasant' himself. 

Midmore felt grateful when the door opened again and Mr. Sidney invitedthem all to retire to the road which, he pointed out, was public. Asthey turned the corner of the house, a smooth-faced woman in a widow'scap curtsied to each of them through the window. 

Instantly they drew pictures of that woman's lot, deprived of allvehicle for self-expression--'the set grey life and apathetic end, ' onequoted--and they discussed the tremendous significance of villagetheatricals. Even a month ago Midmore would have told them all that heknew and Rhoda had dropped about Sidney's forms of self-expression. Now, for some strange reason, he was content to let the talk run on fromvillage to metropolitan and world drama. 

Rhoda advised him after the visitors left that 'if he wanted to do thatagain' 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 the beginningof things. I've seen what _I've_ seen. Besides, they talked and laughedin the passage going to their baths--such as took 'em. '

'Don't be a fool, Rhoda, ' said Midmore. No man--unless he has lovedher--will casually dismiss a woman on whose lap he has laid his head. 

'Very good, ' she snorted, 'but that cuts both ways. An' now, you go downto Sidney's this evenin' and put him where he ought to be. He was in hisright about you givin' 'im notice about changin' the pig, but he 'adn'tany right to turn it up before your company. No manners, no pig-pound. He'll understand. '

Midmore did his best to make him. He found himself reviling the old manin speech and with a joy quite new in all his experience. He woundup--it was a plagiarism from a plumber--by telling Mr. Sidney that helooked like a turkey-cock, had the morals of a parish bull, and neednever hope for a new pig-pound as long as he or Midmore lived. 

'Very good, ' said the giant. 'I reckon you thought you 'ad somethingagainst me, and now you've come down an' told it me like man to man. Quite right. I don't bear malice. Now, you send along those bricks an'sand, an' I'll make a do to build the pig-pound myself. If you look atmy lease you'll find out you're bound to provide me materials for therepairs. Only--only I thought there'd be no 'arm in my askin' you to doit throughout like. '

Midmore fairly gasped. 'Then, why the devil did you turn my carts backwhen--when I sent them up here to do it throughout for you?'

Mr. Sidney sat down on the floodgates, his eyebrows knitted in thought. 

'I'll tell you, ' he said slowly. ''Twas too dam' like cheatin' a suckin'baby. My woman, she said so too. '

For a few seconds the teachings of the Immoderate Left, whose humour isall their own, wrestled with those of Mother Earth, who has her ownhumours. Then Midmore laughed till he could scarcely stand. In due timeMr. Sidney laughed too--crowing and wheezing crescendo till it brokefrom him in roars. They shook hands, and Midmore went home grateful thathe had held his tongue among his companions. 

When he reached his house he met three or four men and women onhorse-back, very muddy indeed, coming down the drive. Feeling hungryhimself, he asked them if they were hungry. They said they were, and hebade them enter. Jimmy took their horses, who seemed to know him. Rhodatook their battered hats, led the women upstairs for hairpins, andpresently fed them all with tea-cakes, poached eggs, anchovy toast, anddrinks from a coromandel-wood liqueur case which Midmore had never knownthat he possessed. 

'And I _will_ say, ' said Miss Connie Sperrit, her spurred foot on thefender and a smoking muffin in her whip hand, 'Rhoda does one top-hole. She always did since I was eight. '

'Seven, Miss, was when you began to 'unt, ' said Rhoda, setting down morebuttered toast. 

'And so, ' the M. F. H. Was saying to Midmore, 'when he got to your bruteSidney's land, we had to whip 'em off. It's a regular Alsatia for 'em. They know it. Why'--he dropped his voice--'I don't want to say anythingagainst Sidney as your tenant, of course, but I do believe the oldscoundrel's perfectly capable of putting down poison. '

'Sidney's capable of anything, ' said Midmore with immense feeling; butonce again he held his tongue. They were a queer community; yet whenthey had stamped and jingled out to their horses again, the house felthugely big and disconcerting. 

This may be reckoned the conscious beginning of his double life. It ranin odd channels that summer--a riding school, for instance, near HayesCommon and a shooting ground near Wormwood Scrubs. A man who has beensaddle-galled or shoulder-bruised for half the day is not at his Londonbest of evenings; and when the bills for his amusements come in hecurtails his expenses in other directions. So a cloud settled onMidmore's name. His London world talked of a hardening of heart and atightening of purse-strings which signified disloyalty to the Cause. Oneman, a confidant of the old expressive days, attacked him robustiouslyand demanded account of his soul's progress. It was not furnished, forMidmore was calculating how much it would cost to repave stables sodilapidated that even the village idiot apologised for putting visitors'horses into them. The man went away, and served up what he had heard ofthe pig-pound episode as a little newspaper sketch, calculated to annoy. Midmore read it with an eye as practical as a woman's, and since most ofhis experiences had been among women, at once sought out a woman to whomhe might tell his sorrow at the disloyalty of his own familiar friend. She was so sympathetic that he went on to confide how his bruisedheart--she knew all about it--had found so-lace, with a long O, inanother quarter which he indicated rather carefully in case it might bebetrayed to other loyal friends. As his hints pointed directly towardsfacile Hampstead, and as his urgent business was the purchase of a horsefrom a dealer, Beckenham way, he felt he had done good work. Later, whenhis friend, the scribe, talked to him alluringly of 'secret gardens' andthose so-laces to which every man who follows the Wider Morality isentitled, Midmore lent him a five-pound note which he had got back onthe price of a ninety-guinea bay gelding. So true it is, as he read inone of the late Colonel Werf's books, that 'the young man of the presentday would sooner lie under an imputation against his morals than againsthis knowledge of horse-flesh. '

Midmore desired more than he desired anything else at that moment toride and, above all, to jump on a ninety-guinea bay gelding with blackpoints and a slovenly habit of hitting his fences. He did not wish manypeople except Mr. Sidney, who very kindly lent his soft meadow behindthe floodgates, to be privy to the matter, which he rightly foresawwould take him to the autumn. So he told such friends as hinted atcountry week-end visits that he had practically let his newly inheritedhouse. The rent, he said, was an object to him, for he had lately lostlarge sums through ill-considered benevolences. He would name no names, but they could guess. And they guessed loyally all round the circle ofhis acquaintance as they spread the news that explained so much. 

There remained only one couple of his once intimate associates topacify. They were deeply sympathetic and utterly loyal, of course, butas curious as any of the apes whose diet they had adopted. Midmore metthem in a suburban train, coming up to town, not twenty minutes after hehad come off two hours' advanced tuition (one guinea an hour) overhurdles in a hall. He had, of course, changed his kit, but his too heavybridle-hand shook a little among the newspapers. On the inspiration ofthe moment, which is your natural liar's best hold, he told them that hewas condemned to a rest-cure. He would lie in semi-darkness drinkingmilk, for weeks and weeks, cut off even from letters. He was astonishedand delighted at the ease with which the usual lie confounds the unusualintellect. They swallowed it as swiftly as they recommended him to liveon nuts and fruit; but he saw in the woman's eyes the exact reason shewould set forth for his retirement. After all, she had as much right toexpress herself as he purposed to take for himself; and Midmore believedstrongly in the fullest equality of the sexes. 

That retirement made one small ripple in the strenuous world. The ladywho had written the twelve-page letter ten months before sent himanother of eight pages, analysing all the motives that were leading herback to him--should she come?--now that he was ill and alone. Much mightyet be retrieved, she said, out of the waste of jarring lives andpiteous misunderstandings. It needed only a hand. 

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 the morning-mists. 'But you're worrying him. '

'He pulls so, ' Midmore grunted. 

'Let him alone, then. Look out for the branches, ' she shouted, as theywhirled up a splashy ride. Cubs were plentiful. Most of the houndsattached themselves to a straight-necked youngster of education whoscuttled out of the woods into the open fields below. 

'Hold on!' some one shouted. 'Turn 'em, Midmore. That's your bruteSidney's land. It's all wire. '

'Oh, Connie, stop!' Mrs. Sperrit shrieked as her daughter charged at aboundary-hedge. 

'Wire be damned! I had it all out a fortnight ago. Come on!' This wasMidmore, buffeting into it a little lower down. 

'_I_ knew that!' Connie cried over her shoulder, and she flitted acrossthe open pasture, humming to herself. 

'Oh, of course! If some people have private information, they can affordto thrust. ' This was a snuff-coloured habit into which Miss Sperrit hadcannoned down the ride. 

'What! 'Midmore got Sidney to heel? _You_ never did that, Sperrit. ' Thiswas Mr. Fisher, M. F. H. , enlarging the breach Midmore had made. 

'No, confound him!' said the father testily. 'Go on, sir! _Injecto terpulvere_--you've kicked half the ditch into my eye already. '

They killed that cub a little short of the haven his mother had told himto make for--a two-acre Alsatia of a gorse-patch to which the M. F. H. Hadbeen denied access for the last fifteen seasons. He expressed hisgratitude before all the field and Mr. Sidney, at Mr. Sidney'sfarm-house door. 

'And if there should be any poultry claims--' he went on. 

'There won't be, ' said Midmore. 'It's too like cheating a sucking child, isn't it, Mr. Sidney?'

'You've got me!' was all the reply. 'I be used to bein' put upon, butyou've got me, Mus' Midmore. '

Midmore pointed to a new brick pig-pound built in strict disregard ofthe terms of the life-tenant's lease. The gesture told the tale to thefew who did not know, and they shouted. 

Such pagan delights as these were followed by pagan sloth of eveningswhen men and women elsewhere are at their brightest. But Midmorepreferred to lie out on a yellow silk couch, reading works of a debasingvulgarity; or, by invitation, to dine with the Sperrits and savages oftheir kidney. These did not expect flights of fancy or phrasing. Theylied, except about horses, grudgingly and of necessity, not for art'ssake; and, men and women alike, they expressed themselves along theirchosen lines with the serene indifference of the larger animals. ThenMidmore would go home and identify them, one by one, out of thenatural-history books by Mr. Surtees, on the table beside the sofa. Atfirst they looked upon him coolly, but when the tale of the removed wireand the recaptured gorse had gone the rounds, they accepted him for aperson willing to play their games. True, a faction suspended judgmentfor a while, because they shot, and hoped that Midmore would serve theglorious mammon of pheasant-raising rather than the unkempt god offox-hunting. But after he had shown his choice, they did not ask by whatintellectual process he had arrived at it. He hunted three, sometimesfour, times a week, which necessitated not only one bay gelding (£94:10s. ), but a mannerly white-stockinged chestnut (£114), and a blackmare, rather long in the back but with a mouth of silk (£150), who soevidently preferred to carry a lady that it would have been cruel tohave baulked her. Besides, with that handling she could be sold at aprofit. And besides, the hunt was a quiet, intimate, kindly little hunt, not anxious for strangers, of good report in the _Field_, the servant ofone M. F. H. , given to hospitality, riding well its own horses, and, withthe exception of Midmore, not novices. But as Miss Sperrit observed, after the M. F. H. Had said some things to him at a gate: 'It _is_ a pityyou don't know as much as your horse, but you will in time. It takesyears and yee-ars. I've been at it for fifteen and I'm only justlearning. But you've made a decent kick-off. '

So he kicked off in wind and wet and mud, wondering quite sincerely whythe bubbling ditches and sucking pastures held him from day to day, orwhat so-lace he could find on off days in chasing grooms andbrick-layers round outhouses. 

To make sure he up-rooted himself one week-end of heavy mid-winter rain, and re-entered his lost world in the character of Galahad fresh from arest-cure. They all agreed, with an eye over his shoulder for the nextcomer, that he was a different man; but when they asked him for thesymptoms of nervous strain, and led him all through their own, herealised he had lost much of his old skill in lying. His three months'absence, too, had put him hopelessly behind the London field. Themovements, the allusions, the slang of the game had changed. The coupleshad rearranged themselves or were re-crystallizing in fresh triangles, whereby he put his foot in it badly. Only one great soul (he who hadwritten the account of the pig-pound episode) stood untouched by thevast flux of time, and Midmore lent him another fiver for his integrity. A woman took him, in the wet forenoon, to a pronouncement on the Onenessof Impulse in Humanity, which struck him as a polysyllabic _résumé_ ofMr. Sidney's domestic arrangements, plus a clarion call to 'shockcivilisation into common-sense. '

'And you'll come to tea with me to-morrow?' she asked, after lunch, nibbling cashew nuts from a saucer. Midmore replied that there weregreat arrears of work to overtake when a man had been put away forso 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, like somany of us, ' the woman murmured, 'but I think eventually . .. ' she flungout her thin little hands. 'However, these are things that each lonelysoul must adjust for itself. '

'Indeed, yes, ' said Midmore with a deep sigh. The old tricks weresprouting in the old atmosphere like mushrooms in a dung-pit. He passedinto an abrupt reverie, shook his head, as though stung by tumultuousmemories, and departed without any ceremony of farewell to--catch amid-afternoon express where a man meets associates who talk horse, andweather as it affects the horse, all the way down. What worried him mostwas that he had missed a day with the hounds. 

He met Rhoda's keen old eyes without flinching; and the drawing-roomlooked very comfortable that wet evening at tea. After all, his visit totown had not been wholly a failure. He had burned quite a bushel ofletters at his flat. A flat--here he reached mechanically towards theworn volumes near the sofa--a flat was a consuming animal. As forDaphne . .. He opened at random on the words: 'His lordship then did asdesired and disclosed a _tableau_ of considerable strength and variety. 'Midmore reflected: 'And I used to think. .. . But she wasn't. .. . We wereall babblers and skirters together. .. . I didn't babble much--thankgoodness--but I skirted. ' He turned the pages backward for more _SortesSurteesianae_, and read: 'When at length they rose to go to bed itstruck each man as he followed his neighbour upstairs, that the manbefore him walked very crookedly. ' He laughed aloud at the fire. 

'What about to-morrow?' Rhoda asked, entering with garments over hershoulder. 'It's never stopped raining since you left. You'll beplastered out of sight an' all in five minutes. You'd better wear yournext best, 'adn't you? I'm afraid they've shrank. 'Adn't you besttry 'em on?'

'Here?' said Midmore. 

''Suit yourself. I bathed you when you wasn't larger than a leg o'lamb, ' said the ex-ladies'-maid. 

'Rhoda, one of these days I shall get a valet, and a married butler. '

'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 theyall 'ad enough of that to-day. Charlie told me so just now. '

'Oh!' It seemed that the word of Mr. Sperrit's confidential clerk hadweight. 

'Charlie came down to help Mr. Sidney lift the gates, ' Rhoda continued. 

'The floodgates? They are perfectly easy to handle now. I've put in awheel and a winch. '

'When the brook's really up they must be took clean out on account ofthe rubbish blockin' 'em. That's why Charlie came down. '

Midmore grunted impatiently. 'Everybody has talked to me about thatbrook ever since I came here. It's never done anything yet. '

'This 'as been a dry summer. If you care to look now, sir, I'll get youa lantern. '

She paddled out with him into a large wet night. Half-way down the lawnher light was reflected on shallow brown water, pricked through withgrass blades at the edges. Beyond that light, the brook was stranglingand kicking among hedges and tree-trunks. 

'What on earth will happen to the big rose-bed?' was Midmore's firstword. 

'It generally 'as to be restocked after a flood. Ah!' she raised herlantern. 'There's two garden-seats knockin' against the sun-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 into therushing gloom. There seemed to be no end to the moisture and the racket. In town he had noticed nothing. 

'It can't be 'elped, ' said Rhoda. 'It's just what it does do once injust so often. We'd better go back. '

All earth under foot was sliding in a thousand liquid noises towardsthe hoarse brook. Somebody wailed from the house: ''Fraid o' the water!Come 'ere! 'Fraid o' the water!'

'That's Jimmy. Wet always takes 'im that way, ' she explained. The idiotcharged into them, shaking with terror. 

'Brave Jimmy! How brave of Jimmy! Come into the hall. What Jimmy gotnow?' she crooned. It was a sodden note which ran: 'Dear Rhoda--Mr. Lotten, with whom I rode home this afternoon, told me that if this wetkeeps up, he's afraid the fish-pond he built last year, where Coxen'sold mill-dam was, will go, as the dam did once before, he says. If itdoes it's bound to come down the brook. It may be all right, but perhapsyou had better look out. C. S. '

'If Coxen's dam goes, that means. .. . I'll 'ave the drawing-room carpetup at once to be on the safe side. The claw-'ammer is in the libery. '

'Wait a minute. Sidney's gates are out, you said?'

'Both. He'll need it if Coxen's pond goes. .. . I've seen it once. '

'I'll just slip down and have a look at Sidney. Light the lantern again, please, Rhoda. '

'You won't get _him_ to stir. He's been there since he was born. But_she_ don't know anything. I'll fetch your waterproof and sometop-boots. '

''Fraid o' the water! 'Fraid o' the water!' Jimmy sobbed, pressedagainst 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 roarings allround. He had never seen such an utterly unregulated state of affairs. There was another lantern reflected on the streaming drive. 

'Hi! Rhoda! Did you get my note? I came down to make sure. I thought, 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 told him he hadn'tany business impounding water for his idiotic trout withoutrebuilding 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's openedall the sluices. '

She had turned and fallen into step beside him, her hooded head bowedagainst the thinning rain. As usual she was humming to herself. 

'Why on earth did you come out in this weather?' Midmore asked. 

'It was worse when you were in town. The rain's taking off now. If itwasn't for that pond, I wouldn't worry so much. There's Sidney's bell. Come on!' She broke into a run. A cracked bell was jangling feebly downthe valley. 

'Keep on the road!' Midmore shouted. The ditches were snortingbank-full on either side, and towards the brook-side the fields wereafloat and beginning to move in the darkness. 

'Catch me going off it! There's his light burning all right. ' She haltedundistressed at a little rise. 'But the flood's in the orchard. Look!'She swung her lantern to show a front rank of old apple-trees reflectedin still, out-lying waters beyond the half-drowned hedge. They couldhear above the thud-thud of the gorged floodgates, shrieks in two keysas monotonous as a steam-organ. 

'The high one's the pig. ' Miss Sperrit laughed. 

'All right! I'll get _her_ out. You stay where you are, and I'll see youhome 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 moved sluggishly as yetacross the farm road which ran to Sidney's front door from the raisedand metalled public road. It was half way up to his knees when heknocked. As he looked back Miss Sperrit's lantern seemed to float inmid-ocean. 

'You can't come in or the water'll come with you. I've bunged up all thecracks, ' Mr. Sidney shouted from within. 'Who be ye?'

'Take me out! Take me out!' the woman shrieked, and the pig from hissty 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't everpuddled proper. But it's a middlin' wide valley. She's got room tospread. .. . Keep still, or I'll take and duck you in the cellar!. .. Yougo 'ome, Mus' Midmore, an' take the law o' Mus' Lotten soon's you'vechanged your socks. '

'Confound you, aren't you coming out?'

'To catch my death o' cold? I'm all right where I be. I've seen itbefore. But you can take _her_. She's no sort o' use or sense. .. . Climbout through the window. Didn't I tell you I'd plugged the door-cracks, you fool's daughter?' The parlour window opened, and the woman flungherself into Midmore's arms, nearly knocking him down. Mr. Sidney leanedout of the window, pipe in mouth. 

'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 bedrowned in this wet, ' the woman cried. 

'Hold up! You can't be any wetter than you are. Come along!' Midmoredid not at all like the feel of the water over his boot-tops. 

'Hooray! Come along!' Miss Sperrit's lantern, not fifty yards away, waved cheerily. 

The woman threshed towards it like a panic-stricken goose, fell on herknees, was jerked up again by Midmore, and pushed on till she collapsedat Miss Sperrit's feet. 

'But you won't get bronchitis if you go straight to Mr. Midmore'shouse, ' said the unsympathetic maiden. 

'O Gawd! O Gawd! I wish our 'eavenly Father 'ud forgive me my sins 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 Sperrit whispered toMidmore, 'she'll follow us. Not too fast!'

They set off at a considerable trot, and the woman lumbered behind them, bellowing, till they met a third lantern--Rhoda holding Jimmy's hand. She had got the carpet up, she said, and was escorting Jimmy past thewater that he dreaded. 

'That's all right, ' Miss Sperrit pronounced. 'Take Mrs. Sidney back withyou, Rhoda, and put her to bed. I'll take Jimmy with me. You aren'tafraid of the water now, are you, Jimmy?'

'Not afraid of anything now. ' Jimmy reached for her hand. 'But get awayfrom the water quick. '

'I'm coming with you, ' Midmore interrupted. 

'You most certainly are not. You're drenched. She threw you twice. Gohome and change. You may have to be out again all night. It's onlyhalf-past seven now. I'm perfectly safe. ' She flung herself lightly overa stile, and hurried uphill by the foot-path, out of reach of all butthe 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 to Midmore as hecame up. I'll attend to--to this. _She's_ got nothing to cry for. '

Midmore raced into dry kit, and raced uphill to be rewarded by the sightof the lantern just turning into the Sperrits' gate. He came back by wayof Sidney's farm, where he saw the light twinkling across three acres ofshining water, for the rain had ceased and the clouds were strippingoverhead, though the brook was noisier than ever. Now there was onlythat doubtful mill-pond to look after--that and his swirling worldabandoned to himself alone. 

'We shall have to sit up for it, ' said Rhoda after dinner. And as thedrawing-room commanded the best view of the rising flood, they watchedit from there for a long time, while all the clocks of the house borethem company. 

''Tisn't the water, it's the mud on the skirting-board after it goesdown that I mind, ' Rhoda whispered. 'The last time Coxen's mill broke, Iremember 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 long wait. 'Andthe rain stopped before eight, you know. '

'Then Coxen's dam _'as_ broke, and that's the first of the flood-water. 'She stared out beside him. The water was rising in sudden pulses--aninch or two at a time, with great sweeps and lagoons and a suddenincrease of the brook's proper thunder. 

'You can't stand all the time. Take a chair, ' Midmore said presently. 

Rhoda looked back into the bare room. 'The carpet bein' up _does_ make adifference. Thank you, sir, I _will_ 'ave a set-down. '

''Right over the drive now, ' said Midmore. He opened the window andleaned 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 tide across ajagged reef, which put down every other sound for twenty minutes. A widesheet of water hurried up to the little terrace on which the housestood, pushed round either corner, rose again and stretched, as it were, yawning beneath the moonlight, joined other sheets waiting for them inunsuspected hollows, and lay out all in one. A puff of wind followed. 

'It's right up to the wall now. I can touch it with my finger. ' Midmorebent over the window-sill. 

'I can 'ear it in the cellars, ' said Rhoda dolefully. 'Well, we've donewhat we can! I think I'll 'ave a look. ' She left the room and was absenthalf an hour or more, during which time he saw a full-grown treehauling itself across the lawn by its naked roots. Then a hurdle knockedagainst the wall, caught on an iron foot-scraper just outside, and madea square-headed ripple. The cascade through the cellar-windowsdiminished. 

'It's dropping, ' Rhoda cried, as she returned. 'It's only tricklin' intomy cellars now. '

'Wait a minute. I believe--I believe I can see the scraper on the edgeof the drive just showing!'

In another ten minutes the drive itself roughened and became gravelagain, tilting all its water towards the shrubbery. 

'The pond's gone past, ' Rhoda announced. 'We shall only 'ave the commonflood to contend with now. You'd better go to bed. '

'I ought to go down and have another look at Sidney before daylight. '

'No need. You can see 'is light burnin' from all the upstairs windows. '

'By the way. I forgot about _her_. Where've you put her?'

'In my bed. ' Rhoda's tone was ice. 'I wasn't going to undo a room for_that_ stuff. '

'But it--it couldn't be helped, ' said Midmore. 'She was half drowned. One mustn't be narrow-minded, Rhoda, even if her position isn'tquite--er--regular. '

'Pfff! I wasn't worryin' about that. ' She leaned forward to the window. 'There's the edge of the lawn showin' now. It falls as fast as it rises. Dearie'--the change of tone made Midmore jump--'didn't you know that Iwas 'is first? _That's_ what makes it so hard to bear. ' Midmore lookedat the long lizard-like back and had no words. 

She went on, still talking through the black window-pane:

'Your pore dear auntie was very kind about it. She said she'd make allallowances for one, but no more. Never any more. .. . Then, you didn'tknow 'oo Charlie was all this time?'

'Your nephew, I always thought. '

'Well, well, ' she spoke pityingly. 'Everybody's business being nobody'sbusiness, I suppose no one thought to tell you. But Charlie made 'is ownway for 'imself from the beginnin'!. .. But _her_ upstairs, she neverproduced anything. Just an 'ousekeeper, as you might say. 'Turned overan' went to sleep straight 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, and Charlie'slong nose (he thought it looked interested at the time) as he passed thecopies of Mrs. Werf's last four wills, overcame Midmore without warning. 

'This damp is givin' you a cold, ' said Rhoda, rising. 'There you goagain! Sneezin's a sure sign of it. Better go to bed. You can't do anythin' excep''--she stood rigid, with crossed arms--'about me. '

'Well. What about you?' Midmore stuffed the handkerchief into hispocket. 

'Now you know about it, what are you goin' to do--sir?'

She had the answer on her lean cheek before the sentence was finished. 

'Go and see if you can get us something to eat, Rhoda. And beer. '

'I expec' the larder'll be in a swim, ' she replied, 'but old bottledstuff don't take any harm from wet. ' She returned with a tray, all inorder, and they ate and drank together, and took observations of thefalling flood till dawn opened its bleared eyes on the wreck of what hadbeen a fair garden. Midmore, cold and annoyed, 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 lay on thekitchen 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 own gardenon the edge of the retreating brook, Midmore went off to confront moredamage at Sidney's. The first thing that met him was the pig, snowywhite, for the water had washed him out of his new sty, calling on highheaven for breakfast. The front door had been forced open, and the floodhad registered its own height in a brown dado on the walls. Midmorechased the pig out and called up the stairs. 

'I be abed o' course. Which step 'as she rose to?' Sidney cried fromabove. 'The fourth? Then it's beat all records. Come up. '

'Are you ill?' Midmore asked as he entered the room. The red eyelidsblinked cheerfully. Mr. Sidney, beneath a sumptuous patch-work quilt, was smoking. 

'Nah! I'm only thankin' God I ain't my own landlord. Take that cheer. 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 by now; an'your rose-garden have gone after 'em. I saved my chickens, though. You'dbetter 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 those two womeno' 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. Midmorerose quickly saying: 'Well, I suppose you're all right now. '

'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' regularif I married her? Charlie said maybe 'twould. '

'Did he?' Midmore turned at the door. 'And what did Jimmy say about 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 shortest skirts andheaviest riding-boots. 'I had to come down and have a look at it. "Theold mayor climbed the belfry tower. " 'Been up all night nursingyour family?'

'Nearly that! Isn't it cheerful?' He pointed through the door to thestairs 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 suddenly as shepassed into the parlour where slimy chairs had been stranded atall angles. 

'Am I? Now I come to think of it I believe I do. They say I always humwhen I ride. Have you noticed it?'

'Of course I have. I notice every--'

'Oh, ' she went on hurriedly. 'We had it for the village cantata lastwinter--"The Brides of Enderby. "'

'No! "High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire. "' For some reason Midmorespoke sharply. 

'Just like that. ' She pointed to the befouled walls. 'I say. .. . Let'sget this furniture a little straight. .. . You know it too?'

'Every word, since you sang it of course. '

'When?'

'The first night I ever came down. You rode past the drawing-room windowin the dark singing it--"And sweeter woman--"'

'I thought the house was empty then. Your aunt always let us use thatshort cut. Ha-hadn't we better get this out into the passage? It'll allhave to come out anyhow. You take the other side. ' They began to lift aheavyish table. Their words came jerkily between gasps and their faceswere as white as--a newly washed and very hungry pig. 

'Look out!' Midmore shouted. His legs were whirled from under him, asthe table, grunting madly, careened and knocked the girl out of sight. 

The wild boar of Asia could not have cut down a couple morescientifically, but this little pig lacked his ancestor's nerve and fledshrieking over their bodies. 

'Are you hurt, darling?' was Midmore's first word, and 'No--I'm onlywinded--dear, ' was Miss Sperrit's, as he lifted her out of her corner, her hat over one eye and her right cheek a smear of mud. 

They fed him a little later on some chicken-feed that they found inSidney's quiet barn, a pail of buttermilk out of the dairy, and aquantity of onions from a shelf in the back-kitchen. 

'Seed-onions, most likely, ' said Connie. 'You'll hear about this. '

'What does it matter? They ought to have been gilded. We must buy him. '

'And keep him as long as he lives, ' she agreed. 'But I think I ought togo 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 an hourago!. .. Sidney's unspeakable parlour--and the mud on the carpet. '

'Oh, I say! Is my cheek clean now?'

'Not quite. Lend me your hanky again a minute, darling. .. . What a purleryou came!'

'You can't talk. 'Remember when your chin hit that table and you said"blast"! I was just going to laugh. '

'You didn't laugh when I picked you up. You were going "oo-oo-oo" like alittle owl. '

'My dear child--'

'Say that again!'

'My dear child. (Do you really like it? I keep it for my best friends. )My _dee-ar_ child, I thought I was going to be sick there and then. Heknocked every ounce of wind out of me--the angel! But I must really go. '

They set off together, very careful not to join hands or take arms. 

'Not across the fields, ' said Midmore at the stile. 'Come round by--byyour own place. '

She flushed indignantly. 

'It will be yours in a little time, ' he went on, shaken with his ownaudacity. 

'Not so much of your little times, if you please!' She shied like a coltacross the road; then instantly, like a colt, her eyes lit with newcuriosity 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 any more. '

'Oh, I'll be good. I'll be good. ' Her voice changed suddenly. 'I swearI'll try to be good, dear. I'm not much of a thing at the best. Whatmade _you_. .. . '

'I'm worse--worse! Miles and oceans worse. But what does it matter now?'

They halted beside the gate-pillars. 

'I see!' she said, looking up the sodden carriage sweep to the frontdoor porch where Rhoda was slapping a wet mat to and fro. '_I_ see. .. . Now, I really must go home. No! Don't you come. I must speak to Motherfirst all by myself. '

He watched her up the hill till she was out of sight. 

 THE FLOODS

 The rain it rains without a stay In the hills above us, in the hills; And presently the floods break way Whose strength is in the hills. The trees they suck from every cloud, The valley brooks they roar aloud-- Bank-high for the lowlands, lowlands, Lowlands under the hills!

 The first wood down is sere and small, From the hills, the brishings off the hills; And then come by the bats and all We cut last year in the hills; And then the roots we tried to cleave But found too tough and had to leave-- Polting through the lowlands, lowlands, Lowlands under the hills!

 The eye shall look, the ear shall hark To the hills, the doings in the hills, And rivers mating in the dark With tokens from the hills. Now what is weak will surely go, And what is strong must prove it so. Stand fast in the lowlands, lowlands, Lowlands under the hills!

 The floods they shall not be afraid-- Nor the hills above 'em, nor the hills-- Of any fence which man has made Betwixt him and the hills. The waters shall not reckon twice For any work of man's device, But bid it down to the lowlands, lowlands, Lowlands under the hills!

 The floods shall sweep corruption clean-- By the hills, the blessing of the hills-- That more the meadows may be green New-amended from the hills. The crops and cattle shall increase, Nor little children shall not cease-- Go--plough the lowlands, lowlands, Lowlands under the hills!

 THE FABULISTS

 When all the world would have a matter hid, Since Truth is seldom friend to any crowd, Men write in fable, as old Æsop did, Jesting at that which none will name aloud. And this they needs must do, or it will fall Unless they please they are not heard at all. 

 When desperate Folly daily laboureth To work confusion upon all we have, When diligent Sloth demandeth Freedom's death, And banded Fear commandeth Honour's grave-- Even in that certain hour before the fall Unless men please they are not heard at all. 

 Needs must all please, yet some not all for need Needs must all toil, yet some not all for gain, But that men taking pleasure may take heed, Whom present toil shall snatch from later pain. Thus some have toiled but their reward was small Since, though they pleased, they were not heard at all. 

 This was the lock that lay upon our lips, This was the yoke that we have undergone, Denying us all pleasant fellowships As in our time and generation. Our pleasures unpursued age past recall. And for our pains--we are not heard at all. 

 What man hears aught except the groaning guns? What man heeds aught save what each instant brings? When each man's life all imaged life outruns, What man shall pleasure in imaginings? So it hath fallen, as it was bound to fall, We are not, nor we were not, heard at all. 

The Vortex

(August 1914)

 'Thy Lord spoke by inspiration to the Bee. '

 AL KORAN. 

I have, to my grief and loss, suppressed several notable stories of myfriend, the Hon. A. M. Penfentenyou[8], once Minister of Woods andWaysides in De Thouar's first administration; later, Premier in all butname of one of Our great and growing Dominions; and now, as always, theidol of his own Province, which is two and one-half the size of England. 

[Footnote 8: See 'The Puzzler, ' _Actions and Reactions_. ]

For this reason I hold myself at liberty to deal with some portion ofthe truth concerning Penfentenyou's latest visit to Our shores. Hearrived at my house by car, on a hot summer day, in a white waistcoatand spats, sweeping black frock-coat and glistening top-hat--a littlerounded, perhaps, at the edges, but agile as ever in mind and body. 

'What is the trouble now?' I asked, for the last time we had met, Penfentenyou was floating a three-million pound loan for his beloved butunscrupulous Province, and I did not wish to entertain any more of hisfinancial friends. 

'We, ' Penfentenyou replied ambassadorially, 'have come to have a Voicein Your Councils. By the way, the Voice is coming down on the eveningtrain with my Agent-General. I thought you wouldn't mind if I invited'em. You know We're going to share Your burdens henceforward. You'dbetter get into training. '

'Certainly, ' I replied. 'What's the Voice like?'

'He's in earnest, ' said Penfentenyou. 'He's got It, and he's got It 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 call him 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 at home. 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 the Agent-Generalfor Penfentenyou's Dominion, he did just that. 

He advanced across the lawn eloquent as all the tides. He said he hadbeen observing to the Agent-General that it was both politically immoraland strategically unsound that forty-four million people should bear theentire weight of the defences of Our mighty Empire, but, as he hadobserved (here the Agent-General evaporated), we stood now upon thethreshold of a new era in which the self-governing _and_ self-respecting(bis) Dominions would rightly and righteously, as co-partners in Empery, shoulder their share of any burden which the Pan-Imperial Council ofthe Future should allot. The Agent-General was already arranging fordrinks with Penfentenyou at the other end of the garden. Mr. Lingnamswept me on to the most remote bench and settled to his theme. 

We dined at eight. At nine Mr. Lingnam was only drawing abreast ofthings Imperial. At ten the Agent-General, who earns his salary, wasshamelessly dozing on the sofa. At eleven he and Penfentenyou went tobed. At midnight Mr. Lingnam brought down his big-bellied despatch boxwith the newspaper clippings and set to federating the Empire inearnest. I remember that he had three alternative plans. As a dealer inwords, I plumped for the resonant third--'Reciprocally co-ordinatedSenatorial Hegemony'--which he then elaborated in detail forthree-quarters of an hour. At half-past one he urged me to have faithand to remember that nothing mattered except the Idea. Then he retiredto 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 for theblood of Mr. Lingnam, Penfentenyou, and the Agent-General. 

To me, as I have often observed elsewhere, the hour of earliest dawn isfortunate, and the wind that runs before it has ever been my mostcomfortable counsellor. 

'Wait!' it said, all among the night's expectant rosebuds. 'To-morrow isalso a day. Wait upon the Event!'

I went to bed so at peace with God and Man and Guest that when I waked Ivisited Mr. Lingnam in pyjamas, and he talked to me Pan-Imperially forhalf-an-hour before his bath. Later, the Agent-General said he hadletters to write, and Penfentenyou invented a Cabinet crisis in hisadored Dominion which would keep him busy with codes and cables all theforenoon. But I said firmly, 'Mr. Lingnam wishes to see a little of thecountry round here. You are 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 were hired. '

'I'll lend you goggles, ' I said. 'My car is under repairs. '

The hireling who had looked to be returned to London spat and growled onthe drive. She was an open car, capable of some eighteen miles on theflat, with tetanic gears and a perpetual palsy. 

'It won't make the least difference, ' sighed the Agent-General. 'He'llonly raise his voice. He did it all the way coming down. '

'I say, ' said Penfentenyou suspiciously, 'what are you doing all this_for_?'

'Love of the Empire, ' I answered, as Mr. Lingnam tripped up in dust-coatand binoculars. 'Now, Mr. Lingnam will tell us exactly what he wants tosee. He probably knows more about England than the rest of us puttogether. '

'I read it up yesterday, ' said Mr. Lingnam simply. While we stowed thelunch-basket (one can never make too sure with a hired car) he outlineda very pretty and instructive little day's run. 

'You'll drive, of course?' said Penfentenyou to him. 'It's the onlything you know anything about. '

This astonished me, for your greater Federationists are rarelymechanicians, but Mr. Lingnam said he would prefer to be inside for thepresent and enjoy our conversation. 

Well settled on the back seat, he did not once lift his eyes to themellow landscape around him, or throw a word at the life of the Englishroad which to me is one renewed and unreasoned orgy of delight. Themustard-coloured scouts of the Automobile Association; their naturalenemies, the unjust police; our natural enemies, the deliberatemarket-day cattle, broadside-on at all corners, the bicyclingbutcher-boy a furlong behind; road-engines that pulled giddy-go-rounds, rifle galleries, and swings, and sucked snortingly from wayside ponds indefiance of the notice-board; traction-engines, their trailers piledhigh with road metal; uniformed village nurses, one per seven statutemiles, flitting by on their wheels; governess-carts full of pinkchildren jogging unconcernedly past roaring, brazen touring-cars; thewayside rector with virgins in attendance, their faces screwed upagainst our dust; motor-bicycles of every shape charging down at everyangle; red flags of rifle-ranges; detachments of dusty-putteedTerritorials; coveys of flagrant children playing in mid-street, and thewise, educated English dog safe and quite silent on the pavement if hisfool-mistress would but cease from trying to save him, passed andrepassed us in sunlit or shaded settings. But Mr. Lingnam only talked. He talked--we all sat together behind so that we could not escapehim--and he talked above the worn gears and a certain maddening swish ofone badly patched tire--_and_ he talked of the Federation of the Empireagainst all conceivable dangers except himself. Yet I was neitherbrutally rude like Penfentenyou, nor swooningly bored like theAgent-General. I remembered a certain Joseph Finsbury who delighted theTregonwell Arms on the borders of the New Forest with nine'--it shouldhave been 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. ' This last Imust have murmured aloud, for the Agent-General suddenly became humanand went on: 'Bussorah, Heligoland, and the Scilly Islands--'

'What?' growled Penfentenyou. 

'Nothing, ' said the Agent-General, squeezing my hand affectionately. 'Only we have just found out that we are brothers. '

'Exactly, ' said Mr. Lingnam. 'That's what I've been trying to lead upto. We're _all_ brothers. D'you realise that fifteen years ago such aconversation as we're having would have been unthinkable? The Empirewouldn't have been ripe for it. To go back, even ten years--'

'I've got it, ' cried the Agent-General. '"Brighton, Cincinnati, andNijni-Novgorod!" God bless R. L. S. ! Go on, Uncle Joseph. I can enduremuch now. '

Mr. Lingnam went on like our shandrydan, slowly and loudly. He admittedthat a man obsessed with a Central Idea--and, after all, the only thingthat mattered was the Idea--might become a bore, but the World's Work, he pointed out, had been done by bores. So he laid his bones down tothat work till we abandoned ourselves to the passage of time and theMercy of Allah, Who Alone closes the Mouths of His Prophets. And wewasted more than fifty miles of summer's vivid own England upon himthe while. 

About two o'clock we topped Sumtner Rising and looked down on thevillage of Sumtner Barton, which lies just across a single railway line, spanned by a red brick bridge. The thick, thunderous June airs broughtus gusts of melody from a giddy-go-round steam-organ in full blast nearthe pond on the village green. Drums, too, thumped and banners waved andregalia flashed at the far end of the broad village street. Mr. Lingnamasked why. 

'Nothing Imperial, I'm afraid. It looks like a Foresters' Fête--one ofour big Mutual Benefit Societies, ' I explained. 

'The Idea only needs to be co-ordinated to Imperial scale--' he began. 

'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, and bebecame the administrator at once, saying, '_I_ see! Lingnam can drive usin and we'll get some, while Holford'--this was the hireling chauffeur, whose views on beer we knew not--'lays out lunch here. That'll be betterthan eating at the pub. We can take in the Foresters' Fête as well, andperhaps I can buy some newspapers at the station. '

'True, ' I answered. 'The railway station is just under that bridge, andwe'll come back and lunch here. '

I indicated a terrace of cool clean shade beneath kindly beeches at thehead of Sumtner Rise. As Holford got out the lunch-basket, a detachmentof Regular troops on manoeuvres swung down the baking road. 

'Ah!' said Mr. Lingnam, the monthly-magazine roll in his voice. 'AllEurope is an armed camp, groaning, as I remember I once wrote, under theweight of its accoutrements. '

'Oh, hop in and drive, ' cried Penfentenyou. 'We want that beer!'

It made no difference. Mr. Lingnam could have federated the Empire froma tight rope. He continued his oration at the wheel as we trundled. 

'The danger to the Younger Nations is of being drawn into this vortex ofMilitarism, ' he went on, dodging the rear of the soldiery. 

'Slow past troops, ' I hinted. 'It saves 'em dust. And we overtake on theright as a rule in England. '

'Thanks!' Mr. Lingnam slued over. 'That's another detail which needs tobe co-ordinated throughout the Empire. But to go back to what I wassaying. My idea has always been that the component parts of the Empireshould take counsel among themselves on the approach of war, so that, after we have decided on the merits of the _casus belli_, we canco-ordinate what part each Dominion shall 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 the steam-organ. As wetopped the arch we saw a Foresters' band with banners marching downthe street. 

'That's all very fine, ' said the Agent-General, 'but in real life thingshave a knack of happening without approaching--'

 * * * * *

(Some schools of Thought hold that Time is not; and that when we attaincomplete enlightenment we shall behold past, present, and future as OneAwful Whole. I myself have nearly achieved this. )

 * * * * *

We dipped over the bridge into the village. A boy on a bicycle, loadedwith four paper bonnet-boxes, pedalled towards us, out of an alley onour right. He bowed his head the better to overcome the ascent, andnaturally took his left. Mr. Lingnam swerved frantically to the right. Penfentenyou shouted. The boy looked up, saw the car was like to squeezehim against the bridge wall, flung himself off his machine and acrossthe narrow pavement into the nearest house. He slammed the door at theprecise moment when the car, all brakes set, bunted the abandonedbicycle, shattering three of the bonnet-boxes and jerking the fourthover the unscreened dashboard into Mr. Lingnam's arms. 

There was a dead stillness, then a hiss like that of escaping steam, anda man who had been running towards us ran the other way. 

'Why! I think that those must be bees, ' said Mr. Lingnam. 

They were--four full swarms--and the first living objects which he hadremarked upon all day. 

Some one said, 'Oh, God!' The Agent-General went out over the back ofthe car, crying resolutely: 'Stop the traffic! Stop the traffic, there!'Penfentenyou was already on the pavement ringing a door-bell, so I hadboth their rugs, which--for I am an apiarist--I threw over my head. While I was tucking my trousers into my socks--for I am an apiarist ofexperience--Mr. Lingnam picked up the unexploded bonnet-box and with asingle magnificent gesture (he told us afterwards he thought there was ariver beneath) hurled it over the parapet of the bridge, ere he ranacross the road towards the village green. Now, the station platformimmediately below was crowded with Foresters and their friends waitingto welcome a delegation from a sister Court. I saw the box burst on theflint edging 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 Sodom andGomorrah. Then they moved as a unit into the booking-office, thewaiting-rooms, and other places, shut doors and windows and declaimedaloud, while the incoming train whistled far down the line. 

I pivoted round cross-legged on the back seat, like a Circassian beautybeneath her veil, and saw Penfentenyou, his coat-collar over his ears, dancing before a shut door and holding up handfuls of currency to asilver-haired woman at an upper window, who only mouthed and shook herhead. A little child, carrying a kitten, came smiling round a corner. Suddenly (but these things moved me no more than so many yards ofthree-penny cinematograph-film) the kitten leaped spitting from herarms, the child burst into tears, Penfentenyou, still dancing, snatchedher up and tucked her under his coat, the woman's countenance blanched, the front door opened, Penfentenyou and the child pressed through, and Iwas alone in an inhospitable world where every one was shutting windowsand calling children home. 

A voice cried: 'You've frowtened 'em! You've frowtened 'em! Throw duston 'em and they'll settle!'

I did not desire to throw dust on any created thing. I needed both handsfor my draperies and two more for my stockings. Besides, the bees weredoing me no hurt. They recognised me as a member of the CountyBee-keepers' Association who had paid his annual subscription and wasentitled to a free seat at all apicultural exhibitions. The quiver andthe churn of the hireling car, or it might have been the lurchingbanners and the arrogant big drum, inclined many of them to go upstreet, and pay court to the advancing Foresters' band. So they went, such as had not followed Mr. Lingnam in his flight toward the green, andI looked out of two goggled eyes instead of half a one at theapproaching musicians, while I listened with both ears to the delayedtrain's second whistle down the line beneath me. 

The Forester's band no more knew what was coming than do troops undersudden fire. Indeed, there were the same extravagant gestures andcontortions as attend wounds and deaths in war; the very same uncannycessations of speech--for the trombone was cut off at midslide, even asa man drops with a syllable on his tongue. They clawed, they slapped, they fled, leaving behind them a trophy of banners and brasses crudelyarranged round the big drum. Then that end of the street also shut itswindows, and the village, stripped of life, lay round me like a reef atlow tide. Though I am, as I have said, an apiarist in good standing, Inever realised that there were so many bees in the world. When they hadwoven a flashing haze from one end of the desert street to the other, there remained reserves enough to form knops and pendules on allwindow-sills and gutter-ends, without diminishing the multitudes in thethree oozing bonnet-boxes, or drawing on the Fourth (Railway) Battalionin charge of the station below. The prisoners in the waiting-rooms andother places there cried out a great deal (I argued that they were dyingof the heat), and at regular intervals the stationmaster called andcalled to a signalman who was not on duty, and the train whistled as itdrew nearer. 

Then Penfentenyou, venal and adaptable politician of the type thatsurvives at the price of all the higher emotions, appeared at the windowof the house on my right, broken and congested with mirth, the womanbeside him, and the child in his arms. I saw his mouth open and shut, hehollowed his hands round it, but the churr of the motor and the beesdrowned his words. He pointed dramatically across the street many timesand fell back, tears running down his face. I turned like a hoodedbarbette in a heavy seaway (not knowing when my trousers would come outof my socks again) through one hundred and eighty degrees, and in duetime bore on the village green. There was a salmon in the pond, risingshort at a cloud of midges to the tune of _Yip-i-addy_; but there wasnone to gaff him. The swing-boats were empty, cocoa-nuts sat still ontheir red sticks before white screens, and the gay-painted horses of thegiddy-go-rounds revolved riderless. All was melody, green turf, brightwater, and this greedy gambolling fish. When I had identified it by itsgrey gills and binoculars as Lingnam, I prostrated myself before Allahin that mirth which is more truly labour than any prayer. Then I turnedto the purple Penfentenyou at the window, and wiped my eyes on therug edge. 

He raised the window half one cautious inch and bellowed through thecrack: 'Did you see _him_? Have they got _you_? I can see lots ofthings from here. It's like a three-ring circus!'

'Can you see the station?' I replied, nodding toward the right rearmudguard. 

He twisted and craned sideways, but could not command that beautifulview. 

'No! What's it like?' he cried. 

'Hell!' I shouted. The silver-haired woman frowned; so did Penfentenyou, and, I think, apologised to her for my language. 

'You're always so extreme, ' he fluted reproachfully. 'You forget thatnothing matters except the Idea. Besides, they are this lady's bees. '

He closed the window, and introduced us through it in dumb show; but hecontrived to give the impression that _I_ was the specimen under glass. 

A spurt of damp steam saved me from apoplexy. The train had lostpatience at last, and was coming into the station directly beneath me tosee what was the matter. Happy voices sang and heads were thrust out allalong the compartments, but none answered their songs or greetings. Shehalted, and the people began to get out. Then they began to get inagain, as their friends in the waiting-rooms advised. All did not catchthe warning, so there was congestion at the doors, but those whom thebees caught got in first. 

Still the bees, more bent on their own business than wanton torture, kept to the south end of the platform by the bookstall, and that was whythe completely exposed engine-driver at the north end of the train didnot at first understand the hermetically sealed stationmaster when thelatter 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 minute if youdon't shift, ' said the stationmaster. 'Drop 'em at Parson's Meadow andthey can walk up over the fields. '

That bare-armed, thin-shirted idiot, leaning out of the cab, took thestationmaster's orders as an insult to his dignity, and roared at theshut offices: 'You'll give me what-for, will you? Look 'ere, I'm not inthe 'abit of--' His outstretched hand flew to his neck. .. . Do you knowthat if you sting an engine-driver it is the same as stinging his train?She starts with a jerk that nearly smashes the couplings, and runs, barking like a dog, till she is out of sight. Nor does she think aboutspilled people and parted families on the platform behind her. I had todo all that. There was a man called Fred, and his wife Harriet--acheery, full-blooded couple--who interested me immensely before theybattered their way into a small detached building, already denselyoccupied. There was also a nameless bachelor who sat under a half-openedumbrella and twirled it dizzily, which was so new a game that Iapplauded aloud. 

When they had thoroughly cleared the ground, the bees set about makingcomb for publication at the bookstall counter. Presently some boldhearts tiptoed out of the waiting-rooms over the loud gravel with theconsciously modest air of men leaving church, climbed the woodenstaircase to the bridge, and so reached my level, where theinexhaustible bonnet-boxes were still vomiting squadrons and platoons. There was little need to bid them descend. They had wrapped their headsin handkerchiefs, so that they looked like the disappointed deadscuttling back to Purgatory. Only one old gentleman, pontifically drapedin a banner embroidered 'Temperance and Fortitude, ' ran the gauntletup-street, shouting as he passed me, 'It's night or Blücher, Mister. 'They let him in at the White Hart, the pub. Where I should havebought the beer. 

After this the day sagged. I fell to reckoning how long a man in aTurkish bath, weakened by excessive laughter, could live without food, and specially drink; and how long a disenfranchised bee could hold outunder the same conditions. 

Obviously, since her one practical joke costs her her life, the bee canhave but small sense of humour; but her fundamentally dismal andungracious outlook on life impressed me beyond words. She had paralysedlocomotion, wiped out trade, social intercourse, mutual trust, love, friendship, sport, music (the lonely steam-organ had run down at last), all that gives substance, colour or savour to life, and yet, in thebarren desert she had created, was not one whit more near to theevolution of a saner order of things. The Heavens were darkened with theswarms' divided counsels; the street shimmered with their purposelesssallies. They clotted on tiles and gutter-pipes, and began frenziedly tobuild a cell or two of comb ere they discovered that their queen wasnot with them; then flung off to seek her, or whirled, dishevelled andinsane, into another hissing nebula on the false rumour that she wasthere. 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 realised that itwas not bees nor locusts that had darkened the skies, but the on-comingof the malignant English thunderstorm--the one thing before which evenDeborah the bee cannot express her silly little self. 

'Aha! _Now_ you'll catch it, ' I said, as the herald gusts set the bigdrum rolling down the street like a box-kite. Up and up yearned the darkcloud, till the first lightning quivered and cut. Deborah cowered. Whereshe flew, there she fled; where she was, there she sat still; and thesolid rain closed in on her as a book that is closed when the chapter isfinished. By the time it had soaked to my second rug, Penfentenyouappeared at the window, wiping his false mouth on a napkin. 

'Are you all right?' he inquired. 'Then _that's_ all right! Mrs. Bellamysays that her bees don't sting in the wet. You'd better fetch Lingnamover. He's got to pay for them and the bicycle. '

I had no words which the silver-haired lady could listen to, but paddledacross the flooded street between flashes to the pond on the green. Mr. Lingnam, scarcely visible through the sheeting downpour, trotted roundthe edge. He bore himself nobly, and lied at the mere sight of me. 

'Isn't this wet?' he cried. 'It has drenched me to the skin. I shallneed a change. '

'Come along, ' I said. 'I don't know what you'll get, but you deservemore. '

Penfentenyou, dry, fed, and in command, let us in. 'You, ' he whisperedto me, 'are to wait in the scullery. Mrs. Bellamy didn't like the wayyou talked about her bees. Hsh! Hsh! She's a kind-hearted lady. She's awidow, Lingnam, but she's kept _his_ clothes, and as soon as you've paidfor the damage she'll rent you a suit. I've arranged it all!'

'Then tell him he mustn't undress in my hall, ' said a voice from thestair-head. 

'Tell _her_--' Lingnam began. 

'Come and look at the pretty suit I've chosen, ' Penfentenyou cooed, asone cajoling a maniac. 

I staggered out-of-doors again, and fell into the car, whoseever-running machinery masked my yelps and hiccups. When I raised myforehead from the wheel, I saw that traffic through the village had beenresumed, after, as my watch showed, one and one-half hour's suspension. There were two limousines, one landau, one doctor's car, threetouring-cars, one patent steam-laundry van, three tricars, onetraction-engine, some motor-cycles, one with a side-car, and one brewerylorry. It was the allegory of my own imperturbable country, delayed fora short time by unforeseen external events but now going about herbusiness, and I blessed Her with tears in my eyes, even though I knewShe looked upon me as drunk and incapable. 

Then troops came over the bridge behind me--a company of dripping wetRegulars without any expression. In their rear, carrying thelunch-basket, marched the Agent-General and Holford the hired chauffeur. 

'I say, ' said the Agent-General, nodding at the darkened khaki backs. 'If _that's_ what we've got to depend on in event of war they're abroken reed. They ran like hares--ran like hares, I tell you. '

'And you?' I asked. 

'Oh, I just sauntered back over the bridge and stopped the traffic thatend. Then I had lunch. 'Pity about the beer, though. I say--thesecushions 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' all thistime, ' said Holford sternly. 'I'll 'ave to account for the expenditureof petrol. It exceeds the mileage indicated, you see. '

'I'm sorry, ' I repeated. After all, that is the way that taxpayersregard most crises. 

The house-door opened and Penfentenyou and another came out into the nowthinning rain. 

'Ah! There you both are! Here's Lingnam, ' he cried. 'He's got a littlewet. He's had to change. '

'We saw that. I was too sore and weak to begin another laugh, but theAgent-General crumpled up where he stood. The late Mr. Bellamy must havebeen a man of tremendous personality, which he had impressed on everyangle of his garments. I was told later that he had died in deliriumtremens, which at once explained the pattern, and the reason why Mr. Lingnam, writhing inside it, swore so inspiredly. Of the deliberate anddiffuse Federationist there remained no trace, save the binoculars andtwo damp whiskers. We stood on the pavement, before Elemental Mancalling on Elemental Powers to condemn and incinerate Creation. 

'Well, hadn't we better be getting back?' said the Agent-General. 

'Look out!' I remarked casually. 'Those bonnet-boxes are full of beesstill!'

'Are they?' said the livid Mr. Lingnam, and tilted them over with thelate Mr. Bellamy's large boots. Deborah rolled out in drenched lumpsinto the swilling gutter. There was a muffled shriek at the window whereMrs. Bellamy gesticulated. 

'It's all right. I've paid for them, ' said Mr. Lingnam. He dumped outthe last dregs like mould from a pot-bound flower-pot. 

'What? Are you going to take 'em home with you?' said the Agent-General. 

'No!' He passed a wet hand over his streaky forehead. 'Wasn't there abicycle that was the beginning of this trouble?' said he. 

'It's under the fore-axle, sir, ' said Holford promptly. 'I can fish itout from 'ere. '

'Not till I've done with it, please. ' Before we could stop him, he hadjumped into the car and taken charge. The hireling leaped into hercollar, surged, shrieked (less loudly than Mrs. Bellamy at the window), and swept on. That which came out behind her was, as Holford trulyobserved, no joy-wheel. Mr. Lingnam swung round the big drum in themarket-place and thundered back, shouting: 'Leave it alone. It'smy meat!'

'Mince-meat, 'e means, ' said Holford after this second trituration. 'Youcouldn't say now it 'ad ever _been_ one, could you?'

Mrs. Bellamy opened the window and spoke. It appears she had onlycharged for damage to the bicycle, not for the entire machine which Mr. Lingnam was ruthlessly gleaning, spoke by spoke, from the highway andcramming into the slack of the hood. At last he answered, and I havenever seen a man foam at the mouth before. 'If you don't stop, I shallcome into your house--in this car--and drive upstairs and--kill you!'

She stopped; he stopped. Holford took the wheel, and we got away. It wastime, for the sun shone after the storm, and Deborah beneath the tilesand the eaves already felt its reviving influence compel her to herinterrupted labours of federation. We warned the village policeman atthe far end of the street that he might have to suspend traffic again. The proprietor of the giddy-go-round, swings, and cocoanut-shies wantedto know from whom, in this world or another, he could recover damages. Mr. Lingnam referred him most directly to Mrs. Bellamy. .. . Then wewent home. 

After dinner that evening Mr. Lingnam rose stiffly in his place to makea few remarks on the Federation of the Empire on the lines ofCo-ordinated, Offensive Operations, backed by the Entire EffectiveForces, Moral, Military, and Fiscal, of Permanently MobilisedCommunities, the whole brought to bear, without any respect to themerits of any _casus belli_, instantaneously, automatically, andremorselessly at the first faint buzz of war. 

'The trouble with Us, ' said he, 'is that We take such an infernally longtime making sure that We are right that We don't go ahead when thingshappen. For instance, I ought to have gone ahead instead of pulling upwhen I hit that bicycle. '

'But you were in the wrong, Lingnam, when you turned to the right, ' Iput in. 

'I don't want to hear any more of your damned, detached, mugwumpingexcuses for the other fellow, ' he snapped. 

'Now you're beginning to see things, ' said Penfentenyou. 'I hope youwon't backslide when the swellings go down. '

THE SONG OF SEVEN CITIES

 I was Lord of Cities very sumptuously builded. Seven roaring Cities paid me tribute from afar. Ivory their outposts were--the guardrooms of them gilded, And garrisoned with Amazons invincible in war. 

 All the world went softly when it walked before my Cities-- Neither King nor Army vexed my peoples at their toil. Never horse nor chariot irked or overbore my Cities, Never Mob nor Ruler questioned whence they drew their spoil. 

 Banded, mailed and arrogant from sunrise unto sunset, Singing while they sacked it, they possessed the land at large. Yet when men would rob them, they resisted, they made onset And pierced the smoke of battle with a thousand-sabred charge!

 So they warred and trafficked only yesterday, my Cities. To-day there is no mark or mound of where my Cities stood. For the River rose at midnight and it washed away my Cities. They are evened with Atlantis and the towns before the Flood. 

 Rain on rain-gorged channels raised the water-levels round them, Freshet backed on freshet swelled and swept their world from sight, Till the emboldened floods linked arms and flashing forward drowned them-- Drowned my Seven Cities and their peoples in one night!

 Low among the alders lie their derelict foundations, The beams wherein they trusted and the plinths whereon they built-- My rulers and their treasure and their unborn populations, Dead, destroyed, aborted, and defiled with mud and silt!

 The Daughters of the Palace whom they cherished in my Cities, My silver-tongued Princesses, and the promise of their May-- Their bridegrooms of the June-tide--all have perished in my Cities, With the harsh envenomed virgins that can neither love nor play. 

 I was Lord of Cities--I will build anew my Cities, Seven, set on rocks, above the wrath of any flood. Nor will I rest from search till I have filled anew my Cities With peoples undefeated of the dark, enduring blood. 

 To the sound of trumpets shall their seed restore my Cities. Wealthy and well-weaponed, that once more may I behold All the world go softly when it walks before my Cities, And the horses and the chariots fleeing from them as of old!

'Swept and Garnished'

(January 1915)

When the first waves of feverish cold stole over Frau Ebermann she verywisely telephoned for the doctor and went to bed. He diagnosed theattack as mild influenza, prescribed the appropriate remedies, and lefther to the care of her one servant in her comfortable Berlin flat. FrauEbermann, beneath the thick coverlet, curled up with what patience shecould until the aspirin should begin to act, and Anna should come backfrom the chemist with the formamint, the ammoniated quinine, theeucalyptus, and the little tin steam-inhaler. Meantime, every bone inher body ached; her head throbbed; her hot, dry hands would not stay thesame size for a minute together; and her body, tucked into the smallestpossible compass, shrank from the chill of the well-warmed sheets. 

Of a sudden she noticed that an imitation-lace cover which should havelain mathematically square with the imitation-marble top of the radiatorbehind the green plush sofa had slipped away so that one corner hungover the bronze-painted steam pipes. She recalled that she must haverested her poor head against the radiator-top while she was taking offher boots. She tried to get up and set the thing straight, but theradiator at once receded toward the horizon, which, unlike truehorizons, slanted diagonally, exactly parallel with the dropped laceedge of the cover. Frau Ebermann groaned through sticky lips andlay still. 

'Certainly, I have a temperature, ' she said. 'Certainly, I have a gravetemperature. I should have been warned by that chill after dinner. '

She resolved to shut her hot-lidded eyes, but opened them in a littlewhile to torture herself with the knowledge of that ungeometrical thingagainst the far wall. Then she saw a child--an untidy, thin-faced littlegirl of about ten, who must have strayed in from the adjoining flat. This proved--Frau Ebermann groaned again at the way the world falls tobits when one is sick--proved that Anna had forgotten to shut the outerdoor of the flat when she went to the chemist. Frau Ebermann had hadchildren of her own, but they were all grown up now, and she had neverbeen a child-lover in any sense. Yet the intruder might be made to serveher scheme of things. 

'Make--put, ' she muttered thickly, 'that white thing straight on the topof that yellow thing. '

The child paid no attention, but moved about the room, investigatingeverything that came in her way--the yellow cut-glass handles of thechest of drawers, the stamped bronze hook to hold back the heavy pucecurtains, and the mauve enamel, New Art finger-plates on the door. FrauEbermann watched indignantly. 

'Aie! That is bad and rude. Go away!' she cried, though it hurt her toraise her voice. 'Go away by the road you came!' The child passedbehind the bed-foot, where she could not see her. 'Shut the door as yougo. I will speak to Anna, but--first, put that white thing straight. '

She closed her eyes in misery of body and soul. The outer door clicked, and Anna entered, very penitent that she had stayed so long at thechemist's. But it had been difficult to find the proper type ofinhaler, and--

'Where did the child go?' moaned Frau Ebermann--'the child that washere?'

'There was no child, ' said startled Anna. 'How should any child come inwhen I shut the door behind me after I go out? All the keys of the flatsare different. '

'No, no! You forgot this time. But my back is aching, and up my legsalso. Besides, who knows what it may have fingered and upset? Lookand see. '

'Nothing is fingered, nothing is upset, ' Anna replied, as she took theinhaler from its paper box. 

'Yes, there is. Now I remember all about it. Put--put that white thing, with the open edge--the lace, I mean--quite straight on that--' shepointed. Anna, accustomed to her ways, understood and went to it. 

'Now, is it quite straight?' Frau Ebermann demanded. 

'Perfectly, ' said Anna. 'In fact, in the very centre of the radiator. 'Anna measured the equal margins with her knuckle, as she had been toldto do when she first took service. 

'And my tortoise-shell hair brushes?' Frau Ebermann could not commandher dressing-table from where she lay. 

'Perfectly straight, side by side in the big tray, and the comb laidacross them. Your watch also in the coralline watch-holder. Everything'--she moved round the room to make sure--'everything is asyou have it when you are well. ' Frau Ebermann sighed with relief. Itseemed to her that the room and her head had suddenly grown cooler. 

'Good!' said she. 'Now warm my night-gown in the kitchen, so it will beready when I have perspired. And the towels also. Make the inhalersteam, and put in the eucalyptus; that is good for the larynx. Then sityou in the kitchen, and come when I ring. But, first, myhot-water bottle. '

It was brought and scientifically tucked in. 

'What news?' said Frau Ebermann drowsily. She had not been out that day. 

'Another victory, ' said Anna. 'Many more prisoners and guns. '

Frau Ebermann purred, one might almost say grunted, contentedly. 

'That is good too, ' she said; and Anna, after lighting the inhaler-lamp, went out. 

Frau Ebermann reflected that in an hour or so the aspirin would begin towork, and all would be well. To-morrow--no, the day after--she wouldtake up life with something to talk over with her friends at coffee. Itwas rare--every one knew it--that she should be overcome by anyailment. Yet in all her distresses she had not allowed the minutestdeviation from daily routine and ritual. She would tell her friends--sheran over their names one by one--exactly what measures she had takenagainst the lace cover on the radiator-top and in regard to her twotortoise-shell hair brushes and the comb at right angles. How she hadset everything in order--everything in order. She roved further afieldas she wriggled her toes luxuriously on the hot-water bottle. If itpleased our dear God to take her to Himself, and she was not so young asshe had been--there was that plate of the four lower ones in the bluetooth-glass, for instance--He should find all her belongings fit to meetHis eye. 'Swept and garnished' were the words that shaped themselves inher intent brain. 'Swept and garnished for--'

No, it was certainly not for the dear Lord that she had swept; she wouldhave her room swept out to-morrow or the day after, and garnished. Herhands began to swell again into huge pillows of nothingness. Then theyshrank, and so did her head, to minute dots. It occurred to her that shewas waiting for some event, some tremendously important event, to cometo pass. She lay with shut eyes for a long time till her head and handsshould return to their proper size. 

She opened her eyes with a jerk. 

'How stupid of me, ' she said aloud, 'to set the room in order for aparcel of dirty little children!'

They were there--five of them, two little boys and three girls--headedby the anxious-eyed ten-year-old whom she had seen before. They musthave entered by the outer door, which Anna had neglected to shut behindher when she returned with the inhaler. She counted them backward andforward as one counts scales--one, two, three, four, five. 

They took no notice of her, but hung about, first on one foot then onthe other, like strayed chickens, the smaller ones holding by thelarger. They had the air of utterly wearied passengers in a railwaywaiting-room, and their clothes were disgracefully dirty. 

'Go away!' cried Frau Ebermann at last, after she had struggled, itseemed 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 you came in?'

'Assuredly, ' said Anna. 'Besides, it is made to catch shut of itself. '

'Then go away, ' said she, very little above a whisper. If Anna pretendednot to see the children, she would speak to Anna later on. 

'And now, ' she said, turning toward them as soon as the door closed. Thesmallest of the crowd smiled at her, and shook his head before he buriedit 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, set themselvesto climb, boots and all, on to the green plush sofa in front of theradiator. The little boys had to be pushed, as they could not compassthe stretch unaided. They settled themselves in a row, with small gaspsof relief, and pawed the plush approvingly. 

'I ask you--I ask you why do you not go away--why do you not go away?'Frau Ebermann found herself repeating the question twenty times. Itseemed to her that everything in the world hung on the answer. 'You knowyou should not come into houses and rooms unless you are invited. Nothouses and bedrooms, you know. '

'No, ' a solemn little six-year-old repeated, 'not houses nor bedrooms, 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 toldthem only pigs would do that. ' The line nodded and dimpled one toanother with little explosive giggles, such as children use when theytell deeds of great daring against their elders. 

'If you know it is wrong, that makes it much worse, ' said Frau Ebermann. 

'Oh yes; much worse, ' they assented cheerfully, till the smallest boychanged his smile to a baby wail of weariness. 

'When will they come for us?' he asked, and the girl at the head of therow hauled him bodily into her square little capable lap. 

'He's tired, ' she explained. 'He is only four. He only had his firstbreeches this spring. ' They came almost under his armpits, and were heldup by broad linen braces, which, his sorrow diverted for the moment, hepatted proudly. 

'Yes, beautiful, dear, ' said both girls. 

'Go away!' said Frau Ebermann. 'Go home to your father and mother!'

Their faces grew grave at once. 

'H'sh! We _can't_, ' whispered the eldest. 'There isn't anything 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 said sleepily. 

'So, you see, we came here. ' The elder girl leaned forward a little, caressing the child she rocked. 

'I--I don't understand, ' said Frau Ebermann 'Are you lost, then? Youmust 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 to come hereand wait for them. So we are waiting till they come, ' the eldestgirl replied. 

'Yes. We are waiting till our people come for us, ' said all the othersin chorus. 

'But, ' said Frau Ebermann very patiently--'but now tell me, for I tellyou that I am not in the least angry, where do you come from? Where doyou come from?'

The five gave the names of two villages of which she had read in thepapers, 'That is silly, ' said Frau Ebermann. 'The people fired on us, and theywere punished. Those places are wiped out, stamped flat. '

'Yes, yes, wiped out, stamped flat. That is why and--I have lost theribbon off my pigtail, ' said the younger girl. She looked behind herover 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. They will takecare of you and give you food, ' said Frau Ebermann. 'Anna will show youthe way there. '

'No, '--this was the six-year-old with the smile, --'we must wait heretill our people come for us. Mustn't we, sister?'

'Of course. We wait here till our people come for us. All the worldknows that, ' said the eldest girl. 

'Yes. ' The boy in her lap had waked again. 'Little children, too--aslittle as Henri, and _he_ doesn't wear trousers yet. As little asall that. '

'I don't understand, ' said Frau Ebermann, shivering. In spite of theheat of the room and the damp breath of the steam-inhaler, the aspirinwas not doing its duty. 

The girl raised her blue eyes and looked at the woman for an instant. 

'You see, ' she said, emphasising her statements with her ringers, '_they_ told _us_ to wait _here_ till _our_ people came for us. So wecame. We wait till our people come for us. '

'That is silly again, ' said Frau Ebermann. 'It is no good for you towait here. Do you know what this place is? You have been to school? Itis Berlin, the capital of Germany. '

'Yes, yes, ' they all cried; 'Berlin, capital of Germany. We know that. That is why we came. '

'So, you see, it is no good, ' she said triumphantly, 'because yourpeople can never come for you here. '

'They told us to come here and wait till our people came for us. ' Theydelivered this as if it were a lesson in school. Then they sat still, their hands orderly folded on their laps, smiling as 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 time you_may_ call, ' and she returned to her friend in the kitchen. 

'I ask you--ask you, _please_ to go away, ' Frau Ebermann pleaded. 'Go tomy Anna through that door, and she will give you cakes and sweeties. Itis not kind of you to come into my room and behave so badly. '

'Where else shall we go now?' the elder girl demanded, turning to herlittle company. They fell into discussion. One preferred the broadstreet with trees, another the railway station; but when she suggestedan Emperor's palace, they agreed with her. 

'We will go then, ' she said, and added half apologetically to FrauEbermann, '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 thousands of theothers. '

'That is a lie. There cannot be a hundred even, much less a thousand, 'cried Frau Ebermann. 

'So?' said the girl politely. 

'Yes. _I_ tell you; and I have very good information. I know how ithappened. You should have been more careful. You should not have run outto see the horses and guns passing. That is how it is done when ourtroops pass through. My son has written me so. '

They had clambered down from the sofa, and gathered round the bed witheager, interested eyes. 

'Horses and guns going by--how fine!' some one whispered. 

'Yes, yes; believe me, _that_ is how the accidents to the childrenhappen. You must know yourself that it is true. One runs out to look--'

'But I never saw any at all, ' a boy cried sorrowfully. 'Only one noise Iheard. That was when Aunt Emmeline's house fell down. '

'But listen to me. _I_ am telling you! One runs out to look, because oneis little and cannot see well. So one peeps between the man's legs, andthen--you know how close those big horses and guns turn thecorners--then one's foot slips and one gets run over. That's how ithappens. Several times it had happened, but not many times; certainlynot a hundred, perhaps not twenty. So, you see, you _must_ be all. Tellme now that you are all that there are, and Anna shall give youthe cakes. '

'Thousands, ' a boy repeated monotonously. 'Then we all come here towait till our people come for us. '

'But now we will go away from here. The poor lady is tired, ' said theelder 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 where a poorlady 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 bows and curtseysundisturbed by her loud cries. '_Au revoir, _ lady. We will wait till ourpeople come for us. '

When Anna at last ran in, she found her mistress on her knees, busilycleaning the floor with the lace cover from the radiator, because, sheexplained, it was all spotted with the blood of five children--she wasperfectly certain there could not be more than five in the wholeworld--who had gone away for the moment, but were now waiting round thecorner, and Anna was to find them and give them cakes to stop thebleeding, while her mistress swept and garnished that Our dear Lord whenHe came might find everything as it should be. 

Mary Postgate

(1915)

Of Miss Mary Postgate, Lady McCausland wrote that she was 'thoroughlyconscientious, tidy, companionable, and ladylike. I am very sorry topart with her, and shall always be interested in her welfare. '

Miss Fowler engaged her on this recommendation, and to her surprise, forshe had had experience of companions, found that it was true. MissFowler was nearer sixty than fifty at the time, but though she neededcare she did not exhaust her attendant's vitality. On the contrary, shegave out, stimulatingly and with reminiscences. Her father had been aminor Court official in the days when the Great Exhibition of 1851 hadjust set its seal on Civilisation made perfect. Some of Miss Fowler'stales, none the less, were not always for the young. Mary was not young, and though her speech was as colourless as her eyes or her hair, she wasnever shocked. She listened unflinchingly to every one; said at the end, 'How interesting!' or 'How shocking!' as the case might be, and neveragain referred to it, for she prided herself on a trained mind, which'did not dwell on these things. ' She was, too, a treasure at domesticaccounts, for which the village tradesmen, with their weekly books, loved her not. Otherwise she had no enemies; provoked no jealousy evenamong the plainest; neither gossip nor slander had ever been traced toher; she supplied the odd place at the Rector's or the Doctor's table athalf an hour's notice; she was a sort of public aunt to very many smallchildren of the village street, whose parents, while acceptingeverything, would have been swift to resent what they called'patronage'; she served on the Village Nursing Committee as MissFowler's nominee when Miss Fowler was crippled by rheumatoid arthritis, and came out of six months' fortnightly meetings equally respected byall the cliques. 

And when Fate threw Miss Fowler's nephew, an unlovely orphan of eleven, on Miss Fowler's hands, Mary Postgate stood to her share of the businessof education as practised in private and public schools. She checkedprinted clothes-lists, and unitemised bills of extras; wrote to Head andHouse masters, matrons, nurses and doctors, and grieved or rejoiced overhalf-term reports. Young Wyndham Fowler repaid her in his holidays bycalling her 'Gatepost, ' 'Postey, ' or 'Packthread, ' by thumping herbetween her narrow shoulders, or by chasing her bleating, round thegarden, her large mouth open, her large nose high in air, at astiff-necked shamble very like a camel's. Later on he filled the housewith clamour, argument, and harangues as to his personal needs, likesand dislikes, and the limitations of 'you women, ' reducing Mary to tearsof physical fatigue, or, when he chose to be humorous, of helplesslaughter. At crises, which multiplied as he grew older, she was hisambassadress and his interpretress to Miss Fowler, who had no largesympathy with the young; a vote in his interest at the councils on hisfuture; his sewing-woman, strictly accountable for mislaid boots andgarments; always his butt and his slave. 

And when he decided to become a solicitor, and had entered an office inLondon; when his greeting had changed from 'Hullo, Postey, you oldbeast, ' to Mornin', Packthread, ' there came a war which, unlike all warsthat Mary could remember, did not stay decently outside England and inthe newspapers, but intruded on the lives of people whom she knew. Asshe said to Miss Fowler, it was 'most vexatious. ' It took the Rector'sson who was going into business with his elder brother; it took theColonel's nephew on the eve of fruit-farming in Canada; it took Mrs. Grant's son who, his mother said, was devoted to the ministry; and, veryearly indeed, 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 Marygot the proper-sized needles and wool, while Miss Fowler told the men ofher establishment--two gardeners and an odd man, aged sixty--that thosewho could join the Army had better do so. The gardeners left. Cheape, the odd man, stayed on, and was promoted to the gardener's cottage. Thecook, scorning to be limited in luxuries, also left, after a spiritedscene with Miss Fowler, and took the housemaid with her. Miss Fowlergazetted Nellie, Cheape's seventeen-year-old daughter, to the vacantpost; 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, who alwayslooked facts in the face, said, 'He must have it. The chances are hewon't live long to draw it, and if three hundred makes him happy--'

Wynn was grateful, and came over, in his tight-buttoned uniform, to sayso. His training centre was not thirty miles away, and his talk was sotechnical that it had to be explained by charts of the various types ofmachines. He gave Mary such a chart. 

'And you'd better study it, Postey, ' he said. 'You'll be seeing a lot of'em soon. ' So Mary studied the chart, but when Wynn next arrived toswell and exalt himself before his womenfolk, she failed badly incross-examination, and he rated her as in the old days. 

'You _look_ more or less like a human being, ' he said in his new Servicevoice. 'You _must_ have had a brain at some time in your past. What haveyou done with it? Where d'you keep it? A sheep would know more than youdo, Postey. You're lamentable. You are less use than an empty tin can, you dowey old cassowary. '

'I suppose that's how your superior officer talks to _you_?' said MissFowler from her chair. 

'But Postey doesn't mind, ' Wynn replied. 'Do you, Packthread?'

'Why? Was Wynn saying anything? I shall get this right next time youcome, ' she muttered, and knitted her pale brows again over the diagramsof Taubes, Farmans, and Zeppelins. 

In a few weeks the mere land and sea battles which she read to MissFowler after breakfast passed her like idle breath. Her heart and herinterest were high in the air with Wynn, who had finished 'rolling'(whatever that might be) and had gone on from a 'taxi' to a machine moreor less his own. One morning it circled over their very chimneys, alighted on Vegg's Heath, almost outside the garden gate, and Wynn camein, blue with cold, shouting for food. He and she drew Miss Fowler'sbath-chair, as they had often done, along the Heath foot-path to look atthe bi-plane. Mary observed that 'it smelt very badly. '

'Postey, I believe you think with your nose, ' said Wynn. 'I know youdon'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 white mouse, ' hecried, and explained the dials and the sockets for bomb-dropping till itwas time to mount and ride the wet clouds once more. 

'Ah!' said Mary, as the stinking thing flared upward. 'Wait till ourFlying Corps gets to work! Wynn says it's much safer than in thetrenches. '

'I wonder, ' said Miss Fowler. 'Tell Cheape to come and tow me homeagain. '

'It's all downhill. I can do it, ' said Mary, 'if you put the brake on. 'She laid her lean self against the pushing-bar and home they trundled. 

'Now, be careful you aren't heated and catch a chill, ' said overdressedMiss Fowler. 

'Nothing makes me perspire, ' said Mary. As she bumped the chair underthe porch she straightened her long back. The exertion had given her acolour, and the wind had loosened a wisp of hair across her 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--as thick as wecan make them. '

'Yes. But I mean the things that women think about. Here you are, morethan 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's twenty now, and I came two years before that. It must be eleven. '

'Eleven! And you've never told me anything that matters in all thatwhile. Looking back, it seems to me that _I_'ve done all the talking. '

'I'm afraid I'm not much of a conversationalist. As Wynn says, I haven'tthe mind. Let me take your hat. '

Miss Fowler, moving stiffly from the hip, stamped her rubber-tippedstick on the tiled hall floor. 'Mary, aren't you _anything_ except acompanion? Would you _ever_ have been anything except a companion?'

Mary hung up the garden hat on its proper peg. 'No, ' she said afterconsideration. 'I don't imagine I ever should. But I've no imagination, I'm afraid. '

She fetched Miss Fowler her eleven-o'clock glass of Contrexéville. 

That was the wet December when it rained six inches to the month, andthe women went abroad as little as might be. Wynn's flying chariotvisited them several times, and for two mornings (he had warned her bypostcard) Mary heard the thresh of his propellers at dawn. The secondtime she ran to the window, and stared at the whitening sky. A littleblur passed overhead. She lifted her lean arms towards it. 

That evening at six o'clock there came an announcement in an officialenvelope that Second Lieutenant W. Fowler had been killed during a trialflight. Death was instantaneous. She read it and carried it toMiss Fowler. 

'I never expected anything else, ' said Miss Fowler; 'but I'm sorry ithappened before he had done anything. '

The room was whirling round Mary Postgate, but she found herself quitesteady in the midst of it. 

'Yes, ' she said. 'It's a great pity he didn't die in action after he hadkilled somebody. '

'He was killed instantly. That's one comfort, ' Miss Fowler went on. 

'But Wynn says the shock of a fall kills a man at once--whatever happensto the tanks, ' quoted Mary. 

The room was coming to rest now. She heard Miss Fowler say impatiently, 'But why can't we cry, Mary?' and herself replying, 'There's nothing tocry 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 MissFowler. 'This only makes me feel tired--terribly tired. Will you help meto bed, please, Mary?--And I think I'd like the hot-water bottle. '

So Mary helped her and sat beside, talking of Wynn in his riotous youth. 

'I believe, ' said Miss Fowler suddenly, 'that old people and youngpeople slip from under a stroke like this. The middle-aged feelit most. '

'I expect that's true, ' said Mary, rising. 'I'm going to put away thethings in his room now. Shall we wear mourning?'

'Certainly not, ' said Miss Fowler. 'Except, of course, at the funeral. Ican't go. You will. I want you to arrange about his being buried here. What a blessing it didn't happen at Salisbury!'

Every one, from the Authorities of the Flying Corps to the Rector, wasmost kind and sympathetic. Mary found herself for the moment in a worldwhere bodies were in the habit of being despatched by all sorts ofconveyances to all sorts of places. And at the funeral two young men inbuttoned-up uniforms stood beside the grave and spoke to her afterwards. 

'You're Miss Postgate, aren't you?' said one. 'Fowler told me about you. He was a good chap--a first-class fellow--a great loss. '

'Great loss!' growled his companion. 'We're all awfully sorry. '

'How high did he fall from?' Mary whispered. 

'Pretty nearly four thousand feet, I should think, didn't he? You wereup that day, Monkey?'

'All of that, ' the other child replied. 'My bar made three thousand, andI wasn't as high as him by a lot. '

'Then _that's_ all right, ' said Mary. 'Thank you very much. '

They moved away as Mrs. Grant flung herself weeping on Mary's flatchest, under the lych-gate, and cried, '_I_ know how it feels! _I_ knowhow it feels!'

'But both his parents are dead, ' Mary returned, as she fended her off. 'Perhaps they've all met by now, ' she added vaguely as she escapedtowards the coach. 

'I've thought of that too, ' wailed Mrs. Grant; 'but then he'll bepractically a stranger to them. Quite embarrassing!'

Mary faithfully reported every detail of the ceremony to Miss Fowler, who, when she described Mrs. Grant's outburst, laughed aloud. 

'Oh, how Wynn would have enjoyed it! He was always utterly unreliable atfunerals. D'you remember--' And they talked of him again, each piecingout the other's gaps. 'And now, ' said Miss Fowler, 'we'll pull up theblinds and we'll have a general tidy. That always does us good. Have youseen 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'm _so_ afraidyou'll have a reaction. '

'As I told you, we old people slip from under the stroke. It's you I'mafraid 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 must live tillthe war's finished. ' She opened a full wardrobe. 'Now, I've beenthinking things over. This is my plan. All his civilian clothes can begiven away--Belgian refugees, and so on. '

Mary nodded. 'Boots, collars, and gloves?'

'Yes. We don't need to keep anything except his cap and belt. '

'They came back yesterday with his Flying Corps clothes'--Mary pointedto a roll on the little iron bed. 

'Ah, but keep his Service things. Some one may be glad of them later. Doyou remember his sizes?'

'Five feet eight and a half; thirty-six inches round the chest. But hetold me he's just put on an inch and a half. I'll mark it on a label andtie it on his sleeping-bag. '

'So that disposes of _that_, ' said Miss Fowler, tapping the palm of onehand with the ringed third finger of the other. 'What waste it all is!We'll get his old school trunk to-morrow and pack his civilian clothes. '

'And the rest?' said Mary. 'His books and pictures and the games and thetoys--and--and the rest?'

'My plan is to burn every single thing, ' said Miss Fowler. 'Then weshall know where they are and no one can handle them afterwards. What doyou think?'

'I think that would be much the best, ' said Mary. 'But there's such alot of them. '

'We'll burn them in the destructor, ' said Miss Fowler. 

This was an open-air furnace for the consumption of refuse; a littlecircular four-foot tower of pierced brick over an iron grating. MissFowler had noticed the design in a gardening journal years ago, and hadhad it built at the bottom of the garden. It suited her tidy soul, forit saved unsightly rubbish-heaps, and the ashes lightened the stiffclay soil. 

Mary considered for a moment, saw her way clear, and nodded again. Theyspent the evening putting away well-remembered civilian suits, underclothes that Mary had marked, and the regiments of very gaudy socksand ties. A second trunk was needed, and, after that, a littlepacking-case, and it was late next day when Cheape and the local carrierlifted them to the cart. The Rector luckily knew of a friend's son, about five feet eight and a half inches high, to whom a complete FlyingCorps outfit would be most acceptable, and sent his gardener's son downwith a barrow to take delivery of it. The cap was hung up in MissFowler's bedroom, the belt in Miss Postgate's; for, as Miss Fowler said, they had no desire to make tea-party talk of them. 

'That disposes of _that_, ' said Miss Fowler. 'I'll leave the rest toyou, Mary. I can't run up and down the garden. You'd better take the bigclothes-basket and get Nellie to help you. '

'I shall take the wheel-barrow and do it myself, ' said Mary, and foronce 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 and herever-slipping goloshes, for the weather was on the edge of more rain. She gathered fire-lighters from the kitchen, a half-scuttle of coals, and a faggot of brushwood. These she wheeled in the barrow down themossed paths to the dank little laurel shrubbery where the destructorstood under the drip of three oaks. She climbed the wire fence into theRector's glebe just behind, and from his tenant's rick pulled two largearmfuls of good hay, which she spread neatly on the fire-bars. Next, journey by journey, passing Miss Fowler's white face at the morning-roomwindow each time, she brought down in the towel-covered clothes-basket, on the wheel-barrow, thumbed and used Hentys, Marryats, Levers, Stevensons, Baroness Orczys, Garvices, schoolbooks, and atlases, unrelated piles of the _Motor Cyclist_, the _Light Car_, and cataloguesof Olympia Exhibitions; the remnants of a fleet of sailing-ships fromninepenny cutters to a three-guinea yacht; a prep. -school dressing-gown;bats from three-and-sixpence to twenty-four shillings; cricket andtennis balls; disintegrated steam and clockwork locomotives with theirtwisted rails; a grey and red tin model of a submarine; a dumbgramophone and cracked records; golf-clubs that had to be broken acrossthe knee, like his walking-sticks, and an assegai; photographs ofprivate and public school cricket and football elevens, and his O. T. C. On the line of march; kodaks, and film-rolls; some pewters, and one realsilver cup, for boxing competitions and Junior Hurdles; sheaves ofschool photographs; Miss Fowler's photograph; her own which he had borneoff in fun and (good care she took not to ask!) had never returned; aplaybox with a secret drawer; a load of flannels, belts, and jerseys, and a pair of spiked shoes unearthed in the attic; a packet of all theletters that Miss Fowler and she had ever written to him, kept for someabsurd reason through all these years; a five-day attempt at a diary;framed pictures of racing motors in full Brooklands career, and loadupon load of undistinguishable wreckage of tool-boxes, rabbit-hutches, electric batteries, tin soldiers, fret-saw outfits, and jig-saw puzzles. 

Miss Fowler at the window watched her come and go, and said to herself, '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 all arranged. I'mgoing to the village at two o'clock for some paraffin. Nellie hasn'tenough, and the walk will do me good. '

She made one last quest round the house before she started, and foundthat she had overlooked nothing. It began to mist as soon as she hadskirted Vegg's Heath, where Wynn used to descend--it seemed to her thatshe could almost hear the beat of his propellers overhead, but there wasnothing to see. She hoisted her umbrella and lunged into the blind wettill she had reached the shelter of the empty village. As she came outof Mr. Kidd's shop with a bottle full of paraffin in her stringshopping-bag, she met Nurse Eden, the village nurse, and fell into talkwith her, as usual, about the village children. They were just partingopposite the 'Royal Oak, ' when a gun, they fancied, was firedimmediately behind the house. It was followed by a child's shriek dyinginto a wail. 

'Accident!' said Nurse Eden promptly, and dashed through the empty bar, followed by Mary. They found Mrs. Gerritt, the publican's wife, whocould only gasp and point to the yard, where a little cart-lodge wassliding sideways amid a clatter of tiles. Nurse Eden snatched up a sheetdrying before the fire, ran out, lifted something from the ground, andflung the sheet round it. The sheet turned scarlet and half her uniformtoo, as she bore the load into the kitchen. It was little Edna Gerritt, aged nine, whom Mary had known since her perambulator days. 

'Am I hurted bad?' Edna asked, and died between Nurse Eden's drippinghands. The sheet fell aside and for an instant, before she could shuther eyes, Mary saw the ripped and shredded body. 

'It's a wonder she spoke at all, ' said Nurse Eden. 'What in God's namewas it?'

'A bomb, ' said Mary. 

'One o' the Zeppelins?'

'No. An aeroplane. I thought I heard it on the Heath, but I fancied itwas one of ours. It must have shut off its engines as it came down. That's why we didn't notice it. '

'The filthy pigs!' said Nurse Eden, all white and shaken. 'See thepickle I'm in! Go and tell Dr. Hennis, Miss Postgate. ' Nurse looked atthe mother, who had dropped face down on the floor. 'She's only in afit. Turn her over. '

Mary heaved Mrs. Gerritt right side up, and hurried off for the doctor. When she told her tale, he asked her to sit down in the surgery till hegot her something. 

'But I don't need it, I assure you, ' said she. 'I don't think it wouldbe wise to tell Miss Fowler about it, do you? Her heart is so irritablein 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 hastened to the'Royal Oak, ' while Mary went on with the paraffin. The village behindher was as quiet as usual, for the news had not yet spread. She frowneda little to herself, her large nostrils expanded uglily, and from timeto time she muttered a phrase which Wynn, who never restrained himselfbefore his womenfolk, had applied to the enemy. 'Bloody pagans! They_are_ bloody pagans. But, ' she continued, falling back on the teachingthat had made her what she was, 'one mustn't let one's mind dwell onthese things. '

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 that accidentat the "Royal Oak" was due to Gerritt's stable tumbling down. It's beendangerous for a long time. It ought to have been condemned. '

'I thought I heard an explosion too, ' said Mary. 

'You might have been misled by the beams snapping. I've been looking at'em. They were dry-rotted through and through. Of course, as they broke, they would make a noise just like a gun. '

'Yes?' said Mary politely. 

'Poor little Edna was playing underneath it, ' he went on, still holdingher with his eyes, 'and that and the tiles cut her to pieces, you see?'

'I saw it, ' said Mary, shaking her head. 'I heard it too. '

'Well, we cannot be sure. ' Dr. Hennis changed his tone completely. 'Iknow both you and Nurse Eden (I've been speaking to her) are perfectlytrustworthy, and I can rely on you not to say anything--yet at least. Itis no good to stir up people unless--'

'Oh, I never do--anyhow, ' said Mary, and Dr. Hennis went on to thecounty town. 

After all, she told herself, it might, just possibly, have been thecollapse of the old stable that had done all those things to poor littleEdna. She was sorry she had even hinted at other things, but Nurse Edenwas discretion itself. By the time she reached home the affair seemedincreasingly remote by its very monstrosity. As she came in, Miss Fowlertold her that a couple of aeroplanes had passed half an hour ago. 

'I thought I heard them, ' she replied, 'I'm going down to the gardennow. I've got the paraffin. '

'Yes, but--what _have_ you got on your boots? They're soaking wet. Change them at once. '

Not only did Mary obey but she wrapped the boots in a newspaper, andput them into the string bag with the bottle. So, armed with the longestkitchen poker, she left. 

'It's raining again, ' was Miss Fowler's last word, 'but--I know youwon't be happy till that's disposed of. '

'It won't take long. I've got everything down there, and I've put thelid on the destructor to keep the wet out. '

The shrubbery was filling with twilight by the time she had completedher arrangements and sprinkled the sacrificial oil. As she lit the matchthat would burn her heart to ashes, she heard a groan or a grunt behindthe dense Portugal laurels. 

'Cheape?' she called impatiently, but Cheape, with his ancient lumbago, in his comfortable cottage would be the last man to profane thesanctuary. 'Sheep, ' she concluded, and threw in the fusee. The pyre wentup in a roar, and the immediate flame hastened night around her. 

'How Wynn would have loved this!' she thought, stepping back from theblaze. 

By its light she saw, half hidden behind a laurel not five paces away, abareheaded man sitting very stiffly at the foot of one of the oaks. Abroken branch lay across his lap--one booted leg protruding from beneathit. His head moved ceaselessly from side to side, but his body was asstill as the tree's trunk. He was dressed--she moved sideways to lookmore closely--in a uniform something like Wynn's, with a flap buttonedacross the chest. For an instant, she had some idea that it might beone of the young flying men she had met at the funeral. But their headswere dark and 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 the dead wetleaves. There was no doubt as to his nationality. It made her so angrythat she strode back to the destructor, though it was still too hot touse the poker there. Wynn's books seemed to be catching well. She lookedup at the oak behind the man; several of the light upper and two orthree rotten lower branches had broken and scattered their rubbish onthe shrubbery path. On the lowest fork a helmet with dependent strings, showed like a bird's-nest in the light of a long-tongued flame. Evidently this person had fallen through the tree. Wynn had told herthat it was quite possible for people to fall out of aeroplanes. Wynntold her too, that trees were useful things to break an aviator's fall, but in this case the aviator must have been broken or he would havemoved from his queer position. He seemed helpless except for hishorrible rolling head. On the other hand, she could see a pistol case athis belt--and Mary loathed pistols. Months ago, after reading certainBelgian reports together, she and Miss Fowler had had dealings withone--a huge 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. 'ShowMary how it works. ' And Wynn, laughing at the mere possibility of anysuch need, had led the craven winking Mary into the Rector's disusedquarry, and had shown her how to fire the terrible machine. It lay nowin the top-left-hand drawer of her toilet-table--a memento not includedin the burning. Wynn would be pleased to see how she was not afraid. 

She slipped up to the house to get it. When she came through the rain, the eyes in the head were alive with expectation. The mouth even triedto smile. But at sight of the revolver its corners went down just likeEdna Gerritt's. A tear trickled from one eye, and the head rolled fromshoulder to shoulder as though trying to point out something. 

'Cassée. Tout cassée, ' it whimpered. 

'What do you say?' said Mary disgustedly, keeping well to one side, 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 the bigpistol. 'Ich haben der todt Kinder gesehn. '

The head was still. Mary's hand dropped. She had been careful to keepher finger off the trigger for fear of accidents. After a few moments'waiting, she returned to the destructor, where the flames were falling, and churned up Wynn's charring books with the poker. Again the headgroaned for the doctor. 

'Stop that!' said Mary, and stamped her foot. 'Stop that, you bloodypagan!'

The words came quite smoothly and naturally. They were Wynn's own words, and Wynn was a gentleman who for no consideration on earth would havetorn little Edna into those vividly coloured strips and strings. Butthis thing hunched under the oak-tree had done that thing. It was noquestion of reading horrors out of newspapers to Miss Fowler. Mary hadseen it with her own eyes on the 'Royal Oak' kitchen table. She must notallow her mind to dwell upon it. Now Wynn was dead, and everythingconnected with him was lumping and rustling and tinkling under her busypoker into red black dust and grey leaves of ash. The thing beneath theoak would die too. Mary had seen death more than once. She came of afamily that had a knack of dying under, as she told Miss Fowler, 'mostdistressing circumstances. ' She would stay where she was till she wasentirely satisfied that It was dead--dead as dear papa in the late'eighties; aunt Mary in eighty-nine; mamma in 'ninety-one; cousin Dickin ninety-five; Lady McCausland's housemaid in 'ninety-nine; LadyMcCausland's sister in nineteen hundred and one; Wynn buried five daysago; and Edna Gerritt still waiting for decent earth to hide her. As shethought--her underlip caught up by one faded canine, brows knit andnostrils wide--she wielded the poker with lunges that jarred the gratingat the bottom, and careful scrapes round the brick-work above. Shelooked at her wrist-watch. It was getting on to half-past four, and therain was coming 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 a quitedistinguishable title would be heaved up out of the mass. The exerciseof stoking had given her a glow which seemed to reach to the marrow ofher bones. She hummed--Mary never had a voice--to herself. She had neverbelieved in all those advanced views--though Miss Fowler herself leaneda little that way--of woman's work in the world; but now she saw therewas much to be said for them. This, for instance, was _her_ work--workwhich no man, least of all Dr. Hennis, would ever have done. A man, atsuch a crisis, would be what Wynn called a 'sportsman'; would leaveeverything to fetch help, and would certainly bring It into the house. Now a woman's business was to make a happy home for--for a husband andchildren. Failing these--it was not a thing one should allow one's mindto dwell upon--but--

'Stop it!' Mary cried once more across the shadows. 'Nein, I tell you!Ich haben der todt Kinder gesehn. '

_But_ it was a fact. A woman who had missed these things could still beuseful--more useful than a man in certain respects. She thumped like apavior through the settling ashes at the secret thrill of it. The rainwas damping the fire, but she could feel--it was too dark to see--thather work was done. There was a dull red glow at the bottom of thedestructor, not enough to char the wooden lid if she slipped it halfover against the driving wet. This arranged, she leaned on the poker andwaited, while an increasing rapture laid hold on her. She ceased tothink. She gave herself up to feel. Her long pleasure was broken by asound that she had waited for in agony several times in her life. Sheleaned forward and listened, smiling. There could be no mistake. Sheclosed her eyes 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 two rain-gusts. MaryPostgate drew her breath short between her teeth and shivered from headto foot. '_That's_ all right, ' said she contentedly, and went up to thehouse, where she scandalised the whole routine by taking a luxurious hotbath before tea, and came down looking, as Miss Fowler said when she sawher lying all relaxed on the other sofa, 'quite handsome!'

 THE BEGINNINGS

 It was not part of their blood, It came to them very late With long arrears to make good, When the English began to hate. 

 They were not easily moved, They were icy willing to wait Till every count should be proved, Ere the English began to hate. 

 Their voices were even and low, Their eyes were level and straight. There was neither sign nor show, When the English began to hate. 

 It was not preached to the crowd, It was not taught by the State. No man spoke it aloud, When the English began to hate. 

 It was not suddenly bred, It will not swiftly abate, Through the chill years ahead, When Time shall count from the date That the English began to hate.