IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I but. 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" - ► 4 I V] ^ m % <% .0^ ^/. ^ ,>* y /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4503 i CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. D D D D D n D D Coloured covers/ Couverture de couleur I I Covers damaged/ Couverture endommagAe Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaurte et/ou pelliculAe □ Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque n Coloured maps/ Cartes gAographiques en couleur Coloured inic (i.e. other than blue or blacic)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur Bound with other material/ Reli6 avec d'autres documents Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ La reliure serr^e peut causer de I'ombre ou de la distortion le long de la marge IntArieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajouties lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte, mais. lorsque cela Atait possible, ces pages n'ont pas AtA filmAes. Additional comments:/ Commentaires supplAmentaires: L'Institut a microfilm^ le meiileur exemplaire qu'il iui a 4t* possible de se procurer. Les details de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-Atre uniques du «^oint de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier *jne image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dans la m6thode normale de f ilmage sont indiqute ci-dessous. I — I Coloured pages/ D Pages de couleur Pages damaged/ Pages endommagtes Pages restored and/oi Pages restaur^es et/ou peiliculies Pages discoloured, stained or foxet Pages d6colorfos, tachetdes ou piqu6es Pages detached/ Pages ddtachies Showthrough/ Transparence Quality of prir Qualiti inAgaie de I'impression Includes supplementary materii Comprend du materiel suppl^mentaire Only edition available/ Seule Edition disponiblo I — I Pages damaged/ I — I Pages restored and/or laminated/ [~ri Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ I I Pages detached/ r~n Showthrough/ I I Quality of print varies/ I I Includes supplementary material/ I — I Only edition available/ Pages wholly or partially obscured i«y errata slips, tissues, etc.. have been refilmed to ensure the best possible image/ Les pages totalement ou partiellement obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata. une pelure. etc.. ont it6 filmtes A nouveau de fapon i obtenir la meilleure image possible. Tne ( to th( Thai possi of th filmii Origi begir the l( sion. othei first I sion. or illi The I shall TIIMU whic Mapi diffei entir begii right requ metl' This Item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est filmi au taux da reduction IndiquA ci-dessous. 10X 14X 18X 22X 26X aox 7 12X 16X 20X 24X 28X 32X 'e «tails n du nodifiar ir una ilmaga es Tha copy filmed hare has been reproduced thanks to the generosity of: National Library of Canada The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol -^(meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: L'exemplaire film6 fut reproduit grdce d la g6n6rosit6 de: Bibliothdque nationale du Canada Las images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition at de la nettstd de l'exemplaire film6, at en conformity avec las conditions du contrat de filmage. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprimde sont film^s en commen9ant par le premier plat at en terminant soit par la dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmds en commengant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparaTtra sur la dernidre image de chaque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE ", le symbole V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film6s d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6. il est film6 d partir de I'angle sup^rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. errata I to t B pelure, on A n 32X 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 6 6 UNDER THE DEODARS THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW WEE WILLIE WINKIE ft! Under the Deodars The Phantom Rick- shaw Wee Willie Winkie By Rudyard Kipling Author of "The Day's Work," "The Seven Seas," "The Jungle Books," etc. TORONTO GEORGE N. MORANG & COMPANY, Limited New York DOrJBLEDAY & McCLURE CO. 1899 1.788 r^9f Entered accordiner to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine, by RuDYARO Kipling, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture. CONTENTS The Education op Otis Yeerb .... '*"! At the Pit's Mouth . 29 A Wayside Comedy . . «- 37 The Pit that they Digged •••... 52 The Hill op Illusion . _« A Second-rate Woman 71 Only a Subaltern ... The Phantom 'Rickshaw . . 114 My Own True Ghost Story . * • . . . 144 The Track op a Lie . . • • . 155 The Strange Ride op Morrowbie Jukes . . . .159 The Man who would be King * " • • • XOff Wee Willie Winkib 237 Baa Baa, Black Sheep . _,, * • • • . 251 His Majesty the Kino The Drums op the Fore and Apt oqo V T fiiile into The bein< ten 1 everj Simlj evil c Th a bill stuml reguL peopl in th issue, we h{ reheai the N propel THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEEUE In the pleasant orchard-closes ♦ God bless all our gains,' say we ; But ' May God bless all our losses,' Better suits with our degree. The Lost Bower. This is the history of a failure ; but the woman who failed said that it might be an instructive tale to put into print for the benefit of the younger generation. The younger generation does not want instruction, being perfectly willing to instruct if any one will lis- ten to it. None the less, here begins the story where every right-minded story should begin, that is to say at Simla, where all things begin and many come to an evil end. The mistake was due to a very clever woman making a blunder and not retrieving it. Men are licensed to stumble, but a clever woman's mistake is outside the regular course of Nature and Providence ; since all good people know that a woman is the only infall'.ble thing in this world, except Government Paper of the '79 issue, bearing interest at four and a half per cent. Yet, we have to remember that six consecutive days of rehearsing the leading part of The Fallen Angel, at the New Gaiety Theatre where the plaster is not yet properly dry, might have brought about an unhinge- 1 n UNDER THE DEODARS ment of spirits which, again, might have led to eccen- tricities. Mrs. Hauks])ee came to *The Foundry' to tiffin with Mrs. MaUowe, her one bosom friend, for she was in no sense ' a woman's woman.' And it was a woman's tiffin, tlio door shut to all the world ; and they both talked chiffonn^ whicli is French for Mysteries. ' I've enjoyed an interval of sanity,' Mrs. Ilauksbee announced, after tiffin was over and the two were com- fortably settled in the little writing-room that opened out of Mrs. Mallowe's bedroom. ' My dear girl, what has he done ? ' said Mrs. MaUowe sweetly. It is noticeable that ladies of a certain age call each other 'dear girl,' just as commissioners of twenty-eight years* standing address their equals in the Civil List as 'my boy.' ' There's no he in the case. Who am I that an imag- inary man should be always credited to me ? Am I an Apache ? ' ' No, dear, but somebody's scalp is generally drying at your wigwam-door. Soaking, rather.' This was an allusion to the Hawley Boy, who was in the habit of riding all across Simla in the Rains, to call on Mrs. Hauksbee. That lady laughed. ' For my sins, the Aide at Tyrconnel last night told me off to The Mussuck. Hsh ! Don't laugh. One of my most devoted admirers. When the duff came — some one really ought to teach them to make puddings at Tyrconnel — The Mussuck was at liberty to attend to me.' 'Sweet soul! I know his appetite,' said Mrs. Mal- lowe. ' Did he, oh did he, begin his wooing ? ' ' By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained his eccen- (Tin with [18 in no ti's tillin, li talked faiiksbcc J I'D foin- t opened Mallowe •tain age oners of lis in the an imag- Am I an \f drying o was in s, to call ght told One of came — )uddings a attend rs. Mal- xplained >f the Empire. I didn't 4 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE his importance as a l*illar o laugh.' ' Lucy, I don't believe you.' * Ask Captain Sangar ; he was on the other side. Well, as I was saying. The Mussuck dilated.' * I think I can see him doing it,' said Mrs. Alallowe pensively, scratching her fox-terrier's ears. ' I was properly impressed. Most properly. I yawned openly. "Strict supervision, and play them otY one against the other," said The Mussuck, shovel- ling down his ice by tureenfuls^ I assure you. " That^ Mrs. Ilauksbee, is the secret of our (Government." ' Mrs. MalU/we laughed long and merrily. ' And what did you say ? ' ' Did you ever know me at loss for an answer yet ? I said: "So I have observed in my dealings with you." The Mussuck swelled with pride. He is coming to call on me to-morrow. The Hawley Boy is coming too.' '"Strict supervision and play them off one against the other. That^ Mrs. Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government." And I daresay if we could get to The Mussuck's heart, we should find that he considers him- self a man of the world.' ' As he is of the other two things. I like The Mus- suck, and I won't have you call him names. He amuses me.' ' He has reformed you, too, by what appears. Explain the interval of sanity, and hit Tim on the nose with the paper-cutter, please. That dog is too fond of sugar. Do you take milk in yours ? ' ' No, thanks. Polly, I'm wearied of this life. It's hollow. ' UNDER THE DEODARS * Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome would be your fate.' ' Only exchanging half a dozen attachSa in red for one in black, and if I fasted, the wrinkles would come, and never, never go. Has it ever struck you, dear, that I'm getting old?' * Thanks for your courtesy. I'll return it. Ye-es, we are both not exactly — how shall I put it ? ' 'What we have been. "I feel it in my bones," as Mrs. Crossley says. Polly, I've wasted my life.' * As how ? ' * Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a Power before I die.' *Be a Power then. You've wits enough for any- thing — and beauty ? ' Mrs. Hauksbee pointed a teaspoon straight at her hostess. ' Polly, if you heap compliments on me like this, I shall cease to believe that you're a woman. Tell me how I am to be a Power.' * Inform The Mussuck that he is the most fascinating and slimmest man in Asia, and he'll tell you anything and everything you please.' * Bother The Mussuck ! I mean an intellectual Power — not a gas-power. Polly, I'm going to start a salon.* Mrs. Mallowe turned lazily on the sofa and rested her head on her hand. ' Hear the words of the Preacher, the son of Baruch,' she said. * Will you talk sensibly ? ' * I will, dear, for I see that you are going to make a mistake.' *I never made a mistake in my life — at least, never one that I couldn't explain away afterwards.' * Going to make a mistake,' went on Mrs. Mallowe THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE t Rome red for Id come, )U, dear, Ye-es, 3nes," as life/ a Power for any- it at her '. me like an. Tell scinating anything al Power a salon.* id rested readier, make a f,st, never Mallowe composedly. * It is impossible to start a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more to the point.' ' Perhaps, but why ? It seems so easy.' * Just what makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there in Simla ? ' * Myself and yourself,' said Mrs. Hauksbee, without a moment's hesitation. '• Modest woman ! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how many clever men ? ' 'Oh — er — hundreds,' said Mrs. Hauksbee vaguely. ' What a fatal blunder I Not one. They are all bespoke by the Government. Take my husband, for instance. Jack was a clever man, though I say so who shouldn't. Government has eaten him up. All his ideas and powers of conversation — he really used to be a good talker, even to his wife, in the old days — are taken from him by this — this kitchen-sink of a Gov- ernment. That's the case with every man up here who is at work. I don't suppose a Russian convict under the knout is able to amuse the rest of his gang; and all our men-folk here are gilded convicts.' ' But there are scores ' * I know what you're going to say. Scores of idle men up on leave. I admit it, but they are all of two objectionable sets. The Civilian who'd be delightful if he had the military man's knowledge of the world and style, and the military man who'd be adorable if he had the Civilian's culture.' ' Detestable word ! Have Civilians culchaw ? 1 never studied the breed deeply.' ' Don't make tun of Jack's service. Yes. They're like the teapoys in the Lakka Bazar — good material but not polished. They can't help themselves, poor 6 UNDER THE DEODARS dears. A Civilian only begins to be tolerable after he has knocked about the world for fifteen years.' * And a military man ? ' * When he has had the same amount of service. The young of both species are horrible. You would have scores of them in your salon."* ' I would not ! ' said Mrs. Hauksbee fiercely. * I would tell the bearer to darwaza hand them. I'd put their own colonels and commissioners at the door to turn them away. I'd give them to the Topsham girl to play with.' * The Topsham girl would be grateful for the gift. But to go back to the salon. Allowing that you had gathered all your men and women together, what would you do with them ? Make them talk ? They would all with one accord begin to flirt. Your %alon would be- come a glorified Peliti's — a "Scandal Point" by lamp- light.' 'There's a certain amount of wisdom in that view.' ' There's all the wisdom in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla seasons ought to have taught you that you can't focus anything in India ; and a salon^ to be any good at all, must be permanent. In two seasons your roomful would be scattered all over Asia. We are only little bits of dirt on the hillsides — here one day and blown down the hhud the next. We have lost the art of talking — at least our men have. We have no cohesion ' 'George Eliot in the flesh,' interpolated Mrs. Hauks- bee wickedly. 'And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have no influence. Come into the veranda and look at the Mall I ' THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE The two looked down on the now rapidly filling road, for all Simla was abroad to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog„ * How do you propose to fix that river ? ^^ook ! There's The Mussuck — head of goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he does eat like a costermonger. There's Colonel Blone, and General Grucher, and Sir Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haugh- ton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of Departments, and all powerful.' ' And all my fervent admirers,' said Mrs. Hauksbee piously. ' Sir Henry Haughton raves about me. But go on.' ' One by one, these men are worth something. Col- lectively, they're just a mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your salon won't weld the Departments together and make you mistress of India, dear. And these creatures won't talk admin- istrative "shop" in a crowd — your salon — because they are so afraid of the men in the lower ranks over- hearing it. They have forgotten what of Literature and Art they ever knew, and the women ' ' Can't talk about anything except the last Gym- khana, or the sins of their last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.' * You admit that ? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views admirably, if you respected the religious prejudices of the country and provided plenty of kala juggahs.^ ' Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea I Kala juggahs in a salon ! But who made you so awfully clever?* 8 UNDER THE DEODARS * Perhaps I've tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I have preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion thereof ' 'You needn't go on. "Is Vanity." Polly, I thank you. These vermin ' — Mrs. Hauksbee waved her hand from the veranda to two men in the crowd below who had raised their hats to her — ' these vermin shall not rejoice in a new Scandal Point or an extra Peliti's. I will abandon the notion of a 8alon. It did seem so tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must do something.' ' Why? Are not Abana and Pharphar ' * Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself I I want to, of course. I'm tired of everything and every- body, from a moonlight picnic at Seepee to the bland- ishments of The Mussuck.' * Yes — that comes, too, sooner or later. Have you nerve enough to make your bow yet ? ' Mrs. Hauksbee's mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. *I think I see myself doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall : " Mrs. Hauksbee ! Positively her last appearance on any stage! This is to give notice ! " No more dances ; no more rides ; no more luncheons ; no more theatricals with supper to follow ; no more sparring with one's dearest, dearest friend ; no more fencing with an inconvenient man who hasn't wit enough to clothe what he's pleased to call his senti- ments in passable speech; no more parading of The Mussuck while Mrs. Tarkass calls all round Simla, spreading horrible stories about me I No more of any- thing that is thoroughly wearying, abominable and detestable, but, all the same, makes life worth the having. Yes! I see it all! Don't interrupt, Polly, I I THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 9 I'm inspired. A mauve and white striped "cloud" round my excellent shoulders, a seat in the fifth row of the Gaiety, and both horses sold. Delightful vision ! A comfortable arm-chair, situated in three different draughts, at every ballroom ; and nice, large, sensible shoes for all the couples to stumble over as they go into the veranda ! Then at supper. Can't you imag- ine the scene ? The greedy mob gone away. Reluc- tant subaltern, pink all over like a newly-powdered baby, — they really ought to tan subalterns before they are exported, Polly — sent back by the hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the room, tugging at a glove two sizes too large for him — I hate a man who wears gloves like overcoats — and trying to look as if he'd thought of it from the first. " May I ah-have the pleasure 'f takin' you 'nt' supper?" Then I get up with a hungry smile. Just like this.' * Lucy, how can you be so absurd ? ' ' And sweep out on his arm. So ! After supper I shall go away early, you know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will look for my ^rickshaw. Mine^ so please you ! I shall stand, always with that mauve and white "cloud" over my head, while the wet soaks into my dear, old, venerable feet and Tom swears and shouts for the mem-sahib^s gharri. Then home to bed at half -past eleven ! Truly excellent life — helped out by the visits of the Padri, just fresh from burying somebody down below there.' She pointed through the pines, toward the Cemetery, and con- tinued with vigorous dramatic gesture — * Listen ! I see it all — down, down even to the stays I Such stays ! Six-eight a pair, Polly, with red flannel — or list is it? — that they put into the tops 10 UNDER THE DEODARS of those fearful things. I can draw you a picture of them.' *Lucy, for Heaven's sake, don't go waving your arms about in that idiotic manner I Recollect, every one can see you from the Mall.' * Let them see ! They'll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. Look! There's The Mussuck, How badly he rides. There I ' She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian adminis- trator with infinite grace. *Now,' she continued, * he'll be chaffed about that at the Club in the delicate manner those brutes of men affect, and the Hawley Boy will tell me all about it — softening the details for fear of shocking me. That boy is too good to live, Polly. I've serious thoughts of recommending him to throw up his Commission and go into the Church. In his present frame of mind he would obey me. Happy, happy child I ' * Never again,' said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affecta- tion of indignation, ' shall you tiffin here I " Lucindy, your behaviour is scand'lus." ' ' All your fault,' retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, * for sug- gesting such a thing as my abdication. No ! Jamais- nevaire I I will act, dance, ride, frivol, talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate captives of any woman I choose, until I d-r-r-rop, or a better woman than I puts me to shame before all Simla, — and it's dust and ashes in my mouth while I'm doing it I' She swept into the drawing-room. Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm round her waist. 'I'm not!^ said Mrs. Hauksbee defiantly, rummag- ing for her handkerchief. 'I've been dining out the THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 11 last ten nights, and rehearsing in the afternoon. You'd be tired yourself. It's only because I'm tired.' Mrs. Mallowe did not offer Mrs. Ilauksbee any pity or ask her to lie down, but gave her another cup of tea, and went on with the talk. * I've been through that too, dear,' she said. * I remember,' said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. 'In '84, wasn't it? You went out a great deal less next season.' Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinx-like fashion. ' I became an Influence,' said she. *Good gracious, child, you didn't join the Theoso- phists and kiss Buddha's big toe, did you ? I tried to get into their set once, but they cast me out for a sceptic — without a chance of improving my poor little mind, too.' ' No, I didn't Theosophilander. Jack says * ' Never mind Jack. What a husband says is known before. What did you do ? ' 'I made a lasting impression.' *So have I — for four months. But that didn't console me in the least. I hated the man. Will you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and tell me what you mean ? ' Mrs. Mallowe told. ' And — you — mean — to — say that it is absolutely Platonic on both sides ? ' 'Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up.' 'And his last promotion was due to you?* Mrs. Mallowe nodded. ' And you warned him against the Topsham girl ? ' 12 UNDER THE DEODARS Another nod. * And told him of Sir Dugald Delaue's private memo about him ? * A third nod. 'Why?' * What a question to ask a woman I Because it amused me at first. I am proud of my property now. If I live, he shall continue to be successful. Yes, I will put him upon the straight road to Knighthood, and everything else that a man values. The rest depends upon himself.' * Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman.' *Not in the least. I'm concentrated, that's all. You diffuse yourself, dear ; and though all Simla knows your skill in managing a team ' * Can't you choose a prettier word? ' * Team^ of half a dozen, from The Mussuck to the Hawley Boy, you gain nothing by it. Not even amuse- ment.' 'And you?' * Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy, mind, but an almost mature, unattached man, and be his guide, philosopher, and friend. You'll find it the most in- teresting occupation that you ever embarked on. It can be done — you needn't look like that — because I've done it.' ' There's an element of risk about it that makes the notion attractive. I'll get such a man and say to him, " Now, understand that there must be no flirtation. Do exactly what I tell you, profit by my instruction and counsels, and all will yet be well." Is that the idea?' ' More or less,' said Mrs. Mallowe, with an unfathom- able smile. 'But be sure he understands.' e memo II Bribble-dribble — trickle-trickle — Wiiat a lot of raw dust ! My dollie*s had an accident And out came 1 the sawdust t Nursery Bhyme. So Mrs. Hauksbee, in *The Foundry' which over- looks Simla Mall, sat at the feet of Mrs. Mallowe and gathered wisdom. The end of the Conference was the Great Idea upon which Mrs. Hauksbee so plumed herself. * I warn you,' said Mrs. Mallowe, beginning to repent of hex' suggestion, ' that the matter is not half so easy as it looks. Any woman — even the Topsham girl — can catch a man, but very, very few know how to manage him when caught.' ' My child,' was the answer, ' I've been a female St. Simon Stylites looking down upon men for these — these years past. Ask The Mussuck whether I can manage them.' Mrs. Hauksbee departed humming, '-Fll go to him and say to him in manner most ironical.^ Mrs. Mallowe laughed to herself. Then she grew suddenly sober. 'I wonder whether I've done well in advising that amusement? Lucy's a clever woman, but a thought too careless.' A week later, the two met at a Monday Pop. 'Well?' said Mrs. Mallowe. 13 14 UNDER THE DEODARS *rve caught him!' said Mrs. llauksbee; her eyes were dancing with merriment. 'Who is it, mad woman? I'm sorry I ever spoke to you about it.' * Look between the pillars. In the third row ; fourth from the end. You can see his face now. Look ! ' 'Otis Yeerel Of all the imi)robable and impossible people I I don't believe you.' 'Ilsh! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murdering Milton Wellings; and I'll tell you all about it. S-s-as! That woman's voice always reminds me of an Under- ground train coming into Earl's Court with the brakes on. Now listen. It is really Otis Yeere.' * So I see, but does it follow that he is your property! ' 'He is! By right of trove. I found him, lonely and unbefriended, the very next night after our talk, at the Dugald Delane's hurra-khana. I liked his eyes, and I talked to him. Next day he called. Next day we went for a ride together, and to-day he's tied to my 'nV^sAawz-wheels hand and foot. You'll see when the concert's over. He doesn't know I'm here yet.' ' Thank goodness you haven't chosen a boy. What yre you going to do with him, assuming that you've got him ? ' 'Assuming, indeed! Does a woman — do I — ever make a mistake in that sort of thing? First' — Mrs. Hauksbee ticked off the items ostentatiously on her little gloved fingers — ' First, my dear, I shall dress him properly. At present his raiment is a disgrace, and he wears a dress-shirt like a crumpled sheet of the Pioneer. Secondly, after I have made him present- able, I shall form his manners — his morals are above reproach.' t con ma her witl the THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 15 * You seem to have discovered a great deal about him considering the sliortness of your acquaintance.' 'Surely you ought to know that the first proof a man gives of his interest in a woman is by talking to lier about his own sweet self. If the woman listens without yawning, he begins to like her. If she flatters the animal's vanity, he ends by adoring her.' 'In some cases.' ' Never mind the exceptions. I know which one you are thinking of. Thirdly, and lastly, after he is polished and made pretty, I shall, as you said, be his guide, philosopher, and friend, and he shall become a success — as great a success as your friend. I always wondered how that man got on. Did The Mussuck come to you with the Civil List and, dropping on one knee — no, two knees, d la Gibbon — hand it to you and say, " Adorable angel, choose your friend's appoint- ment " ? ' ' Lucy, your long experiences of the Military Depart- ment huve demoralised you. One doesn't do that sort of thing on the Civil Side.' 'No disrespect meant to Jack's Service, my dear. I only asked for information. Give me three months, and see what changes I shall work in my prey.' ' Go your own way since you must. But I'm sorry that I was weak enough to suggest the amusement.' ' " I am all discretion, and may be trusted to an in- fin-ite extent," ' quoted Mrs. Hauksbee from The Fallen Angel; and the conversation ceased with Mrs. Tar- kass's last, long-drawn war-Avhoop. Her bitterest enemies — and she had many — could hardly accuse Mrs. Hauksbee of wasting her time. Otis Yeere was one of those wandering ' dumb ' charac- m 16 UNDER THE DEODARS ters, foredoomed through life to be nobody's property. Ten years in Her Majesty's Jicngal Civil Service, spent, for the most part, in undesirable Districts, had given him little to bo proud of, and nothing to bring confi- dence. Old enough to have lost the first fine careless rapture that showers on the immature 'Stunt imaginary Commissionerships and Stars, and sends him into the collar with coltish earnestness and abandon; too young to be yet able to look back upon the progress he had made, and thank Providence that under the conditions of the day he had come even so far, he stood upon the dead-centre of his career. And when a man stands still, he feels the slightest impulse from without. Fortune had ruled that Otis Yeere should be, for the first part of his service, one of the rank and file who are ground up in the wheels of the Administration; losing heart and soul, and mind and strength, in the process. Until steam replaces manual power in the working of the Empire, there must always be this per- centage — must always be the men who are used up, expended, in the mere mechanical routine. For these promotion is far off and the mill-grind of every day very instant. The Secretariats know them only by name; they are not the picked men of the Districts with Divisions and Collectorates awaiting them. They are simply the rank and file — the food for fever — sharing with the ryot and the plough-bullock the honour of being the plinth on which the State rests. The older ones have lost their aspirations; the younger are putting theirs aside with a sigh. Both learn to endure patiently until the end of the day. Twelve years in the rank and file, men say, will sap the hearts of the bravest and dull the wits of the most keen. THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERB IT i Out of this life Otis Yecre had fled for a few months; dri fling, in the hope of a little masculine society, into Simla. When his leave was over ho would return to his swampy, sour-green, under-manned Bengal district; to the native Assistant, the native Doctor, the native Magistrate, the steaming, sweltering Station, the ill- kcnipt City, and the undisguised insolence of the Municipality that babbled away the lives of men. Life was cheap, however. The soil spawned hunumity, as it bred frogs in the Rains, and the gap of the sickness of one season was filled to overflowing by the fecundity of the next. Otis was unfeignedly thankful to lay down his work for a little while and escape from the seething, whining, weakly hive, impotent to help itself, but strong in its power to cripple, thwart, and annoy the sunken-eyed man who, by official irony, was said to be 'in charge ' of it. * I knew there were women-dowdies in Bengal. They come up here sometimes. But I didn't know that there were men-dowds, too.' Then, for the first time, it occurred to Otis Yeere that his clothes wore the mark of the ages. It will be seen that his friendship with Mrs. Hauksbee had made great strides. As that lady truthfully says, a man is never so happy as when he is talking about himself. From Otis Yeere's lips Mrs. Hauksbee, before long, learned everything that she wished to know about the subject of her experiment: learned what manner of life he had led in what she vaguely called ' those awful cholera districts' •, learned, too, but this knowledge came later, what man- ner of life he had purposed to lead and what dreams he 18 UNDER THE DEODARS had dreamed in the year of grace '77, before the reality had knocked the heart out of hiro. Very pleasant are the shady bridle paths round Prospect Hill for the tell- ing of such confidences. 'Not yet,' said Mrs. Hauksbee to Mrs. Mallowe. ' Not yet. I must wait until the man is properly dressed, at least. Great Heavens, is it possible that he doesn't know what an honour it is to be taken up hy Mef Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false modesty as one of her failings. 'Always with Mrs. Hauksbee!' murmured Mrs. Mal- lowe, with her sweetest smile, to Otis. ' Oh you men, you men! Here are our Punjabis growling because you've monopolised the nicest woman in Simla. They'll tear you to pieces on the Mall, some day, Mr. Yeere.' Mrs. Mallowe rattled down-hill, having satisfied her- self, by a glance through the fringe of her sunshade, of the effect of her words. The shot went home. Of a surety Otis Yeere was somebody in this bewildering whirl of Simla — had monopolised the nicest woman in it and the Punjabis were growling. The notion justified a mild glow of vanity. He had never looked upon his acquaintance with Mrs. Hauksbee as a matter for general interest. The knowledge of envy was a pleasant feeling to the man of no account. It was intensified later in the day when a luncher at the Club said spitefully, ' Well, for a debilitated Ditcher, Yeere, you are going it. Hasn't any kind f Mend told you that she's the most dangerous woman in Simla ? ' Yeere chuckled and passed out. When, oh when, wou tlie the him if he slie sunli Oh I W denci room coulc tliou^ thefi tente rejoi 'C confic Civili You I haven is imr give r Ind he ha matte: nothii Counc of 'em 'I- said \ 'Th griml} i •i THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 19 langerous 4 would his new clothes be ready ? He descended into tlie Mall to inquire ; and Mrs. Hauksbee, coming over the Church Ridge in her Wickahaw^ looked down upon him approvingly. 'He's learning to carry himself as if he were a man, instead of a piece of furniture, — and,' slie screwed up her eyes to see the better through the sunlight — 'he is a man when he holds himself like that. Oh blessed Conceit, what should we be without you ? ' With the new clothes came a new stock of self-confi- dence. Otis Yeere discovered that he could enter a room without breaking into a gentle perspiration — could cross one, even to talk to Mrs. Hauksbee, as though rooms were meant to be crossed. He was for the first time in nine years proud of himself, and con- tented with his life, satisfied with his new clothes, and rejoicing in the friendship of Mrs. Hauksbee. ' Conceit is what the poor fellow wants,' she said in confidence to Mrs. Mallowe. ' I believe they must use Civilians to plough the fields with in Lower Bengal. You see I have to begin from the very beginning — haven't I ? But you'll admit, won't you, dear, that he is immensely improved since I took him in hand. Only give me a little more time and he won't know himself.' Indeed, Yeere was rapidly beginning to forget what he had been. One of his own rank and file put the matter brutally when he asked Yeere, in reference to nothing, ' And who has been making you a INIember of Council, lately? You carry the side of half a dozen of 'em.' ' I — I'm awf 'ly sorry. I didn't mean it, you know,' said Yeere apologetically. ' There'll be no holding you,' continued the old stager grimly. * Climb down, Otis — climb down, and get all 20 UNDER THE DEODARS that beastly affectation knocked out of you with fever I Three thousand a month wouldn't support it.* Yeere repeated the incident to Mrs. Hauksbee. He had come to look upon her as his Mother Confessor. * And you apologised ! ' she said. * Oh, shame ! I hate a man who apologises. Never apologise for what your friend called "side." Never! It's a man's busi- ness to be insolent and overbearing until he meets with a stronger. Now, you bad boy, listen to me.' Simply and straightforwardly, as the Wichshaw loitered round Jakko, Mrs. Hauksbee preached to Otis Yeere the Great Gospel of Conceit, illustrating it with living pictures encountered during their Sunday afternoon stroll. * Good gracious ! ' she ended with the personal argu- ment, ' you'll apologise next for being iny attache? ' * Never ! ' said Otis Yeere. *• That's another thing altogether. I shall always be ' * What's coming?' thought Mrs. Hauksbee. * Proud of that,' said Otis. ' Safe for the present,' she said to herself. ' But I'm afraid I have grown conceited. Like Jeshu- run, you know. When he waxed fat, then he kicked. It's the having no worry on one's mind and the Hill air, I suppose.' ' Hill air, indeed ! ' said Mrs. Hauksbee to herself. ' He'd ha v^e been hiding in the Club till the last day of his leave, if 1 hadn't discovered him.' And aloud — * Why shouldn't you be? You have every right to.' *II Why?' *0h, hundreds of things. I'm not going to waste this lovely afternoon by explaining ; but I know you have. What was that heap of manuscript you showed THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 21 me about the grammar of the aboriginal — what's their names?' ' GullaU. A piece of nonsense. I've far too much work to do to bother over Gullah now. You should see my District. Come down with your husband some day and I'll show you round. Such a lovely place in the Rains ! A sheet of water with the railway-embank- ment and the snakes sticking out, and, in the summer, green flies and green squash. The people would die of fear if you shook a dog whip at 'em. But they know you're forbidden to do that, so they conspire to make your life a burden to you. My District's worked by some man at Darjiling, on the strength of a native pleader's false reports. Oh, it's a heavenly place I ' Otis Yeere laughed bitterly. * There's not the least necessity that you should stay in it. Why do you? ' * Because I must. How'm I to get out of it?' * How I In a hundred and fifty ways. If there weren't so many people on the road, I'd like to box your ears. Ask, my dear boy, ask ! Look ! There is young Hexarly with six years' service and half your talents. He asked for what he wanted, and he got it. See, down by the Convent I There's McArthurson who has come to his present position by asking — sheer, downright asking — after he had pushed himself out of the rank and file. One man is as good as another in your service — believe me. I've seen Simla for more seasons than T care to think about. Do you suppose men are chosen for appointments because of their spe- cial fitness beforehand? You have all passed a high test — what do you call it? — in the beginning, and, except for the few who have gone altogether to the 22 UNDER THE DEODARS bad, you can all work hard. Asking does the resi. Call it cheek, call it insolence, call it anything you like, but ask! Men argue — yes, I know what men say — that a man, by the mere audacity of his request, must have some good in him. A weak man doesn't say: "Give me this and that." He whines: "Why haven't I been given this and that?" If you were in the Army, I should say learn to spin plates or play a tambourine with your toes. As it is — ask! You belong to a Service that ought to be able to command the Channel Fleet, or set a leg at twenty minutes' notice, and yet you hesitate over asking to escape from a squashy green district where you admit you are not master. Drop the Bengal Government altogether. Even Darjiling is a little out-of-the-way hole. I was there once, and the rents were extortionate. Assert yourself. Get the Government of India to take you over. Try to get on the Frontier, where every man has a grand chance if he can trust himself. Go some- where ! Bo something I You have twice the wits and three times the presence of the men up here, and, and ' — Mrs. Hauksbee paused for breath; then continued — ' and in any way you look at it, you ought to. You who could go so far ! ' *I don't know,' said Yeere, rather taken aback by the unexpected eloquence. 'I haven't such a good opinion of myself.' It was not strictly Platonic, but it was Policy. Mrs. Hauksbee laid her hand lightly upon the un- gloved paw that rested on the turned-backed Wickshaw hood, and, looking the man full in the face, said ten- derly, almost too tenderly, 'J believe in you if you mistrust yourself. Is that enough, my friend ? * THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 23 ■I * It is enough,' answered Otis very solemnly. He was silent for a long time, redreaming the dreams that he had dreamed eight years ago, but through them all ran, as sheet-lightning through golden cloud, the light of Mrs. Hauksbee's violet eyes. Curious and impenetrable are the mazes of Simla life — the only existence in this desolate land worth the living. Gradually it went abroad among men and women, in the pauses between dance, play, and Gym- khana, that Otis Yeere, the man with the newly-lit light of self-confidence in his eyes, had 'done some- thing decent' in the wilds whence he came. He had brought an erring Municipality to reason, appropriated the funds on his own responsibility, and saved the lives of hundreds. He knew more about the Gullals than any living man. Had a vast knowledge of the aborig- inal tribes ; was, in spite of his juniority, the greatest authority on the aboriginal CrullaU. No one quite knew who or what the Qullah were till The Mussuck, who had been calling on Mrs. Hauksbee, and prided himself upon picking people's brains, explained they were a tribe of ferocious hillmen, somewhere near Sik- kim, whose friendship even the Great Indian Empire would find it worth her while to secure. Now we know that Otis Yeere had showed Mrs. Hauksbee his MS. notes of six years' standing on these same CrullaU, He had told her, too, how, sick and shaken with the fever their negligence had bred, crippled by the loss of his pet clerk, and savagely angry at the desolation in his charge, he had once damned the collective eyes of his ' intelligent local board ' for a set of haramzadas. Which act of ' brutal and tyrannous oppression ' won him a Reprimand Royal from the Bengal Government ; J Ml 34 UNDER THE DEODARS but in the anecdote as amended for Northern consump- tion we find no record of this. Hence we are forced to conclude that Mrs. Hauksbee edited his reminis- cences before sowing them in idle ears, ready, as she well knew, to exaggerate good or evil. And Otis Yeere bore himself as befitted the hero of many tales. *You can talk to me when you don't fall into a brown study. Talk now, and talk your brightest and best,' said Mrs. Hauksbee. Otis needed no spur. Look to a man who has the counsel of a woman of or above the world to back him. So long as he keeps his head, he can meet both sexes on equal ground — an advantage never intended by Provi- dence, who fashioned Man on one day and Woman on another, in sign that neither should know more than a very little of the other's life. Such a man goes far, or, the counsel being withdrawn, collapses suddenly while his world seeks the reason. Generalled by Mrs. Hauksbee, who, again, had all Mrs. Mallowe's wisdom at her disposal, proud of him- self and, in the end, believing in himself because he was believed in, Otis Yeere stood ready for any fortune that might befall, certain that it would bp good. He would fight for his own hand, and intended that this second struggle should lead to better issue than the first helpless surrender of the bewildered 'Stunt. What might have happened, it is impossible to say. This lamentable thing befell, bred directly by a state- ment of Mrs. Hauksbee that she would spend the next season in Darjiling. * Are you certain of that ? ' said Otis Yeere. * Quite. We're writing about a house now.' m but to THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 25 1 consump- are forced is reminis- idy, as she And Otis I of many fall into a ghtest and ho has the > back him. th sexes on d by Provi- Woman on lore than a foes far, or, lenly while in, had all ad of him- jecause he ny fortune good. He 1 that this than the lint. Ae to sayc 3y a state- d the next I lift I 3 4 I Otis Yeere * stopped dead,' as Mrs. Hauksbee put it in discussing the relapse with Mrs. Mallowe. ' He has behaved,' she said angrily, * just like Cap- tain Kerrington's pony — only Otis is a donkey — at the last Gymkhana. Planted his forefeet and refused to go on another step. Polly, my man's going to dis- appoint me. What shall I do ? ' As a rule, Mrs. Mallowe does not approve of staring, but on this occasion she opened her eyes to the utmost. ' You have managed cleverly so far,' she said. ' Speak to him, and ask him what he means.' * I will — at to-night's dance. ' ' No — 0, not at a dance,' said Mrs. Mallowe cautiously. ' Men are never themselves quite at dances. Better wait till to-morrow morning.' ' Nonsense. If he's going to 'vert in this insane way, there isn't a day to lose. Are you going ? No ? Then sit up for me, there's a dear. I shan't stay longer than supper under any circumstances.' Mrs. Mallowe waited through the evening, looking long and earnestly into the fire, and sometimes smiling to herself. ' Oh I oh I oh I The man's an idiot I A raving, positive idiot I I'm sorry I ever saw him ! ' Mrs. Hauksbee burst into Mrs. Mallowe's house, at midnight, almost in tears. * What in the world has happened?' said Mrs. Mal- lowe, but her eyes showed that she had guessed an answer. ' Happened ! Everything has happened ! He was there. I went to him and said, " Now, what does this nonsense mean ? " Don't laugh, dear, I can't bear it. 26 UNDER THE DEODARS But you know what I mean I said. Then it was a square, and I sat it out with him and wanted an ex- planation, and he said — Oh I I liaven't patience with such idiots I You know what I said about going to Darjiling next year? It doesn't matter to me where I go. I'd have changed the Station and lost the rent to have saved this. He said, in so many words, that he wasn't going to try to work up any more, because — because he would be shifted into a province away from Darjiling, and his own District, where these creatures are, is within a day's journey ' * Ah — hh ! ' said Mrs. Mallowe, in a tone of one who has successfully tracked an obscure word through a large dictionary. 'Did you ever hear of anything so mad — so absurd? And he had the ball at his feet. He had only to kick it I I would have made him anything ! Anything in the wide world. He could have gone to the world's end. I would have helped him. I made him, didn't I, Polly? Didn't I create that man? Doesn't he owe everything to me? And to reward me, just when everything was nicely arranged, by this lunacy that spoilt everything ! ' * Very few men understand your devotion thor- oughly.' * Oh, Polly, donH laugh at me ! I give men up from this hour. I could have killed him then and there. What right had this man — this Thing I had picked out of his filthy paddy-fields — to make love to me? ' 'He did that, did he?' * He did. I don't remember half he said, I was so angry. Oh, but such a funny thing happened I I can't help laughing at it now, though I felt nearly THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE 27 i ;i ready to cry with rage. He raved and I stormed — I'm afraid we must have made an awful noise in our kala juygah. Protect my character, dear, if it's all over Simla by to-morrow — and then he bobbed forward in the middle of this insanity — 1 firmly believe the man's demented — and kissed me ! ' * Morals above reproach,' purred Mrs. Mallowe. * So they were — so they are I It was the most absurd kiss. I don't believe he'd ever kissed a woman in his life before. I threw my head back, and it was a sort of slidy, pecking dab, just on the end of the chin — here.' Mrs. Hauksbee tapped her masculine little chin with her fan. ' Then, of course, I was furi- ously angry, and told him that he was no gentleman, and I was sorry I'd ever met him, and so on. He was crushed so easily that I couldn't be very angry. Then I came away straight to you.' ' Was this before or after supper ? * * Oh I before — oceans before. Isn't it perfectly dis- gusting ? ' ' Let me think. I withhold judgment till to-morrow. Morning brings counsel.' But morning brought only a servant with a dainty bouquet of Annandale roses for Mrs. Hauksbee to wear at the dance at Viceregal Lodge that night. 'He doesn't seem to be very penitent,' said Mrs. Mallowe. ' What's the billet-doux in the centre ? ' Mrs. Hauksbee opened the neatly-folded note, — another accomplishment that she had taught Otis, — read it, and groaned tragically. ' Last wreck of a feeble intellect I Poetry ! Is it his own, do you think? Oh, that I ever built my hopes on such a maudlin idiot ! ' t* 28 UNDER THE DEODARS 'No. It*s a quotation from Mrs. Browning, and, in view of the facts of the case, as Jack says, uncom- monly well chosen. Listen — Sweet thou hast trod on a heart, Pass I There's a world full of men ; And women as fair as thou art, Must do such things now and then. Thou only hast stepped unaware — Malice not one can impute ; And why should a heart have been there, In the way of a fair woman's foot ? ' * I didn't — I didn't — I didn't ! ' — said Mrs. Hauks- bee angrily, her eyes filling with tears; 'there was no malice at all. Oh, it's too vexatious I ' 'You've misunderstood the compliment,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'He clears you completely and — ahem — I should think by this, that he has cleared completely too. My experience of men is that when they begin to quote poetry, they are going to flit. Like swans singing before they die, you know.' 'Polly, you take my sorrows in a most unfeeling way.' ' Do I ? Is it so terrible ? If he's hurt your vanity, I should say that you've done a certain amount of damage to his heart.' ' Oh, you never can tell about a man I ' said Mrs. Hauksbee. -M AT THE PIT'S MOUTH Men say it was a stolen tide — Tlie Lord tliat sent it lie knows all, But in mine ear will aye abide The message that the bells let fall, And awesome bells they were to me, That in the dark rang, *■ Enderby.* Jean Ingelow. Once upon a time there was a Man and his Wife and a Tertium Quid. All three were unwise, but the Wife was the un- wisest. The Man should have looked after his Wife, who should have avoided the Tertium Quid, who, again, should have married a wife of his own, after clean and open flirtations, to which nobody can possi- bly object, round Jakko or Observatory Hill. When you see a young man with his pony in a white lather, and his hat on the back of his head flying down-hill at fifteen miles an hour to meet a girl who will be properly surprised to meet him, you naturally approve of that young man, and wish him Staff appointments, and take an interest in his welfare, and, as the proper time comes, give them sugar-tongs or side-saddles according to your means and generosity. The Tertium Quid flew down-hill on horseback, but it was to meet the Man's Wife ; and when he flew up- hill it was for the same end. The Man was in the Plains, earning money for his Wife to spend on dresses and four-hundred-rupee bracelets, and inexpensive lux- 20 1 < :J 30 UNDER THE DEODARS iiricH of that kind. IIo worked very luird, und sent her a letter or a post-card daily. She also wrote to him daily, ami said that she was longing for him to come up to Simla. The Tertium Quid used to lean over her shoulder and laugh as she wrote the notes. Then the two would ride to the Post-ollico together. Now, Simla is a strange place and its customs are peculiar ; nor is any nuin who has not spent at least ten seasons there qualified to pass judgment on circum- stantial evidence, which is the most untrustworthy in the Courts. For these reasons, and for others which need not appear, I decline to state positively whether there was anything irretrievably wrong in the rela- tions between the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid. If there was, and hereon you must form your own opinion, it was the Man's Wife's fault. She was kit- tenish in her manners, wearing generally an air of soft and fluffy innocence. But she was deadlily learned and evil-instructed ; and, now and again, when the mask dropped, men saw this, shuddered and — almost drew back. Men are occasionally particular, and the least particular men are always the most exacting. Simla is eccentric in its fashioi. f treating friend- ships. Certain attachments which have set and crys- tallised through half a dozen seasons acquire almost the sanctity of the marriage bond, and are revered as such. Again, certain attachments equally old, and, to all appearance, equally venerable, never seem to win any recognised official status ; while a chance-sprung acquaintance, not two months born, steps into the place which by right belongs to the senior. There is no law reducible to print which regulates these affairs. Some people have a gift which secures them in- AT THE PIT'S MOUTH n finito toleration, and othei'H have not. The Man's Wife had not. If she looked over the garden wall, for instance, womt'n taxed her with stealing their hus- biinds. She complained pathetically that she was not allowed to choose her own friends. When she put up lier big white muff to her lips, and gazed over it and under her eyebrows at you as she said this thing, you felt that she had been infamously misjudged, and that all the other women's instincts were all wrong ; which was absurd. She was not allowed to own the Tertium Quid in peace ; and was so strangely constructed that she would not have enjoyed peace has slie been so per- mitted. She preferred some semblance of intrigue to cloak even her most commonplace actions. After two months of riding, first round Jakko, then Elysium, then Summer Hill, then Observatory Hill, tlien under Jutogh, and lastly up and down the Cart lioad as far as the Tara Devi gap in the dusk, she said to the Tertium Quid, 'Frank, people say we are too much together, and people are so horrid.' The Tertium Quid pulled his moustache, and replied that horrid people were unworthy of the consideration of nice people. ' But they have done more than talk — they have written — written to my hubby — I'm sure of it,' said the Man's Wife, and she pulled a letter from her hus- band out of her saddle-pocket and gave it to the Tertium Quid. It was an honest letter, written by an honest man, then stewing in the Plains on two hundred rupees a month (for he allowed his wife eight hundred and fifty), and in a silk banian and cotton trousers. It is said that, perhaps, she had not thought of the unwisdom of '-''t 32 UNDER THE DEODARS allowing her name to be so generally coupled with the Tertium Quid's ; that she was too much of a child to understand the dangers of that sort of thing ; that he, her husband, was the last man in the world to interfere jealously with her little amusements and interests, but that it would be better were she to drop the Tertium Quid quietly and for her husband's sake. The letter was sweetened with many pretty little pet names, and it amused the Tertium Quid considerably. He and She laughed over it, so that you, fifty yards away, could see their shoulders shaking while the horses slouched along side by side. Their conversation was not worth reporting. The upshot of it was that, next day, no one saw the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid together. They had both gone down to the Cemetery, which, as a rule, is only visited officially by the inhabitants of Simla. A Simla funeral with the clergyman riding, the mourners riding, and the coffin creaking as it swings between the bearers, is one of the most depressing things on this earth, particularly when the procession passes under the wet, dank dip beneath the Rockcliffe Hotel, where the sun is shut out, and all the hill streams are wailing and weeping together as they go down the valleys. Occasionally, folk tend the graves, but we in India shift and are transferred so often that, at the end of the second year, the Dead have no friends — only acquaint- ances who are far too busy amusing themselves up the hill to attend to old partners. The idaa of using a Cemetery as a rendezvous is distinctly a feminine one. A man would have said simply, 'Let people talk. We'll go down the Mall.' A woman is made differ- .^ AT THE PIT'S MOUTH S3 $1 ii-ia idth the child to that he, nterfere 3sts, but rertium le letter nes, and and She ould see ed along g. The le Man's lad both , is onlv ing, the swings Dressing ocession ockcliffe the hill they go m India id of the cquaint- s up the using a line one. le talk, differ- f 1 ently, especially if she be such a woman as the Man's Wife. She and the Tertium Qu d enjoyed each other's society among the graves of men and women wl^om they had known and danced with aforetime. They used to take a big horse-blanket and sit on the grass a little to the left of the lower end, where there is a dip in the ground, and where the occupied graves stop short and the ready-made ones are not ready. Each well-regulated Indian Cctnetery keeps half a dozen graves permanently open for contingencies and incidental wear and tear. In the Hills these are more usually baby's size, because children who come up weakened and sick from the Plains often succumb to the effects of the Rains in the Hills or get pneumonia from their ayahs taking them through damp pine-woods after the sun has set. In Cantonments, of course, the man's size is more in request ; these arrangements vary- ing with the climate and population. One day when the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid had just arrived in the Cemetery, they saw some coolies breaking ground. They had marked out a full-size grave, and the Tertium Quid asked them whether any Sahib was sick. They said that they did not know ; but it was an order that they should dig a iSahib^s grave. * Work away,' said the Tertium Quid, ' and let's see how it's done.' The coolies worked away, and the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid watched and talked for a couple of hours while the grave was being deepened. Then a coolie, taking the earth in baskets as it was thrown up, jumped over the grave. 'That's queer,' said the Tertium Quid. 'Where's my ulster?* ■■■i I I'h ;. J s 34 UNDER THE DEODARS * What's queer ? ' said the Man's Wife. * I have got a chill down my back — just as if a goose had walked over my grave.' 'Why do you look at the thing, then?' said the Man's Wife. ' Let us go.' The Tertium Quid stood at the head of the grave, and stared without answering for a space. Then he said, dropping a pebble down, ' It is nasty — and cold: horribly cold. I don't think I shall come to the Ceme- tery any more. I don't think grave-digging is cheerful.' The two talked and agreed that the Cemetery was depressing. They also arranged for a ride next day out from the Cemetery through the Mashobra Tunnel up to Fagoo and back, because all the world was going to a garden-party at Viceregal Lodge, and all the people of Mashobra would go too. Coming up the Cemetery road, the Tertium Quid's horse tried to bolt up-hill, being tired with standing so long, and managed to strain a back sinew. * I shall have to take the mare to-morrow,' said the Tertium Quid, 'and she will stand nothing heavier than a snaffle.' They made their arrangements to meet in the Ceme- tery, after allowing all the Mashobra people time to pass into Simla. That night it rained heavily, and, next day, when the TerJum Quid came to the try sting- place, he saw that the new grave had a foot of water in it, the ground being a tough and sour clay. ' 'Jove ! That looks beastly,' said the Tertium Quid. ' Fancy being boarded up and dropped into that well! ' They then started off to Fagoo, the mare playing with the snaffle and picking her way as though she were shod with satin, and the siiu shining divinely. A.T THE PIT'S MOUTH 85 The road below Mashobra to Fagoo is officially styled the Himalayan-Thibet Road ; but in spite of its name it is not much more than six feet wide in most places, and the drop into the valley below may be anything between one and two thousand feet. 'Now we're going to Thibet,' said the Man's Wife merrily, as the horses drew near to Fagoo. She was riding on the cliff -side. 'Into Thibet,' said the Tertium Quid, 'ever so far from people who say horrid things, and hubbies who write stupid letters. With you — to the end of the world! ' A coolie carrying a log of wood came round a corner, and the mare went wide to avoid him — forefeet in and haunches out, as a sensible mare should go. 'To the world's end,' said the Man's Wife, and looked unspeakable things over her near shoulder at the Tertium Quid. He was smiling, but, while she looked, the smile froze stiff as it were on his face, and changed to a ner- vous grin — the sort of grin men wear when they are not quite easy in their saddles. The mare seemed to be sinking by the stern, and her nostrils cracked while she was trying to realise what was happening. The rain of the night before had rotted the drop-side of the Himalayan-Thibet Road, and it was giving way under her. • What are you doing ? ' said the Man's Wife. The Tertium Quid gave no answer. Ho grinned ner- vously and set his spurs into the mare, who rapped with her forefeet on the road, and the struggle began. The Man's Wife screamed, 'Oh, Frank, get off! ' But the Tertium Quid wa,.^ glued to the saddle — his face blue and white — and he looked into the Man's '■•■ 'Hi I ' f I t '■■,: ^ \ ri ■ri l\r "I 38 UNDER THE DEODARS tioii to do harm ; but all Kashima knows that she, and she alone, brought about their pam. Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain Kur- rell know this. They are the Engli'h population of Kashima, if we except Major Vansuythen, who is of no importance whatever, and Mrs. Vansuythen, who is the most important of all. You must remember, though you will not under- stand, that all laws weaken in a small and hidden com- munity where there is no public opinion. When a man is absolutely alone in a Station he runs a certain risk of falling into evil ways. This risk is multiplied by every addition to the population up to twelve — the Jury-number. After that, fear and consequent restraint begin, and human action becomes less grotesquely jerky. There was deep peace in Kashima till Mrs. Vansuy- then arrived. She was a charming woman, every one said so everywhere ; and she charmed every one. In spite of this, or, perhaps, because of this, since Fate is so perverse, she cared only for one man, and he was Major Vansuythen. Had she been plain or stupid, this matter would have been intelligible to Kashima. But she was a fair woman, with very still gray eyes, the colour of a lake just before the light of the sun touches it. No man who had seen those eyes could, later on, explain what fashion of woman she was to look upon. The eyes dazzled him. Her own sex said that she was ' not bad looking, but spoilt by pretending to be so grave.' And yet her gravity was nrtural. It was not her habit to smile. She merely went through life, looking at those who passed ; and the women objected while the men fell down and worshipped. A WAYSIDE COMEDY 39 She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to Kashima ; but Major Vansuythen cannot under- stand why Mrs. Boulte does not drop in to afternoon tea at least three times a week. * When there are only two women in one Station, they ought to see a great deal of each other,' says Major Vansuythen. Long and long before ever Mrs. Vansuythen came out of those far-away places where ' aere is society and amusement, Kurrell had discoverer that Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world for him and — you dare not blame them. Kashima was as out of the world as Heaven or the Other Place, and the Dosehri hills kept their secret well. Boulte had no concern in the matter. He was in camp for a fortnight at a time. He was a hard, heavy man, and neither Mrs. Boulte nor Kurrell pitied him. They had all Kashima and each other for their very, very own ; and Kashima was the Garden of Eden in those days. When Boulte returned from his wanderings he would slap Kurrell between the shoulders and call him 'old fellow,' and the three would dine together. Kashima was happy then when the judgment of God seemed almost as dis- tant as Narkarra or the railway that ran down to the sea. But the Government sent Major Vansuythen to Kashima, and with him came his wife. The etiquette of Kashima is much the same as that of a desert island. When a stranger is cast away there, all hands go down to the shore to make him wel- come. Kashima assembled at the masonry platform close to the Narkarra Road, and spread tea for the Vansuythens. That ceremony was reckoned a formal call, and made them free of the Ltation, its rights and privileges. When the Vansuythens were settled down, f 5 . ■?•♦ ■ 40 UNDER THE DEODARS \ they gave a tiny house-warming to all Kashima ; and that made Ka.shima free of their house, according to the immemorial usage of the Station. Then the Rains came, when no one could go into camp, and the Narkarra Road was washed away by the Kasun River, and in the cup-like pastures of Kashima the cattle waded knee-deep. The clouds dropped down from the Dosehri hills and covered everything. At the end of the Rains, Boulte's manner towards his wife changed and became demonstratively affec- tionate. They had been married twelve yeara, lid the change startled Mrs. Boulte, who hated her husband with the hate of a woman who has met with nothing but kindness from her mate, and, in the teeth of this kindness, has done him a great wrong. Moreover, she had her own trouble to fight with — her watch to keep over her own property, Kurrell. For two months the Rains had hidden the Dosehri hills and many other things besides; but, when they lifted, they showed Mrs. Boulte that her man among men, her Ted — for she called him Ted in the old days when Boulte was out of earshot — was slipping the links of the alle- giance. *The Vansuythen Woman has taken him,' Mrs. Boulte said to herself; and when Boulte was away, wept over her belief, in the face of the over-vehement blandishments of Ted. Sorrow in Kashima is as fort- unate as Love, because there is nothing to weaken it save the flight of Time. Mrs. Boulte had never breathed her suspicion to Kurrell because she was not certain; and her nature led her to be very certain before she took steps in any direction. That is why she behaved as she did. A WAYSIDE COMEDY 41 m Boulte came into the house one evening, and leaned against the door-posts of the drawing-room, chewing his moustache. Mrs. Boulte was putting some flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of civilisation even in Kashima. * Little woman,' said Boulte quietly, * do you care for me?' * Immensely,' said she, with a laugh. ' Can you ask it ? ' 'But I'm serious,' said Boulte. ''Do you care for me?' Mrs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. ' Do you want an honest answer ? ' ' Ye es, I've asked for it.' Mrs. Boulte spoke in a low, even voice for five min- utes, very distinctly, that there might be no misunder- standing her meaning. When Samson broke the pillars of Gaza, he did a little thing, and one not to be com- pared to the deliberate pulling down of a woman's homestead about her own ears. There was no wise female friend to advise Mrs. Boulte, the singularly I cautious wife, to hold her hand. She struck at Boulte's [heart, because her own was sick with suspicion of Kurrell, and worn out with the long strain of watching I alone through the Rains. There was no plan or pur- pose in her speaking. The sentences made themselves; and Boulte listened, leaning against the door-post with his hands in his pockets. When all was over, and Mrs. Boulte began to breathe through her nose before break- ing out into tears, he laughed and stared straight in Ifront of him at the Dosehri hills. ' Is that all ? ' he said. ' Thanks, I only wanted to [know, you know.' i ■,; I m 1.5 I, '/I '> .;,-'• ■' t'. f:> 42 UNDER THE DEODARS I I * What are you going to do ? ' said the woman, be- tween her sobs. *DoI Nothing. What should I do? Kill Kurrell or send you Home, or apply for leave to get a divorce? It's two days* ddk into Narkarra.* He laughed again and went on: ' I'll tell you what you can do. You can ask Kurrell to dinner to-morrow — no, on Thursday, that will allow you time to pack — and you can bolt with him. I give you my word I won't follow.' He took uj) his helmet and went out of the room, and Mrs. Boulte sat till the moonlight streaked the floor, thinking and thinking and thinking. She had done her best upon the spur of the moment to pull the house down ; but it would not fall. Moreover, she could not understand her husband, and she was afraid. Then the folly of her useless truthfulness struck her, and she was ashamed to write to Kurrell, saying : ' I have gone mad and told everything. My husband says that I am free to elope with you. Get a ddk for | Thursday, and we will fly after dinner.' There was aj cold-bloodedness about that procedure which did not appeal to her. So she sat still in her own house am!| thought. At dinner-time Boulte came back from his walkj white and worn and haggard, and the woman was! touched at his distress. As the evening wore on, slie j muttered some expression of sorrow, something apj proaching to contrition. Boulte came out of a brow:| study and said, ' Oh, that ! I wasn't thinking aboui j that. By the way, what does Kurrell say to tliej elopement ? ' * I haven't seen him,' said Mrs. Boulte. * Good God!| is that all?' A WAYSIDE COMEDY 43 But Boulte was not listening, and her sentence ended ill a p^ulp. The next day brouglit no comfort to Mrs. Boulte, for Kurrell did not appear, and the new life that she, in the live minutes' madness of the previous evening, had hoped to build out of the ruins of the old, seemed to be no nearer. Boulte ate his breakfast, advised her to see her Arab pony fed in the veranda, and went out. The morning wore through, and at midday the tension became unen- durable. Mrs. Boulte could not cry. She had finished her crying in the night, and now she did not want to be left alone. Perhaps the Vansuythen Woman would talk to her; and, since talking opens the heart, perliaps there might be some comfort to be found in her com- pany. She was the only other woman in the Station. In Kashima there are no regular calling-hours. Every one can drop in upon c ery one else at pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, and walked across to the Vansuythen's house to borrow last week's Queen. The two compounds touched, and instead of going up the drive, she crossed through the gap in the cactus- hedge, entering the house from the back. As she passed through the dining-room, she heard, behind the purdah that cloaked the drawing-room door, her hus- band's voice, saying — 'But on my Honour! On my Soul and Honour, I tell you she doesn't care for me. She told me so last night. I would have told yuu then if Vansuy- tlien hadn't been with you. If it is for her sake that you'll have nothing to say to me, you can make your mind easy. It's Kurrell ' 'What?' said Mrs. Vansuythen, with an hysterical .1 < ;»' '1^ • !!l 44 UNDER THE DEODAHS i"\ little laugh. *KiirrelI! Oli, it can't bel You two inuHt liave made some horrible mistake. Perhaps you — you lost your temper, or misunderstood, or something. Things can't be as wrong as you say.' Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man's pleading, and was desperately trying to keep him to a side-issue. 'There must be some mistake,' she insisted, *and it can be all put right again.' Boulte laughed grimly. *lt can't be Captain Kurrelll He told me that he had never taken the least — the least interest in your wife, Mr. Boulte. Oh, do listen! He said he had not. He swore he had not,' said Mrs. Vansuythen. The purdah rustled, and the speech was cut short by the entry of a little, thin woman, with big rings round her eyes. Mrs. Vansuythen stood up with ti gasp. *What was that you said?' asked Mrs. Boulte. * Never mind that man. What did Ted say to you? What did he say to you? What did he say to you? ' Mrs. Vansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by the trouble of her questioner. 'He said — I can't remember exactly what he said — but I understood him to say — that is But, really, Mrs. Boulte, isn't it rather a strange question?' ^Will you tell me what he said?' repeated Mrs. Boulte. Even a tiger will fly before a bear robbed of her whelps, and Mrs. Vansuythen was only an ordina- rily good woman. She began in a sort of desperation: ' Well, he said that he never cared for you at all, and, of course, there was not the least reason why he should have, and — and — that was all.' A WAYSIDE COMEDY 45 ♦ You said ho swore he had not cared for me. Was hat true?' ' Ves,' Huid Mrs. Vansuythcn very softly. Mrs. Houlte wavered for an instant where slie stood, and then fell forward fainting. 'What did I tell you?' said Boulte, as though the conversation luid been unbroken. * You can see for yourself. She cares for him.' The light began to break into his dull mind, and he went on — 'And he — wiiat was he saying to you ? ' lint Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explana- tions or impassioned protestations, was kneeling over Mrs. Boulte. 'Oh, you brute I' she cried. *Aro all men like this? Help me to get her into my room — and her face is cut against the table. Oh, will you be quiet, and help me to carry her? 1 hate you, and 1 hate Captain Kurrell. Lift her up carefully and now — |ifo! Go away! ' Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuythen's bed- room and departed before the storm of that lady's wrath and disgust, impenitent and burning with jeal- ousy. Kurrell had been making love to Mrs. Vansuy- then — would do Vansuythen as great a wrong as he had done Boulte, who caught himself considering whether Mrs. Vansuythen would faint if she discovered that the man slie loved had foresworn her. In the middle of these meditations, Kurrell came cantering along the road and pulled up with a cheery, ' Good-mornin'. 'Been mashing Mrs. Vansuythen as usual, eh ? Bad thing for a sober, married man, that. What will Mrs. Boulte say ? ' Boulte raised his head and said slowly, ' Oh, you II tI< : 'i :>,. M E I* Vfi m 'h^ 46 UNDER THE DEODARS liar ! ' Kurrell's face changed. * What's that ? ' he asked quickly. 'Nothing much,' said Boulte. 'Has mj wife told you that you two are free to go off whenever you please ? She has been good enough to explain the situation to me. You've been a true friend to me, Kurrell — old man — haven't you ? ' Kurrell groaned, and tried to frame some sort of idiotic sentence about being willing to give 'satisfac- tion.' But his interest in the woman was dead, had died out in the Rains, and, mentally, he was abusing her for her amazing indiscretion. It would have been so easy to have broken off the thing gently and by degrees, and now he was saddled with Boulte's voice recalled him. ' I don't think I should get any satisfaction from kill- ing you, and I'm pretty sure you'd get none from killing me.' Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously disproportioned to his wrongs, Boulte added — ' 'Seems rather a pity that you haven't the decency to keep to the woman, now you've got her. You've been a true friend to her too, haven't you? ' Kurrell stared long and gravely. The situation was getting beyond him. ' What do you mean ? ' he said. Boulte answered, more to himself than the questioner: 'My wife came over to Mrs. Vansuythen's just now; and it seems you'd been telling Mrs. Vansuythen that you'd never cared for Emma. I suppose you lied, as usual. What had Mrs. Vansuythen to do with you, or you with her ? Try to speak the truth for once in a way.' A WAYSroE COMEDY 47 lation was Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and replied by another question: 'Go on. "What hap- pened ? ' ' Emma fainted,' said Boulte simply. * But, look here, what had you been saying to Mrs. Vanduythen ? ' Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with unbridled tongue, made havoc of his plans ; and he could at least retaliate by hurting the man in whose eyes he was humiliated and shown dishonourable. ' Said to her ? What does a man tell a lie like that for? I suppose I said pretty much what you've said, unless I'm. a good deal mistaken.' 'I spoke the truth,' said Boulte, again more to him- self than Kurrell. ' Emma told me she hated me. She has no right in me.' ' No ! I suppose not. You're only her husband, y'know. And what did Mrs. Vansuythen say after you had laid your disengaged heart at her feet ? ' Kurrell felt almost virtuous as he put the question. ' I don't think that matters,' Boulte replied ; ' and it doesn't concern you.' 'But it does I I tell you it does' — began Kurrell shamelessly. The sentence was cut by a roar of laughter from Boulte's lips. Kurrell was silent for an instant, and then he, too, laughed — laughed long and loudly, rock- ing in his saddle. It was an unpleasant sound — the mirthless mirth of these men on the long, white line of the Narkarra Road. There were no strangers in Kashima, or they might have thought that captivity within the Dosehri hills had driven half the European [population mad. The laughter endcv abruptly, and Kurrell was the first to speak. " •',! S».l ■. Ml •:| ■■;«i ; '-hi ■ ■ • r'i ( 'I . ^'fX4 4*. M 'V 48 UNDER THE DEODARS * Well, what are you going to do ? * Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills. * Noth- ing,' said he quietly; * what's the use ? Tt's too ghastly for anything. We must let the old lifa go on. I can only call you a hound and a liar, and I can't go on calling you names for ever. Besides which, I don't feel that I'm much better. We can't get out of this place. What is there to do ? ' Kurrell looked round the rat-pit of Kashima and made no reply. The injured husband took up the wondrous tale. ' Ride on, and speak to Emma if you want to. God knows /don't care what you do.' He walked forward, and left Kurrell gazing blankly after him. Kurrell did not ride on either to see Mrs. Boulte or Mrs. Vansuythen. He sat in his saddle and thought, while his pony grazed by the roadside. The whir nf approaching wheels roused him. Mrs. Vansuythen was driving home Mrs. Boulte, white and wan, with a cut on her forehead. * Stop, please,' said Mrs. Boulte, * I want to speak to Ted.' Mrs. Vansuythen obeyed, but as Mrs. Boulte leaned forward, putting her hand upon the splash-board of the dog-cart, Kurrell spoke. ' I've seen your husband, Mrs. Boulte.' There was no necessity for any further explanation. The man's eyes were fixed, not upon Mrs. Boulte, but her coiipunion. Mrs. Boulte saw the look. ' Speak CO him I ' she pleaded, tui'ning to the woman at her side. ' Oh, speak to him I Tell him what you told me just now. Tell him you hate him. Tell him you hate him I ' A WAYSIDE COMEDY 49 She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais, impassive, went forward to hold the horse. Mrs. Van- suythen turned scarlet and dropped the reins. She wished to be no party to such unholy explanations. * I've nothing to do with it,' she began coldly ; bui; Mrs. Boulte's sobs overcame her, and she addressed herself to the man. * I don't know what I am to say, Captain Kurrell. I don't know what I can call you. I think you've — you've behaved abominably, and she has cut her forehead terribly against the table.' ' It doesn't hurt. It isn't anything,' said Mrs. Boulte feebly. * That doesn't matter. Tell him what you told me. Say you don't care for him. Oh, Ted, won't you believe her ? ' ' Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were — that you were fond of her once upon a mnc,' went on Mrs. Vansuythen. ' Well I ' said Kurrell brutally. ' It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte had better be iond of her own husband first.' ' Stop ! ' said Mrs. Vansujrthen. * Hear me first. I don't care — I don't want to know anything about you and Mrs. Boulte ; but I want you to know that I hate you, that I think you are a cur, and thai I'll never, never speak to you again. Oh, I don't dare to say what I think of you, you man! ' ' I want to speak to Ted,' moaned Mrs. Boulte, but the dog-cart rattled on, and Kurrell was left on the road, shamed, and Ijoiling with wrath against Mrs. Boulte. He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own house, and, she being freed from the embarrass- ment of Mrs. Boulte's presence, learned for the second time her opinion of himself and his actions. ■ - ■ 1 ■ i 'm ",'..<' fi\ I '1; !1' 50 UNDER THE DEODARS In the evenings, it was the wont of all Kashima to meet at the platform on the Narkarra Road, to drink tea, and discuss the trivialities of the day. Major Vansuy- then and his wife found themselves alone at the gather- ing-place for almost the first time in their remembrance; and the cheery Major, in the teeth of his wife's remark- ably reasonable suggestion that the rest of the Station might be sick, insisted upon driving round to the two bungalows and unearthing the population. 'Sitting in the twilight!' said he, with great indig- nation, to the Boultes. 'That'll never do! Hang it all, we're one family here! You must come out, and so must Kurrell. I'll make him bring his banjo.' So great is the power of honest simplicity and a good digestion over guilty consciences that all Kashima did turn out, even down to the banjo ; and the Major em- braced the company in one expansive grin. As he grinned, Mrs. Vansuythen raised her eyes for an instant and looked at all Kashima. Her meaning was clear. Major Vansuythen would never know anything. He was to be the outsider in that happy family whose cage was the Dosehri hills. 'You're singing villainously out of tune, Kurrell,' said the Major truthfully. ' Pass me that banjo.' And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars came out and all Kashima went to dinner. That was the beginning of the New Life of Kashima — the life that Mrs. Boulte made when her tongue was loosened in the twilight. Mrs. Vansuythen has never told the Major ; and since he insists upon keeping up a burdensome genial- ity, she has been compelled to break her vow of not A WAYSIDE COMEDY 61 speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which must of necessity preserve the semblance of politeness and in- terest, serves admirably to keep aligL^. the flame of jealousy and dull hatred in Boulte's bosom, as it awakens the same passions in his wife's heart. Mrs. Boulte hates Mrs. Vansuythen because she has taken Ted from her, and, in some curious fashion, hates her because Mrs. Vansuythen — and here the wife's eyes see far more clearly than the husband's — detests Ted. And Ted — that gallant captain and honourable man — knows now that it is possible to hate a woman once loved, to the verge of wishing to silence her for ever with blows. Above all, is he shocked that Mrs. Boulte cannot see the error of her ways. Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together in all friendship. Boulte has put their relationship on a most satisfactory footing. ' You're a blackguard,' he says to Kurrell, * and I've lost any self-respect I may ever have had ; but when you're with me, I can feel certain that you are not with Mrs. Vansuythen, or making Emma miserable.' Kurrell endures anything that Boulte may say to him. Sometimes they are away for three days together, and then the Major insists upon his wife going over to sit with Mrs. Boulte ; although Mrs. Vansuythen has repeatedly declared thac she prefers her husband's com- pany to any in the world. From the way in which she cHngs to him, she would certainly seem to be speaking the truth. But of course, as the Major says, ' in a little Station we must all be friendly.' ■'j .■■, 1 ■ Nil '■r THE PIT THAT THEY DIGGED ^ Mr. Hawkins Mumrath, of Her Majesty's Bengal Civil Service, lay down to die of enteric fever; and, being a thorough-minded man, so nearly accomplished his purpose that all his friends, two doctors, and the Government he served gave him up for lost. Indeed, upon a false rumour the night beliore he rallied, sev- eral journals published very pleasant obituary notices, which, three weeks later, Mr. Mumrath sat up in bed and studied with interest. It is strange to read about yourself in the past tense, and soothing to discover that for ail your faults, your world * might have spared a better man.' When a Bengal civilian is tepid and harmless, newspapers always conclude their notices with this reflection. It entirely failed to amuse Mr. Mumrath. The loving-kindness of the Government provides for the use of its servants in the East luxuries undreamed of by other civilizations. A State-paid doctor closed Mumrath's eyes, — till Mumrath insisted upon opening them again ; a subventionized undertaker bought Gov- ernment timber for a Government coffin, and the great cemetery of St. Golgotha-in-Partibus prepared, accord- ing to regulation, a brick-lined grave, headed and edged, with masonry rests for the coffin. The cost of that grave was 175 rupees 14 annas, including the lease ^ Copyright, 1896, by Macmillan & Oo. 6a THE PIT THAT THEY DIGGED 53 of the land in perpetuity. Very minute are the instruc- tions of the Government for the disposal, wharfage, and demurrage of its dead ; but the actual arrange- ments are not published in any appendix to pay and pension rules, for the same reason that led a Prussian officer not to leave his dead and wounded too long in the sight of a battery under fire. Mr. Mumrath recovered and went about his work, to the disgust of his juniors who had hoped promotion from his decease. The undertaker sold the coffin, at a prolit, to a fat Armenian merchant in Calcutta, and the State-paid doctor profited in practice by Mumrath's resurrection from the dead. The Cemetery of St. Gol- gotha-in-Partibus sat down by the head of the new- made grave with the beautiful brick lining, and waited for the corpse then signing despatches in an office three miles away. The yearly accounts were made up ; and there remained over, unpaid for, one grave, cost 175 rupees 14 annas. The vouchers for all the other graves carried the name of a deceased servant of the Govern- ment. Only one space was blank in the column. Then Ahutosh Lai Deb, Sub-deputy Assistant in the Accounts Department, being full of zeal for the State and but newly appointed to his important post, wrote officially to the Cemetery, desiring to know the inward- ness of that grave, and * having the honour to be,' etc. The Cemetery wrote officially that there was no inward- ness at all, but a complete emptiness ; said grave hav- ing been ordered for Mr. Hawkins Mumrath, and ' had the honour to remain.' Ahutosh Lai Deb had the honour to point out that, the grave being unused, the Government could by no means pay for it. The Ceme- terv wished to know if the account could be carried ^m ' ■ '0 :'m m % , -' ; '-'ih '■' i.r 1 u. *.' «,c 54 UNDER THE DEODARS over to the next year, 'pending anticipated taking-up of grave.' Ahutosh Lai Deb said that he was not going to have the accounts confused. Discrepancy was the soul of badinage and defalcations. The Cemetery would be good enough to adjust on the financial basis of that year. The Cemetery wished they might be buried if they saw their way to doing it, and there really had been more than two thousand burned bricks put into the lining of the grave. Meantime, they complained, the Govern nent Brickfield Audit was waiting until all mate- rial should have been paid for. Ahutosh Lai Deb wrote : ' liefer to Mr. Mumrath.' The Cemetery referred semi-ofTicially. It struck them as being rather », delicate matter, but orders are orders. Hawkins Mumrath wrote back, saying that he had the honour to be quite well, and not in the least in need of a grave, brick -lined or otherwise. He recom- mended the head of the Cemetery to get into that grave and stay there. The Cemetery forwarded the letter to Ahutosh Lai Deb, for reference and order. Ahutosh Lai Deb forwarded it to the Provincial Government, who filed it behind a mass of other files and forgot all about it. A fat she -cobra crawled into the neglected grave, and laid her eggs among the bricks. The Rains fell, and a little sprinkling of grass jewellet( the brick flour. The Cemetery wrote to Ahutosh Tial Deb, advising him that Mr. Mumrath had not paid for the grave, and requesting that the sum might be stopped from his monthly pay. Ahutosh Lai Deb sent the letter to Hawkins Mumrath as a reminder. THE PIT THAT THEY DIGGED 8S Hawkins Mumrath swore ; but when he had sworn, he began to feel frightened. The enteric fever had destroyed his nerve. He wrote to the Accounts Depart- ment, protesting against the injustice of paying for a grave beforehand. Deductions for pension or widow's annuity were quite right, but this sort of deduction was an imposition besides being sarcastic. Ahutosh Lai Deb wrote that Mr. Mumrath's style was not one usually employed in official correspon- dence, and requested him to modulate it and pay for the grave. Hawkins Mumrath tossed the letter into the fire, and wrote to the Provincial Government. The Provincial Government had the honour to point out that the matter rested entirely between Mr. Haw- kins Mumrath and the Accounts Department. They saw no reason to interfere till the money was actually deducted from the pay. In that eventuality, if Mr. Hawkins Mumrath appealed through the proper chan- nels, he might, if the matter were properly reported upon, get a refund, less the cost of his last letter, which was under-stamped. The Cemetery wrote to Ahutosh Lai Deb, enclosing triplicate of grave-bill and demand- ing some sort of settlement. Ahutosh Lai Deb deducted 175 rupees 14 annas from Mumrath's monthly pay. Mumrath appealed through the proper channels. The Provincial Government wrote that the expenses of all Government graves solely concerned the Supreme Government, to whom his letter had been forwarded. Mumrath wrote to the Supreme Government. The Supreme Government had the honour to explain that tli(^ management of St. Golgotha-in-Partibus was under direct control of the Provincial Government, to whom i M i - "'■'1 :( i iv' ! ■ >'•■; 1 '.W 66 UNDER THE DEODARS they had had the honour of forwarding his communica- tion. Mumrath telegraphed to the Cemetery to this effect. The Cemetery telegraphed: * Fiscal and finance, Supreme; management of internal affairs, Provincial Government. Refer Revenue and Agricultural De- partment for grave details.' Mumrath referred to the Revenue and Agricultural Department. That Department had the honour to make clear that it was only concerned in the planta- tion of trees round the Cemetery. The Forest Depart- ment controlled the reboisement of the edges of the paths. Mumrath forwarded all the letters to Ahutosh Lai Deb, with a request for an immediate refund under *Rule 431 A, Supplementary Addenda, Bengal.' He invented rule and reference pro re nata, having some knowledge of the workings of the Babu mind. The crest of the Revenue and Agricultural Depart- ment frightened Ahutosh Lai Deb more than the reference. He bewilderedly granted the refund, and recouped the Government from the Cemetery Estab- lishment allowance. The Cemetery Establishment Executive Head wanted to know what Ahutosh Lai Deb meant. The Accountant-General wanted to know what Ahu- tosh Lai Deb meant. The Provincial Government wanted to know what Ahutosh Lai Deb meant. The Revenue and Agriculture, the Forest Depart- ment, and the Government Harness Depot, which sup- plies the leather slings for the biers, all wanted to know what the deuce Ahutosh Lai Deb meant. THE PIT THAT THEY DIGGED 67 Ahutosh Lai Deb referred them severally to Mr. Hawkins Mumratli, who had driven out to chuckle over his victory all alone at the head of the brick-lined grave with the masonry foot rests. The she-cobra was sunning herself by the edge of the grave with her little ones about her, for the eggs had hatched out beautifully. Hawkins Mumrath stepped absently on the old lady*s tail, and she bit him in the ankle. Hawkins Mumrath drove home very quickly, and died in five hours and three-quarters. Then Ahutosh Lai Deb passed the entry to * regular account,' and there was peace in India. > m ' irt :fl '■ r'-ti r 1 mi THE HILL OF ILLUSION .1 ,: What rendered vain their deep desire ? A God, a God their severance ruled, And bade between thr^ir shores to be The uuplumbed, salt, estranging sea. Matthew Arnold. He. Tell your jhampanis not to hurry so, dear. They forget I'm fresh from the Plains. She. Sure proof that / have not been going out with any one. Yes, they are an untrained crew. Where do we go ? He. As usual — to the world's end. No, Jakko. She. Have your pony led after you, then. It's u long round. He. And for the last time, thank Heaven ! " She. Do you mean that still? I didn't dare to write to you about it — all these months. He. Mean it ! I've been shaping my affairs to tliiit end since Autumn. What makes you speak as thougli it had occurred to you for the first time ? She. I ? Oh I I don't know. I've had long enough to think, too. He. And you've changed your mind ? She. No. You ought to know that I am a miracle of constancy. What are your — arrangements ? He. Our 8^ Sweetheart, please. She. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has marked your forehead I Have you ever tried sulphate of copper in water? 68 THE HILL OF ILLUSION 69 Hk. It'll go away in a day or two up here. The urrangements are simple enough. Tonga in the early morning — reach Kalka at twelve — Uniballa at seven — down, straight by night train, to Hombay, and then the steamer of the Slst for Home. That's my idea. The Continent and Sweden — a ten-week honeymoon. She. Ssh I Don't talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy, how long have we two been insane ? He. Seven montlis and fourteen days, 1 forget the odd hours exactly, but I'll think. She. I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two on the Blessington Road ? He. Eabrey and the Penner woman. What do they matter to us? Tell me eve:"hhing that you've been doing and saying and thinking. She. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a great deal. I've hardly been out at all. Me. That was wrong of you. You haven't been moping ? She. Not very much. Can you wonder that I'm disinclined for amusement? He. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty ? She. In this only. The more people I know and the more I'm known here, the wider spread will be the news of the crash when it comes. I don't like that. He. Nonsense. We shall be out of it. She. You think so ? He. I'm sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to carry us away. Ha ! ha ! Spie. And the fun of the situation comes in — where, my Lancelot? He. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something. ma ) ', 13 r : y.Hv 60 CNDER THE DEODARS She. They say men have a keener sense of humour than women. Now I was thinking of the scandal. He. Don't think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it. She. It will be there uU the sam'* — in the mouths of Simla — telegraphed over India, and talked of at the dinners — and when He goes out they will stare at Him CO see how He takes it. And we shall be dead, Guy dear — dead and cast into the outer darkness where there is He. Love at least. Isn't that enough ? She. I have said so. He. And you think so still ? She. What do you think ? He. What have I done? It means equal ruin to me, as the world reckons it — outcasting, the loss of my appointment, the breaking off my life's work. I pay my price. She. And are you so much above the world that you can afford to pay it? Am I? He. My Divinity — what else ? She. a very ordinary woman I'm afraid, but, so far, respectable. H ^w d'you do, Mrs. Middleditch ? Your husband? I think he's riding down to Annandale with Colonel Statters. Yes, isn't it divine after tlie rain? Guy, how long am I to be allowed to bow to M]'8. Middleditch ? Till the 17th? He. Frowsy Scotchwoman! What is the use of bringing her into the discussion ? You were saying ? She. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged ? He. Yes. Once. She. What was it for ? He. Murder, of course. THE HILL OF ILLUSION 61 She. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all ? I wonder how he felt before the drop fell. He. I don't think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman it is this evening I You're shivering. Put on your cape, dear. She. I think I will. Oh ! Look at the mist com- ing over Sanjaoli ; and I thought we should have sun- shine on the Ladies' Mile ! Let's turn bajk. He. What's the ^ood ? There's a cloud on Elysium Hill, and that means it's foggy all down the Mall. We'll go on. It'll blow away before we get to the Convent, perhaps. 'Jove I It is chilly. She. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do you think of my cape ? He. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman's dress when he is desperately and abjectly in love with the wearer. Let me look. Like everything else of yours it's perfect. Where did you get it from ? She. He gave it me, on Wednesday — our wedding- day, you know. He. The Deuce He did! He's growing generous in his old age. D'you like all that frilly, bunchy stuff at the throat ? I don't. She. Don't you ? Kind Sir, o* your courtesy, As you go by the town, Sir, 'Pray you o' your love for me, Buy me a russet gown, Sir. He. I won't say : * Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet.' Only wait a little, darling, and you shall be stocked with russet gowns and everything else. She. And when the frocks wear out, you'll get me new ones — and everything else ? ■fij t^W', it ml i ' > J r w ■ \ 62 UNDER THE DEODARS He. Assuredly. She. I wonder I He. Look here, Sweetheart, I didn't spend two days and two nights in the train to hear you wonder. I thought we'd settled all that at Shaifazehat. She (dreamily'). At Shaifazehat? Does the Sta- tion go on still? That was ages and ages ago. It must be crumbling to pieces. All except the Amir- toUah kutcha road. I dou't believe that could crumble till the Day of Judgment. He. You think so ? What is the mood now ? She. I can't tell. How cold it is I Let us get on quickly. He. 'Better walk a little. Stop yonr J hampania and get out. What's the matter with you this evening, dear ? She. Nothing. You must grow accustomed to my ways, If I'm boring you I can go home. Here's Cap- tain Congleton coming, I daresay he'll be willing to escort me. He. Goose I Between us, too ! Damn Captain Congleton I She. Chivalrous Knight. Is it your habit to swear much in talking ? It jars a little, and you might swear at me. He. My anr 1 1 I didn't know what I was saying ; and you changed so quickly that I couldn't follow. I'll apologise in dust and ashes. She. There'll be enough of those later on Good-night, Captain Cor.gleton. Going to the sing- ing-quadrilles already ? What dances am I giving you next week ? No ! You must have written them down wrong. Five and Seven, I said. If you've made a THE HILL OF ILLUSION 63 mistake, I certainly don't intend to suffer for it. You must alter your programme. He. I thought you told me that you Jhad not been going out much this season ? She. Quite true, but when I do I dance with Cap' tain Congleton. He dances very nicely. He. And sit out with him I suppose? She. Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the chandelier in future ? He. What does he talk to you about? She. What do men talk about when they sit out ? He. Ugh I Don't I Well now I'm up, you must dispense with the fascinating Congleton for a while. I don't like him. She {after a pause). Do you know what you have said? He. 'Can't say that I do exactly. I'm not in the best of tempers. She. So I see, — and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your 'eternal constancy,' 'unalterable trust,' and * reverent devotion ' ? I remember those phrases ; you seem to have forgotten them. I mention a man's name He. a good deal more than that. She. Well, speak to him about a dance — perhaps the last dance that I shall ever dance in my life before I, — before I go away ; and you at once distrust and insult me. He. 1 never said a word. She. How much did you imply? Guy, is this amount of confidence to be our stock to start the new life on? He. No, of course not. I didn't mean that. On •itl ■ '/ Mm '■1 W 1 m ^'^'Xi -^A'Ji 1 ■ !«»' i-I J ^' " ijWwt if 64 UNDER THE DEODARS my word and honour, I didn't. Let it pass, dear. Please let it pass. She. This once — yes — and a second time, and again and again, all through the years when I shall bo unable to resent it. You want too much, my Lance- lot, and, — you know too much. Hs. How do you mean? She. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust between us. He. In Heaven's name, why not? She. Hush I The Other Place is quite enough. Ask yourself. He. I don't follow. She. You trust me so implicitly that when I look at another man Never mind. Guy. Have you ever made love to a girl — a good girl? He. Something of the sort. Centuries ago — in the Dark Ages, before I ever met you, dear. She. Tell me what you said to her. He. What does a man say to a girl ? I've forgot- ten. She. /remember. He tells her that he trusts her and worships the ground she walks on, and that he'll love and honour and protect her till her dying day; and so she marries in that belief. At least, I speak of one girl who was not protected. He. Well, and then ? She. And then, Guy, and then, that girl needs ten times the love and trust and honour — yes, honour — that was enough wiien she was only a mere wife if — if — the other life she chooses to lead is to be made even bearable. Do you understand ? He. Even bearable I It'll be Paradise. THE HILL OF ILLUSION 65 She. Ah ! Can you give me all I've asked for — not now, nor a few months later, but when you begin to think of what you might have done if you had kept your own appointment and your caste here — when you begin to look upon me as a drag . nd a burden ? I shall want it most, then, Guy, for there will be no one in the wide world but you. He. You're a little over-tired to-night. Sweetheart, and you're taking a stage view of the situation. After the necessary business in the Courts, the road is clear to She. *The holy state of matrimony I ' Ha I ha I ha! He. Ssh ! Don't laugh in that horrible way ! She. I — I c-c-c-can't help it I Isn't it too absurd I Ah I Ha ! ha ! ha ! Guy, stop me quick or I shall — 1-1-laugh till we get to the Church. He. For goodness' sake, stop ! Don't make an ex- hibition of yourself. What is the matter with you ? She. N-nothing. I'm better now. He. That's all right. One moment, dear. There's a little wisp of hair got loose from behind your right ear and it's straggling over your cheek. So ! She. Thank'oo. I'm 'fraid my hat's on one side, too. He. What do you wear these huge dagger bonnet- skewers for ? They're big enough to kill a man with. She. Oh I Don't kill me^ though. You're stick- ing it into my head ! Let me do it. You men are so ckimsy. He. Have you had many opportunities of compar- ing us — in this sort of work ? She. Guy, what is my name ? 'if ;i . .}\- ' i ■■ ■■[, S l! 66 UNDER THE DEODARS He. Eh I I don't follow. She. Here's my card-case. Can you read ? He. Yes. Well? She. Well, that ans\yers your question. You know the other man's name. Am I sufficiently humbled, or would you like to ask me if there is any one else ? He. I see now. My darling, I never meant that for an instant. I was only joking. There! Lucky there's no one on the road. They'd be scandalised. She. They'll be more scandalised before the end. He. Do-on' t ! I don't like you to talk in that way. She. Unreasonable man ! Who asked me to face the situation and accept it ? — Tell me, do I look like Mrs. Penner ? Do I look like a naughty woman I Swear I don't I Give me your word of honour, my honourable friend, that I'm not like Mrs. Buzgago. That's the way she stands, with her hands clasped at the back of her head. D'you like that ? He. Don't be affected. She. I'm not. I'm Mrs. Buzgago. ListenI Pendant une anne' toute enti^re Le regiment n'a pas r'paru. Au Ministere de la Guerre On le r'porta comme perdu. On se r'noncait k r'trouver sa trace, Quand un matin subitement, On le vit r'paraitre sur la place, L'Colonel toujours en avant. That's the way she rolls her r's. Ami like her? He. No, but I object when you go on like an actress and sing stuff of that kind. Where in the world did M THE HILL OF ILLUSION 67 you pick up the Chanson du Colonel ? It isn't a draw- ing-room song. It isn't proper. She. Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both drawing-room and proper, and in another month she'll shut her drawing-room to me, and thank God she isn't as improper as I am. Oh, Guy, Guy I I wish I was like some women and had no scruples about — what is it Keene says ? — ' Wearing a corpse's hair and being false to the bread they eat.' He. I am only a man of limited intelligence, and, just now, very bewildered. When you have quite fin- ished flashing through all your moods tell me, and I'll try to understand the last one. She. Moods, Guy I I haven't any. I'm sixteen years old and you're just twenty, and you've been waiting for two hours outside the school in the cold. And now I've met you, and now we're walking home together. Does that suit you. My Imperial Majesty ? He. No. We aren't children. Why can't you be rational ? She. He asks me that when I'm going to commit suicide for his sake, and, , and — I don't want to be French and rave about my mother, but have I ever told you that I have a mother, and a brother who was my pet before I married? He's married now. Can't you imagine the pleasure that the news of the elope- ment will give him ? Have you any people at Home, Guy, to be pleased with your performances? He. One or two. One can't make omelets without breaking eggs. She (^slowly^. T don't see the necessity He. Hah! What do you mean? She. Shall I speak the truth ? f I "'■:1 \L ■' % 'H . 68 UNDER THE DEODARS He. Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be as well. She. Guy, I'm afraid. He. I thought we'd settled all that. What of? Sh& Of you. He. Oh, damn it all I The old business I Thid i« too bad! She. Of you. He. Ar**' vhrJ uov.-''' She. What d o .< ; • ,. / I nk of me ? He. Beside tlie q ustun altogether. What do you intend to do? She. I daren't risk it. I'm afraid. If I could only cheat He. a la Buzgagof No, thanks. That's the one point on which I have any notion of Honour. I won't eat his salt and steal too. I'll loot openly or not at all. She. I never meant anything else. He. Then, why in the world do you pretend not to be willing to come ? She. It's not pretence, Guy. I am afraid. He. Please explain. She. It can't last, Guy. It can't last. You'll get angry, and then j^ou'll swear, and then you'll get jeal- ous, and then you'll mistrust me — you do now — and you yourself will be the best reason for doubting. And I — what shall J do ? I shall be no better than Mrs. Buzgago found out — no better than any one. And you'll know that. Oh, Guy, can't you see ? He. I see that you are desperately unreasonable, little woman. She. There I The moment I begin to object, you get angry. What will you do when I am only ypur TUB HILL OF ILLUSION 69 property — stolen property? It can't be, Guy. It can't be 1 I thought it could, but it can't. You'll get tired of me. He. I tell you I shall not. Won't anything make you U: lerstand that? She. There, can't you see? If you speak to me like I lat row, you'll call me horrible names later, if I ion't do everything as you like. And if you were cruel to mo, Oruy, where should I go — where should I go ? I can't trust you. Oh I I can't trust you 1 , I He. I suppose I ought to say that I can trust you. I've ample reason. She. Please don't, dear. It hurts as much as if you hit me. He. It isn't exactly pleasant for me. She. I can't help it. I wish I were dead ! I car 't truat you, and I don't trust myself. Oh, Guy, let j die away and be forgotten I He. Too late now. I don't understand you — I won't — and I can't trust myself to talk this evening. May I call to-morrow? She. Yes. No ! Oh, give me time I The day after. I get into my Wickshaw here and meet Him at Peliti's. You ride. He. I'll go on to Peliti's too. I think I want a drink. My world's knocked about my ears and the stars are falling. Who are those brutes howling in the Old Library? She. They're rehearsing the singing-quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. Can't you hear Mrs. Buzgago's voice? She has a solo. It's quite a new idea. Listenl nH'^ Ji±i 70 UNDER THE DEODARS Mrs. Buzgago (in the Old Library^ con. molt, exp."). See saw ! Margery Daw I Sold her bed to lie upon straw. Wasn't she a silly slut To sell her bed and lie upon dirt? Captain Congleton, I'm going to alter that to * flirt.' It sounds better. He. No, I've changed my mind about the drink. Good-night, little lady. I shall see you to-morrow ? She. Ye — es. Good-night, Guy. Don't be angry with me. He. Angry! You know I trust you absolutely. Good-night and — God bless you I {Three seconds later. Alone. ^ Hmm! I'd give something to discover whether there's another man at the back of all this. A SECOND-RATE WOMAN EatfHga, volvUur rota, On we drift : where looms the dim port ? One Two Three Four Five contribute their quota : Something is gained if one caught but the import, Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. Ma8ter Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. * Dressed I Don't tell me that woman ever dressed in her life. She stood in the middle of the room while her ai/ah — no, her husband — it must have been a man — threw her clothes at her. She then did her hair with her fingers, and rubbed her bonnet in the flue under tlie bed. I know she did, as well as if I had assisted at the orgie. Who is she?' said Mrs. Hauksbee. * Don't! ' said Mrs. Mallowe feebly. 'You make my head ache. I'm miserable to-day. Stay me with fondants, comfort me with chocolates, for I am Did you bring anything from Peliti's ? ' ' Questions to begin with. You shall have the sweets when you have answered them. Who and what is the creature ? There were at least half a dozen men round lier, and she appeared to be going to sleep in their midst.' 'Delville,' said Mrs. Mallowe, '"Shady" Delville, to distinguish her from Mrs. Jim of that ilk. She dances as untidily as she dresses, I believe, and her husband is somewhere in Madras. Go and call, if you are so interested.' 'What have I to do v/ith Sliigramitish women? She 71 •'l'^- if ) ,- I i 72 UNDER THE DEODARS merely caught my attention for a minute, and I won- dered jit the attraction that a dowd has for a certain type of man. I expected to see her walk out of her clothes — until I looked at Lor eyes.' * Hooks and eyes, surely,' drawled Mrs. Mallowe. * Don't be clever, Polly. You make my head ache. And round this hayrick stood a crowd of men — a positive crowd I ' * Perhaj)s they also expected * * Polly, don't bo Rabelaisian I ' Mrs. Mallowe curled herself up comfortably on the sofa, and turned her attention to the sweets. She and Mrs. Hauksbee shared the same house at Simla; and these things befell two seasons after the matter of Otis Yeere, which has been already recorded. Mrs. Hiiuksbee stepped into the veranda and looked down upon the Mall, her forehead puckered with thought. ' Hah I ' said Mrs. Hauksbee shortly. * Indeed I ' *What is it?' said Mrs. Mallowe sleepily. * That dowd and The Dancing Master — to whom I object.' * Why to The Dancing Master ? He is a middle-aged gentleman, of reprobate and romantic tendencies, and tries to be a friend of mine.' * Then make up your mind to lose him. Dowds cling by nature, and I should imagine that this animal — how terrible her bonnet looks from above I — is specially clingsome.' ' She is welcome to The Dancing Master so far as I am concerned. I never could take an interest in a monotonous liar. The frustrated aim of his life is to persuade people that he is a bachelor.' A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 73 *0-ohI I think I've met that sort of man before. And isn't he?' * No. He confided that to me a few days ago. Ugh I Some men ouglit to be killed.' * What happened then ? ' *Ho posed as the horror of horrors — a misunder- stood man. Heaven knows the femme incomprise is sad enough and bad enough — but the other tiling 1 ' ' And so fat too I /should have laughed in his face. Men seldom confide in me. How is it they come to you?' ' For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past. Protect me from men with confidences ! ' ' And yet you encourage them ? ' 'What can I do? They talk, I listen, and they vow that I am sympathetic. I know I always profess astonishment even when the plot is — of the most old possible.' * Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if they are once allowed to talk, whereas women's confidences are full of reservations and fibs, except ' ' When they go mad and babble of the Unutterabili- ties after a week's acquaintance. Really, if you come to consider, we know a great deal more of men than of our own sex.' * And the extraordinary thing is that men will never believe it. They say we are trying to hide something.' ' They are generally doing that on their own account. Alas I These chocolates pall upon me, and I haven't eaten more than a a )zen. I think I shall go to sleep.' ' Then you'll get fat, dear. If you took more exer- cise and a more intelligent interest in your neighbours you would •' 4 :ji \v r- 1 '/ B- 74 UNDER THE DEODARS *Be as much loved as Mrs. Hauksbee. You're a darling in many ways and I like you — you are not a woman's woman — but why do ;you trouble yourself about mere human beingvS ?' * Because in the absence of angels, who I am sure would be horribly dull, men ana women are the most fascinating things in the whole wide world, lazy one. I am interested in The Dowd — I am interested in The Dancing Master — I am interested in the Hawley Boy — and I am interested in you.^ ' Why couple me with the Hawley Boy ? He is your property.' ' Yes, and in his own guileless speech, I'm making a good thing out of him. When he is slightly more re- formed, and has passed his Higher Standard, or whatever the authorities think lit to exact from him, I shall select a pretty little girl, the Holt girl, I think, and ' — here she waved her hands airily — '"whom Mrs. Hauksbee hath joined together let no man put asunder." That's all.' * And when you have yoked May Holt with the most notorious detrimental in Simla, and earned the undying hatred of Mamma Holt, what will you do with me, Dis- penser of the Destinies of the Universe ? ' Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in front of the fire, and, chin in hand, gazed long and steadfastly at Mrs. Mallowe. 'I do not know,' she said, shaking her head, ^what I shall do with you, dear. It's obviously impossible to marry you to some one else — your husband would object and the experiment might net be successful after all. I tbink I shall begin by preventing you from — what is it? — "sleeping on ale-house benches and snoring in the sun.'" ^^;!i • < A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 76 i'*U, X * Don't! I don't like your quotations. They are so rude. Go to the Library and bring me new books.' 'While you sleep? No! If you don't come with me, I shall spread your newest frock on my ^rickahaw-how, and when any one asks me what I am doing, I shall say that I am going to Phelps's to get it let out. I shall take care that Mrs. MacNamara sees me. Put your things on, there's a good girl.' Mrs. Mallowe groaned and obeyed, and the two went off to the Library, where they found Mrs. Delville and the man who went by the nickname of The Dancing Master. By that time Mrs. Mallowe was awake and eloquent. 'That is the Creature!' said Mrs. Hauksbee, with the air of one pointing out a slug in the road. 'No,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'The man is the Creature. Ugh! Good-evening, Mr. Bent. I thought you were coming to tea this evening.' 'Surely it was for to-morrow, was it not?' answered The Dancing Master. ' I understood ... I fancied . . . Pm so sorry . . . How very unfortunate ! ' . . . But Mrs. Mallowe had passed on. 'For the practised equivocator you said he was,' murmured Mrs. Hauksbee, ' he strikes me as a failure. Now wherefore should he have preferred a walk with The Dowd to tea with us ? Elective affinities, I sup- pose — both grubby. Polly, I'd never forgive that woman as long as the world rolls.' ' I forgive every woman everything,' said Mrs. Mal- lowe. 'He will be a sufficient punishment for her. What a c ^mmon voice she has ! ' MiS. Delville's voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less lo\'^ely, and her raiment was strikingly ! . I* li 76 UNDER THE DEODARS neglected. All these things Mrs. Mallowe noticed over the top of a magazine. *Now what is there in her?' said Mrs. Hauksbee. * Do you see what I meant about the clothes falling off? If I were a man I would perish sooner than be seen with that rag-bag. And yet, she has good eyes, but — OhI' ' What is it ? ' * She doesn't know how to use them I On my Honour, she does not. Look I Oh look I Untidiness I can endure, but ignorance never! The woman's a fool.' 'Hsh! She'll hear you.' 'All the women in Simla are fools. She'll think I mean some one else. Now she's going out. What a thoroughly objectionable couple she and The Dancing Master make I Which reminds me. Do you suppose they'll ever dance together?' 'Wait and see. I don't envy her the conversation of The Dancing Master — loathly man I His wife ought to be up here before long.' * Do you know anything about him ? ' *Only what le told me. It may be all a fiction. He married a girl bred in the country, I think, and, being an honourable, chivalrous soul, told me that he repented his bargain and sent her to her mother as often as possible — a person wh') has lived in the Doon since the memory of man and goes to Mussoorie when other people go Home. The wife is with her at present. So he says.* * Babies ? ' 'One only, but he talks of his wife in a revolting way. I hated him for it. He thought he was being epigrammatic and brilliant.' A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 77 *That is a vice peculiar to men. I dislike him because he is generally in the wake of some girl, disap- pointing the Eligiblcs. He will persecute May Holt no more, unless I am much mistaken.' *No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his atten- tion for a while.' * Do you suppose she knows that he is the head of a family ? ' ' Not from his lips. He swore me to eternal secrecy. Wherefore I tell you. Don't you know that type of man ? * ' Not intimately, thank goodness ! As a general rule, when a man begins to abuse his wife to me, I find that the Lord gives me wherewith to answer liim according to his folly ; and we part with a coolness between us. I laugh.' * I'm different. I've no sense of humour.' ' Cultivate it, then. It has been my mainstay for more years than I care to think about. A well-edu- cated sense of Humour will save a woman wlien Relig- ion, Training, and Home influences fail ; and we may all need salvation sometimes.' *Do you suppose that the Delville woman has humour ? ' * Her dress bewrays her. How can a Thing who wears her supplSment under her left arm have any notion of the fltness of things — much less their folly ? If she discards The Dancing Master after having once seen him dance, I may respect her. Otherwise ' ' But are we not both assuming a great deal too much, dear ? You saw the woman at Peliti's — half an hour later you saw her walking svith The Dancing Master — an hour later you met her here at the Library.' if ■ i l; I- f! U'.; fi UNDER THE DEODARS * Still with The Djincing Master, remember/ * Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why on the strength of that should you imagine ' * I imagine nothing. I have no imagination. I am only convinced that The Dancing Master is attracted to The Dowd because he is objectionable in every way and slie in every other. If I know the man sis you have described him, he holds his wife in slavery at present.' *She is twenty years younger than he.* * Poor wretch I And, in the end, after he has posed and swaggered and lied — he has a mouth under that ragged moustache simply made for lies — he will be rewarded according to his merits.' * I wonder what those really are,' said Mrs. Mallowe. But Mrs. Hauksbee, her face close to the shelf of the new books, was humming softly: ^WJiat shall he have who killed the Leer!'' She was a lady of unfettered speech. One montli later, she announced her intention of call- ing upon Mrs. Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Mallowe were in morning wrappers, and there was a great peace in the land. 'I shoidd go as I was,' said Mrs. Mallowe. 'It would be a delicate compliment to her style.' Mrs. Hauksliee studied herself in tlie glass. * Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened these doors, I should put on this robe, after all tlie others, to show her what a morning wrapper ought to be. It might enliven her. As it is, J shall go in the dove-coloured — sweet emblem of youth and innocence — and shall put on my new gloves.' •if yow 'eally are going, dirty tan would be too A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 79 rrood ; and you kno^ that dove-colour spots with tlie rain.' * I care not. I may make her envious. At least I shall try, though one cannot expect very much from a woman who puts a lace tucker into her habit.' ' Just Heavens I When did she do that ? ' * Yesterday — riding with ^^he Dancing Master. I met them at the back of Jakko, and the rain had made the lace lie down. To complete the effect, she was wearing an unclean terai with the elastic under her chin. J felt almost too well content to take the trouble to despise her.' ' The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What did he think ? ' * Does a boy ever notice these things ? Should I like him if he did ? He stared in the rudest way, and just when I thought he had seen the elastic, he said, "There's something very taking about that face." I rebuked him on the spot. I don't approve of boys being taken by faces.' * Other than your own. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if the Hawley Boy immediately went to call.' * I forbade him. Let her be satisfied with The Danc- ing Master, and his wife when she comes up. I'm rather curious to see Mrs. Bent and the Delville woman together.' Mrs. Hauksbee departed and, at the end of an hour, returned slightly flushed. * There is no limjt to the ti oachery of youth ! I ordered the Hawley Boy, as he valued my patrona :e, not to call. The first person I stumble over — literally stumble over — in her poky, dark, little drawing-room is, of course, the Hawley Boy. She kept us waiting .2^ .^'•'>,4^ 80 UNDER THE DEODARS ten minutes, and then emerged as though she had been tipped out of the dirty-clothes basket. You know my way, dear, when I am at all put out. I was Superior, crrrrushingly Superior ! 'Lifted my eyes to Heaven, and had heard of nothing — 'dropped my eyes on the carpet and " really didn't know " — 'played with my card-case and " supposed so." The Hawley Boy gig- gled like a girl, and I had to freeze him with scowls between the sentences.' * And she?' * She sat in a heap on the edge of a couch, and man- aged to convey the impression that she was suffering from stomach-f^he, at the very least. It was all I could do not to ask after her symptoms. When I rose, she grunted just like a buffalo in the water — too lazy to move.' * Are you certain ? * * Am I blind, Polly ? Laziness, sheer laziness, noth- ing else — or her gaiments were only constructed for sitting down in. I stayed for a quarter of an hour trying to penetrate the gloom, to guess what her sur- roundings were like, while she stuck out her tongue.' * Lu — cy ! ' * W- i — I'll withdraw the tongue, though I'm sure if she didn't do it when I was in the room, she did the minute I was outside. At any rate, she lay in a lump and grunted. Ask the Hawley Boy, dear. I believe the grunts were meant for sentences, but she spoke so indistinctly that I can't swear to it.' * You are incorrigible, simply.' *I am not! Treat me civilly, give me peace with honour, don't put the only available seat facing the window, and a child may eat jam in my lap before A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 81 Church. But I resent being grunted at. Wouldn't you? Do you suppose that she communicates her views on life and love to The Dancing Master in a set of modulated " Grmphs ? " ' 'You attach too much importance to The Dancing Master.' ' He came as we went, and The Dowd grew almost cordial at the sight of him. He smiled greasily, and moved about that darkened dog-kennel in a suspiciously familiar way.' ' Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll for- give.' ' Listen to the voice of History. I am only describ- ing what I saw. He entered, the heap on the sofa revived slightly, and the Hav/ley Boy and I came away together. He is disillusioned, but I felt it my duty to lecture him severely for going there. And that's all.' 'Now for Pity's sake leave the wretched creature und The Dancing Master alone. They never did you any harm.' ' No harm ? To dress as an example and a stumbling- block for half Simla, and then to find this Person who is dressed by the hand of God — not that I wish to disparage Him for a moment, but you know the tikka dhurzie way He attires those lilies of the field — this Person draws the eyes of men — and some of them nice men ? It's almost enough to make one discard clothing. I told the Haw ley Boy so.' ' And what did that sweet youth do ? ' 'Turned shell-pink and looked across the far blue hills like a distressed cherub. Am I talking wildly, Polly ? Let me say my say, and I shall be calm. Other- m Ml . i 82 UNDER THE DEODARS wise I may go abroad and disturb Simla with a few original reflections. Excepting always your own sweet self, there isn't a single woman in the land who under- stands me when I am — what's the word ? ' * Tite-fSlSe,^ suggested Mrs. Mallowe. * Exactly I And now let us have tiffin. The de- mands of Society are exhausting, and as Mrs. Delvillo says ' Here Mrs. Ilauksbee, to the horror of the khitmatyars^ lapsed into a series of grunts, while Mrs. Mallowe stared in lazy surprise. * " God gie us a gude conceit of oorselves," ' said Mrs. Hauksbee piously, returning to her natural speech. * Now, in any other woman that would have been vul- gar. I am consumed with curiosity to see Mrs. Bent. I expect complications.' 'Woman of one idea,' said Mrs. Mallowe shortly; * all complications are as old as the hills I I have lived through or near all — all — all ! ' *And yet do not understand that men and women never behave twice alike. I am old who was young — if ever I p'.it my head in your lap, you dear, big sceptic, you will k\ ,rn that my parting is gauze — but never, no never, have I lost my interest in men and women. Polly, I shall see this business out to the bitter end.' *I am going to sleep,' said Mrs. Mallowe ctilmly. * I never interfere with men or women unless I am compelled,' and she retired with dignity to her own room. Mrs. Hauksbee's curiosity was not long left ungrati- fied, for Mrs. Bent came up to Simla a few days after the conversation faithfully reported above, and pervaded the Mall by her husband's side. ' Behold ! ' said Mrs. Hauksbee, thoughtfully rubbing A SECOND-RATE WOMAN her nose. 'Thcat is the last link of the chain, if wo omit the husband of the Delville, whoever he may be. Let me consider. The Bents and the Delvilles inhabit the same hotel ; and the Delville is detested by the Waddy — do you know the Waddy? — who is almost as big a dowd. The Waddy also abominates the male Bent, for which, if her other sins do not weigh too heavily, she will eventually go to Heaven.' ' Don't be irreverent,' said Mrs. Mallowe, * I like Mrs. Bent's face.* ' I am discussing the Waddy,' returned Mrs. Ilauks- bee loftily. 'The Waddy will take the female Bent apart, after having borrowed — yes ! — everything that she can, from hairpins to babies' bottles. Such, my dear, is life in a hotel. The Waddy will tell the female Bent facts and fictions about The Dancing Master and The Dowd.' ' Lucy, I should like you better if you were not always looking into people's back-bedrooms.' ' Anybody can look into their front drawing-rooms ; and remember whatever I do, and whatever 1 look, I never talk — as the Wfiddy will. Let us hoT>e that The Dancing Master's greasy smile and manner cf the pedagogue will soften the heai't of that cow, liis wife. If mouths speak truth, I should think that little Mrs. Bent could get very angry on occasion.' * But what reason has she for being angry ? ' 'What reason! The Dancing Master in himself is a reason. How does it go? "H in his life some trivial errors fall. Look in his face and you'll believe them all." I am prepared to credit any evil of The Dancing Master, because I hate him so. And The Dowd is so disgustingly badly dressed ' 84 UNDER THE DEODARS * That she, too, is capable of every iniquity ? T always prefer to believe the best of everybody. It saves so luiieh trouble.' * Very good. I prefer to believe the worst. It saves useless expenditure of sympatliy. And you may be quite certain that the Waddy believes with me.' Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer. Tlie conversation was holden after dinner while Mrs. Hauksbee was dressing for a dance. *I am too tired to go,' pleaded Mrs. Mallowe, and Mrs. llauksbee left her in i)eace till two in the morn- ing, when she was aware of emphatic knocking at her door. 'Don't be very angry, dear,' said IMrs. Hauksbee. *My idiot of an ayah has gone home, and, as I hope to sleep to-night, there isn't a soul in the place to unlace me.' ' Oh, this is too bad! ' said Mrs. Mallowe sulkily. ''Can't help it. I'm a lone, lorn grass-widow, dear, but I will not sleep in my stays. And such news tool Oh, do unlace me, there's a darling! The Dowd — The Dancing Master — I and the Hawley Boy — You know the North veranda?' * How can I do anything if you spin round like this ? ' protested Mrs. Mallowe, fumbling with the knot of the laces. ' Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale without the aid of your eyes. Do you know you've lovely eyes, dear? Well, to begin with, I took the Havdey Boy to a kaU juggah.' ' Did he want much taking? ' 'Twots! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in kanatSf and she was in the next one talking to Am.' A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 85 'Which? TIow? Explain.' *You know what I mean — Tlie Dowd and The Dancing Master. We could hear every word, and we listened shamelessly — 'specially the Hawley Boy, Polly, I quite love that woman!' *This is interesting. There I Now turn round. Wliat happened?' 'One moment. Ah — hi Rlesscd relief. I've heen looking forward to taking them off for the last half- hour — which is ominous at my time of life. Hut, as I was saying, we listened and heard The Dowd drawl worse than ever. She drops her final g's like a barmaid or a blue-blooded Aide-de-Camp. " Look he-ere, you're gettin' too fond o' me," she said, and The Dimcing Master owned it was so in language that nearly made me ill. The Dowd reflected for a while. Then we lieard her say, "Look he-ere. Mister Bent, why are you such an aw-f ul liar ? " I nearly exploded while Tiie Dancing Master denied the charge. It seems that he never told her he was a married man.' ' I said he wouldn't.' 'And she had taken this to heart, on personal grounds, I suppose. She drawled along for five min- utes, reproaching him with his perfidy and grew quite motherly. "Now you've got a nice little wife of your own — you have," she said. " She's ten times too good for a fat old man like you, and, look he-ere, you never told me a word about her, and I've been thinkin' about it a good deal, and I think you're a liar." Wasn't that delicious ? The Dancing Master maundered and raved till the Hawley Boy suggested that he should burst in and beat him. His voice runs up into an impassioned squeak when he is afraid. The Dowd must be an ex- i.^' M i. , »! %A. . , IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V' // ,.v /- v^4 /A v.. 1.0 I.I ISO 2.5 2.2 1.8 1.25 ||U 1.6 ^ 6" ► V] % ^/,. °> ? ^^. '^ '/ Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 <5? ../^ 86 UNDER THE DEODARS traordinary woman She explained that had he been a bachelor she might not have objected to his devotion ; but since he was a married man and the father of a very nice baby, she considered him a hypocrite, and this she repeated twice. She wound up her drawl with: "An' I'm tellin' you this because your wife is angry with me, an' I hate quarrellin' with any other woman, an' I like your wife. You know how you have behaved for the last six weeks. You shouldn't have done it, indeed you shouldn't. You're too old an' too fat." Can't you imagine how The Dancing Master would wince at that! " Now go away," she said. " I don't want to tell you what I think of you, because I think you are not nice. I'll stay he-ere till the next dance begins." Did you think that the creature had so much in her ? ' * I never studied her as closely as you did. It sounds unnatural. What happened?' * The Dancing Master attempted blandishment, re- proof, jocularity, and the style of the Lord High War- den, and I had almost to pinch the Hawley Boy to make him keep quiet. She grunted at the end of each sen- tence and, in the end, he went away swearing to himself, quite like a man in a novel. He looked more objec- tionable than ever. I laughed. I love that woman — in spite of her clothes. And now I'm going to bed. What do you think of it? ' ' I shan't begin to think till the morning,' said Mrs. Mallowe yawning. ' Perhaps she spoke the truth. They do fly into it by accident sometimes.' Mrs. Hauksbee's account of her eavesdropping was an ornate one but truthful in the main. For reasons best known to herself, Mrs. ' Shady ' Delville had turned upon Mr. Bent and rent him limb from limb, casting him "1 A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 87 away limp and disconcerted ere she withdrew the light of her eyes from him permanently. Being a man of resource, and anything but pleased in that he had been called both old and fat, he gave Mrs. Bent to under- stand that he had, during her absence in the Doon, been the victim of unceasing persecution at the hands of Mrs. Delville, and he told the tale so often and with such eloquence that he ended in believing it, while his wife marvelled at the manners and customs of 'some women.' When the situation showed signs of languishing, Mrs. Waddy was always on hand to wake the smouldering fires of suspicion in Mrs. Bent's bosom and to contribute generally to the peace and comfort of the hotel. Mr. Bent's life was not a happy one, for if Mrs. Waddy's story were true, he was, argued his wife, untrustworthy to the last degree. If his own statement was true, his charms of manner and conversation were so great that he needed constant surveillance. And he received it, till he repented genuinely of his marriage and neglected his personal appearance. Mrs. Delville alone in the hotel was unchanged. She removed her chair some six paces towards the head of the table, and occasionally in the twilight ventured on timid overtures of friendship to Mrs. Bent, which were repulsed. ' She does it for my sake,' hinted the virtuous Bent. 'A dangerous and designing woman,' purred Mrs. Waddy. Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full ! ' Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria ? ' 'Of nothing in the world except smallpox. Diph- theria kills, but it doesn't disfigure. Why do you ask ? ' 'Because the Bsnt baby has got it, and the whole 1 '>r /Is', ■ fi liiifil m-. ^ *; 1 ■ ■ ) 88 UNDER THE DEODARS hotel is upside down in consequence. The Waddy has " set her five young on the rail " and fled. The Danc- ing Master fears for his precious throat, and that miser- able little woman, his wife, has no notion of what ought to be done. She wanted to put it into a mustard batli — for croup I ' ' Where did you learn all this ? ' ' Just now, on the Mall. Dr. Howlen told me. The Manager of the hotel is abusing the Bents, and the Bents are abusing the manager. They are a feckless couple.' * Well. What's on your mind? ' * This ; and I know it's a grave thing to ask. Would you seriously object to my bringing the child over here, with its mother? ' * On the most strict understanding that we see noth- ing of The Dancing Master.' *He will be only too glad to stay away. Polly, you're an angel. The woman really is at her wits' end.' *And you know nothing about her, careless, and would hold her up to public scorn if it gave you a minute's amusement. Therefore you risk your life for the sake of her brat. No, Loo, Fm not the angel. I shall keep to my rooms and avoid her. But do as you please — only tell me why you do it.' Mrs. Hauksbee's eyes softened ; she looked out of the window and back into Mrs. Mallowe's face. * I don't know,' said Mrs. Hauksbee simply. * You dear ! ' * Polly! — and for aught you knew you might have taken my fringe off. Never do that again without warning. Now we'll get the rooms ready. I don't A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 89 suppose I shall be allowed to circulate in society for a month.' ' And I also. Thank goodness I shall at last get all the sleep I want.* Much to Mrs. Bent's surprise she and the baby were brought over to the house almost before she knew where she was. Bent was devoutly and undisguisedly thank- ful, for he was afraid of the infection, and also hoped that a few weeks in the hotel alone with Mrs. Delville might lead to explanations. Mrs. Bent had thrown her jealousy to the winds in her fear for her child's life. ' We can give you good milk,' said Mrs. Hauksbee to her, * and our house is much nearer to the Doctor's than the hotel, and you won't feel as though you were living in a hostile camp. Where is the dear Mrs. Waddy ? She seemed to be a particular friend of yours.' 'They've all left me,' said Mrs. Bent bitterly. 'Mrs. Waddy went first. She said I ought to be ashamed of myself for introducing diseases there, and I am sure it wasn't my fault that little Dora ' ' How nice ! ' cooed Mrs. Hauksbee. ' The Waddy is an infectious disease herself — " more quickly caught than the plap^ue and the taker runs presently mad." I lived next door to her at the Elysium, three years ago. Now see, you won't give us the least trouble, and I've ornamented all the house with sheets soaked in carbolic. It smells comforting, doesn't it ? Remember I'm always in call, and my ayaKs at your service when yours goes to her meals and — and — if you cry I'll never forgive you.' Dora Bent occupied her mother's unprofitable atten- tion through the day and the night. The Doctor W IJIM % i 3 ,.*». ' 90 UNDER THE DEODARS called thrice in the twenty-four hours, and the house reeked with the smell of the Condy's Fluid, chlorine- water, and carbolic acid washes. Mrs. Mallowe kept to her own rooms — she considered that she had made sufficient concessions in the cause of humanity — and Mrs. Hauksbee was more esteemed by the Doctor as a help in the sick-room than the half -distraught mother. * I know nothing of illness,' said Mrs. Hauksbee to the Doctor. 'Only tell me what to do, and I'll do it.' ' Keep that crazy woman from kissing the child, and let her have as little to do with the nursing as you pos- sibly can,' said the Doctor ; ' I'd turn her out of tlie sick-room, but that I honestly believe she'd die of anx- iety. She is less than no good, and I depend on you and the ayahs^ remember.' Mrs. Hauksbee accepted the responsibility, though it painted olive hollows under her eyes and forced her to her oldest dresses. Mrs. Bent clung to her with more than childlike faith. * I know you'll make Dora well, won't you ? ' she said at least twenty times a day ; and twenty times a day Mrs. Hauksbee answered valiantly, 'Of course I will.' But Dora did not improve, and the Doctor seemed to be always in the house. 'There's some danger of the thing taking a bad turn,' he said ; ' I'll come over between three and four in the morning to-morrow.' ' Good gracious ! ' said Mrs. Hauksbee. ' He never told me what the turn would be ! My education has been horribly neglected ; and I have only this foolish mother- woman to fall back upon.' The night wore through slowly, and Mrs. Hauksbee H.\ 1 A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 91 iuU dozed in a chair by the fire. There was a dance at the Viceregal Lodge, and she dreamed of it till she was aware of Mrs. Bent's anxious eyes staring into her own. ' Wake up ! Wake up ! Do something ! ' cried Mrs. Bent piteously. ' Dora's choking to death I Do you mean io let her die ? ' Mrs. Hauksbee jumped to her feet and bent over the bed. The child was fighting for breath, while the mother wrung her hands despairing. ' Oh, what can I do ? What can you do ? She won't stay still ! I can't hold her. Why didn't the Doctor say this was coming?' screamed Mrs. Bent. ' Won't you help me ? She's dying ! ' ' I — I've never seen a child die before ! ' stammered Mrs. Hauksbee feebly, and then — let none blame her weakness after the strain of long watching — she broke down, and covered her face with her hands. The ayahs on the threshold snored peacefully. There was a rattle of ^rickshaw wheels below, the clash of an opening door, a heavy step on the stairs, and Mrs. Delville entered to find Mrs. Bent screaming for the Doctor as she ran round the room. Mrs. Hauksbee, her hands to her ears, and her face buried iu the chintz of a chair, was quivering with pain at each cry from the bed, and murmuring, * Thank God, I never bore a child ! Oh ! thank God, I never bore a child I ' Mrs. Delville looked at the bed for an instant, took Mrs. Bent by the shoulders, and said quietly, ' Get me some caustic. Be quick.' The mother obeyed mechanically. Mrs. Delville had thrown herself down by the side of the child and was opening its mouth. ,|J: , I m ■ i ,^*;f% UNDER THE DEODARS * Oh, you're killing her ! ' cried Mrs. Bent. * Where's the Doctor ? Leave her alone ! ' Mrs. Delville made no reply for a minute, but busied herself with the child. *Now the caustic, and hold a lamp behind my shoulder. Will you do as you are told? The acid- bottle, if you don't know what I mean,' she said. A second time Mrs. Delville bent over the child. Mrs. Hauksbee, her face still hidden, sobbed and shivered. One of the ai/aha staggered sleepily into the room, yawning : ^Doctor Sahib come.' Mrs. Delville turned her head. * You're only just in time,' she said. * It was chokin' her when I came an' I've burnt it.' * There was no sign of the membrane getting to the air-passages after the last steaming. It was the gen- eral weakness, I feared,' said the Doctor half to himself, and he whispered as he looked, ' You've done what I should have been afraid to do without consultation.' * She was dyin',' said Mrs. Delville, under her breath. * Can you do anythin' ? What a mercy it was I went to the dance ! ' Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head. * Is it all over ? ' she gasped. * I'm useless — I'm worse than useless ! What are you doing here ? ' She stared at Mrs. Delville, and Mrs. Bent, realis- ing for the first time who was the Goddess from the Machine, stared also. Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, putting on ii dirty long glove and smoothing a crumpled and ill- fitting ball-dress. ' I was at the dance, an' the Doctor was tellin' me about your baby bein' so ill. So I came away early, an' your door was open, an' I — I — lost my boy this A SECOND-RATE WOMAN 93 way six months ago, an' I've been tryin' to forget it ever since, an' I — I — I am very sorry for intrudin* an' any thin' that has happened.' Mrs. Bent was putting out the Doctor's eye with a lamp as he stooped over Dora. ' Take it away,* said the Doctor. ' I think the child will do, thanks to you, Mrs. Delville. I should have come too late, but, I assure you' — he was addressing liimself to Mrs. Delville — ' I had not the faintest reason to expect this. The membrane must have grown like a mushroom. Will one of you help me, please ? ' He had reason for the last sentence. Mrs. Hauksbee had thrown herself into Mrs. Delville's arms, where she was weeping bitterly, and Mrs. Bent was unpicturesquely mixed up with both, while from the tangle came the sound of many sobs and much promiscuous kissing. ' Good gracious! I've spoilt all your beautiful roses! ' said Mrs. Hauksbee, lifting her head from the lump of crushed gum and calico atrocities on Mrs. Delville's shoulder and hurrying to the Doctor. Mrs. Delville picked up her shawl, and slouched out of the room, mopping her eyes with the glove that she had not put on. 'I always said she was more than a woman,' sobbed Mrs. Hauksbee hysterically, ' and that proves it ! ' Six weeks later, Mrs. Bent and Dora had returned to the hotel. Mrs. Hauksbee had come out of the Valley of Humiliation, had ceased to reproach herself for her collapse in an hour of need, and was even beginning to direct the affairs of the world as before. *So nobody died, and everything went off as it should, and I kissed The Dowd, Polly. I feel so old. Does it show in my face ? ' «4 ' T^. 94 UNDER THE DEODARS * Kisses don't as a rule, do they ? Of course you know what the result of The Dovvd's providential arrival has been.' 'They ought to build her a statue — only no sculptor dare copy those skirts.' * Ah I ' said Mrs. Mallowe quietly. ' She has found another reward. The Dancing Master has been smirk- ing through Simla, giving every one to understand tliut she came because of her undying love for him — for him — to save his child, and all Simla naturally believes this.' * But Mrs. Bent ' * Mrs. Bent believes it more than any one else. She won't speak to The Dowd now. Isn^t The Dancing Master an angel ? ' Mrs. Hauksbee lifted up her voice and raged till bedtime. The doors of the two rooms stood open. * Polly,' said a voice from the darkness, ' what did that American-heiress-globe-trotter girl say last season when she was tipped out of her ^rickshaw turning a corner? Some absurd adjective that made the man who picked her up explode.' * " Paltry," ' said Mrs. Mallowe. ' Through her nose —like this— " Ha-ow pahltry ! " ' * Exactly,' said the voice. * Ha-ow pahltry it all is ! ' 'Which?' ' Everything. Babies, Diphtheria, Mrs. Bent and The Dancing Master, I whooping in a chair, and The Dowd dropping in from the clouds. I wonder what the motive was — all the motives.* 'Um!' ' What do you think ? ' 'Don't ask me. Go to sleep.' (I ONLY A SUBALTERN . . . Not only to enforce by command but to encourage by example the energetic discharge of duty and the steady endurance of the diffi- culties and privations inseparable from Military Service. — Bengal Army liegulations. They made Bobby Wick pass an examination at Sandhurst. He was a gentleman before he was ga- zetted, so, when the Empress announced that ' Gentle- man-Cadet Robert Hanna Wick ' was posted as Second Lieutenant to the Tyneside Tail Twisters at Krab Bokhar, he became an officer a7id a gentleman, which is an enviable thing ; and there was joy in the house of Wick where Mamma Wick and all the little Wicks fell upon their knees and offered incense to Bobby by virtue of his achievement^. Papa Wick had been a Commissioner in his day, holding authority over three millions of men in the Chota-Buldana Division, building great works for the good of the land, and doing his best to make two blades of grass grow where there was but one before. Of course, nobody knew anything about this in the little English village where he was just ' old Mr. Wick ' and had forgotten that he was a Companion of the Order of the Star of India. He patted Bobby on the shoulder and said : * Well done, my boy ! ' There followed, while the uniform was being pre- pared, an interval of pure delight, during which Bobby 06 .1 I ^\ 3m ti 96 UNDER THE DEODARS took brevet-rank as a *man' at the women-swamped tennis-parties and tea-fi^lits of the village, and, 1 dare- say, had his joining-time been extended, would have fallen in love with several girls at once. Little country villages at Home are very full of nice girls, because all the young men come out to India to make their fci'tunes. * India,' said Papa Wick, *is the place. I've had thirty years of it and, begad, Vd like to go back again. When you join the Tail Twisters you'll be among friends, if every one hasn't forgotten Wick of Chota- Buldaruu, and a lot of people will bo kind to you for our sakes. The mother will tell you more about outfit than I can, but remember this. Stick to your Regiment, Bobby — stick to your Regiment. You'll see men all round you going into the Staff Corps, and doing every possible sort of duty but regimental, and. you may be tempted to follow suit. Now so long as you keep within your allowance, and I haven't stinted you there, stick to the Line, the whole Line and nothing but the Line. Be careful how you back another young fool's bill, and if you fall in love with a woman twenty years older than yourself, don't tell me about it, that's all.' With these counsels, and many others equally valu- able, did Papa Wick fortify Bobby ere that last awful night at Portsmouth when the Officers' Quarters held more inmates than were provided for by the Regula- tions, and the liberty-men of the ships fell foul of the drafts for India, and the battle raged from the Dockyard Gates even to the slums of Longport, while the drabs of Fratton came down and scratched the faces of the Queen's Officers. Bobby Wick, with an ugly bruise on his freckled nose, a sick and shaky detachment to manoeuvre inship ONLY A SUBALTERN 97 and tho comfort of fifty scornful foinalos to attend to, liiid no time to feel homesick till tlie Mahihar reached mid -Channel, when he doubled his emotions with u little guard-visiting and a pjreat many other matters. The Tail Twisters were a most particular Regiment. Those who knew them least said that tliey were eaten up with 'side.' Hut their reserve and tlieir internal arrangements generally were merely protective diplo- macy. Some live years before, tlie Colonel command- ing had looked into tho fourteen fearless eyes of seven })hnnp and juicy subalterns who had all applied to enter the Staff Corps, and liad asked them why the threft stars should he, a colonel of the Line, command a dashed nursery for double-dashed bottle-suckers who put on condemned tin spurs and rode qualified mokes fit tho hiatused heads of forsaken Black Regiments. He was a rude man and a terrible. Wherefore the remnant took measures [with the half-butt as an engine of pub- lic opinion] till the rumour went abroad that young men who used the Tail Twisters as a crutch to tho Staff Corps, had many and varied trials to endure. However, a regiment had just as much right to its own secrets as a woman. When Bobby came up from Deolali and took his place among the Tail Twisters, it was gently but firmly borne in upon him that the Regiment was his father and his mother and his indissolubly wedded wife, and that there was no crime under the canopy of heaven blacker than that of bringing shame on the Regiment, which was the best-shooting, best-drilled, best set-up, bravest, most illustrious, and in all respects most desirable Regi- ment within the compass of the Seven Seas. He was taught the legends of the Mess Plate, from the great 'ilWIii* •.li .«.«.:• 98 UNDER THE DEODARS ''I grinning Golden Gods that had come out of the Sum- mer Palace in Pekin to the silver-mounted markhor- horn snuff-mull presented by the last CO. [he who spake to the seven subalterns] . And every one of those legends told him of battles fought at long odds, without fear as without support; of hospitality catholic as an Arab's ; of friendships deep as the sea and steady as the fighting-line ; of honour won by hard roads for honour's sake ; and of instant and unquestioning devotion to the Regiment — the Regiment that claims the lives of all and lives for ever. More than once, too, he came officially into contact with the Regimental colours, which looked like the lin- ing of a bricklayer's hat en the end of a chewed stick. Bobby did not kneel and worship them, because British subalterns are not constructed in that manner. Indeed, he condemned them for their weight at the very moment that they were filling with awe and other more noble sentiments. But best of all was the occasion when he moved with the Tail Twisters in review order at the breaking of a November day. Allowing for duty-men and sick, the Regiment was one thousand and eighty strong, and Bobby belonged to them ; for was he not a Subaltern of the Line — the whole Line and nothing but the Line — as the tramp of two thousand one hundred and sixty sturdy ammunition boots attested ? He would not have changed places with Deighton of the Horse Battery, whirling by in a pillar of cloud to a chorus of * Strong right! Strong left! ' or Hogan-Yale of the White Hussars, leading his squadron for all it was worth, with the price of horseshoes thrown in ; or ' Tick ' Boileau, trying to live up to his fierce blue and gold turban ONLY A SUBALTERN 99 while the wasps of the Bengal Cavalry stretched to a gallop in the wake of the long, lollopping Walers of the White Hussars. They fought through the clear cool day, and Bobby felt a little thrill run down his spine when he heard the tinkle-tinkle-tinkle of the empty cartridge-cases hopping from the breech-blocks after the roar of the volleys ; for he knew that he should live to hear that sound in action. The review ended in a glorious chase across the plain — batteries thundering after cavalry to the huge disgust of the White Hussars, and the Tyneside Tail Twisters hunting a Sikh Regiment, till the lean lathy Singhs panted with exhaustion. Bobby was dusty and dripping long before noon, but his enthusiasm was merely focused — not diminished. He returned to sit at the feet of Revere, his ' skipper,* that is to say, the Captain of his Company, and to be instructed in the dark art and mystery of managing men, which is a very large part of the Profession of Arms. ' If you haven't a taste that way,' said Revere between his puffs of his cheroot, * you'll never be able to get the hang of it, but remember, Bobby, 'tisn't the best drill, though drill is nearly everything, that hauls a Regi- ment through Hell and out on the other side. It's the man who knows how to handle men — goat-men, swine- men, dog-men, and so on.' 'Dormer, for instance,' said Bobby, *I think he comes under the head of fool-men. He mopes like a sick owl.' 'That's where you make your mistake, my son. Dormer isn't a fool yet, but he's a dashed dirty soldier, and his room corporal makes fun of his socks before .W^*'-\ 100 UNDER THE DEODARS i»ti kit-inspection. Dormer, being two-thirds pure brute, goes into a corner and growls.' * How do you know ? ' said Bobby adniiringly. * Because a Company commander has to know these things — because, if he does not know, he may have crime — ay, murder — brewing under his very nose and yet not see that it's there. Dormer is being badg- ered out of his mind — big as he is — and he hasn't intellect enough to resent it. He's taken to quiet boozing and, Bobby, when the butt of a room goes on the drink, or takes to moping by himself, measures are necessary to pull him out of himself.' *What measures? 'Man can't run round coddling his men for ever.' * No. The men would precious soon show him that he was not wanted. You've got to ' Here the Colour-sergeant entered with some papers ; Bobby reflected for a while as Revere looked through the Company forms. * Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant ? ' Bobby asked with the air of one continuing an interrupted conversation. ' No, sir. Does 'is dooty like a hortomato,' said the Sergeant, who delighted in long words. * A dirty sol- dier, and 'e's under full stoppages for new kit. It's covered with scales, sir.' * Scales ? What scales ? ' ' Fish-scales, sir. 'E's always pokin' in the mud by the river an' a-cleanin' them muchli/-^sh with 'is thumbs.' Revere was still absorbed in the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was sternly fond of Bobby, continued, — ' 'E generally goes down there when 'e's got 'is skinful, beggin' your pardon, sir, an' ONLY A SUBALTERN 101 they do say that the more lush — in-Ag-brJated 'e is, the more fish 'e catches. They call 'im the Looney Fish- monger in the Comp'ny, sir.' Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant re- treated. ' It's a filthy amusement,' sighed Bobby to himself. Then aloud to Revere : ' Are you really worried about Dormer ? ' ' A little. You see he's never mad enough to send to hospital, or drunk enough to run in, but at any min- ute he may flare up, brooding and sulking as he does. He resents any interest being shown in him, and the only time I took him out shooting he all but shot me by accident.' 'I fish,' said Bobby with a wry face. *I hire a country-boat and go down the river from Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer goes with me — if you can spare us both.' ' You blazing young fool I ' said Revere, but his heart was full of much more pleasant words. Bobby, the Captain of a dhoni, with Private Dormer for mate, dropped down the river on Thursday morn- ing — the Private at the bow, the Subaltern at the helm. The Private glared uneasily at the Subaltern, who respected the reserve of the Private. After six hours. Dormer paced to the stern, saluted, and said — *Beg y' pardon, sir, but was you ever on the Durh'm Canal ? ' ' No,' said Bobby Wick. ' Come and have some tiffin.' They ate in silence. As the evening fell, Private Dormer broke forth, speaking to himself — 'Hi was on the Durh'm Canal, jes' such a night, * ♦ %'^'' 102 UNDER THE DEODARS m 1 1 I. K. ■ come next week twelve month, a-trailin' of my toes in the water.* He smoked and said no more till bedtime. The witchery of the dawn turned the gray river- reaches to purple, gold, and opal ; and it was as thougli the lumbering dhoni crept across the splendours of a new heaven. Private Dormer popped his head out of his blanket and gazed at the glory below and around. ' Well — damn — my eyes I ' said Private Dormer in an awed whisper. *This 'ere is like a bloomin' gallantry-show I * For the rest of the day he was dumb, but achieved an ensanguined filthiness through the cleaning of big fish. The boat returned on Saturday evening. Dormer had been struggling with speecii since noon. As the lines and luggage were being disembarked, he found tongue. ' Beg y' pardon, sir,' he said, * but would you — would you min' shakin' 'ands with me, sir?' * Of course not,' said Bobby, and he shook accord- ingly. Dormer returned to barracks and Bobby to mess. ' He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I think,' said Bobby. ' My aunt, but he's a filthy sort of ani- mal ! Have you ever seen him clean " them, muchly- fish, with 'is thumbs " ? ' 'Anyhow,' said Revere three weeks later, 'he's do- ing his best to keep his things clean.' When the spring died, Bobby joined in the general scramble for Hill leave, and to his surprise and delight secured three months. 'As good a boy as I want,' said Revere the admir- ing skipper. I r. t ONLY A SUBALTERN 103 *The best of the batch,' said the Adjutant to the Colonel. *Keep back that young skrimshanker Por- kiss, sir, and let Revere make him sit up.' So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar with ta tin box of gorgeous raiment. ' 'Son of Wick — old Wick of Chota-Buldana? Ask him to dinner, dear,' said the aged men. ' What a nice boy ! ' said the matrons and the maids. ' First-class place, Simla. Oh, ri — ipping ! * said Bobby Wick, and ordered new white cord breeches on the strength of it. ' We're in a bad way,' -wrote "Revere to Bobby at the end of two months. 'Since you left, the Regi- ment has taken to fever and is fairly rotten with it — two hundred in hospital, about a hundred in cells — drinking to keep off fever — and the Companies on parade fifteen file strong at the outside. There's rather more sickness in the out-villages than I care for, but then I'm so blistered with prickly-heat that I'm ready to hang myself. What's the yarn about your mashing a Miss Haverley up there ? Not serious, I hope ? You're over-young to hang millstones round your neck, and the Colonel will turf you out of that in double-quick time if you attempt it.' It was not the Colonel that brought Bobby out of Simla, but a much more to be respected Commandant. The sickness in the out- villages spread, the Bazar was put out of bounds, and then came the news that the Tail Twisters must go into camp. The message flashed to the Hill stations. — ' Cholera — Leave stopped — Officers recalled.' Alas, for the white gloves in the neatly soldered boxes, the rides and the dances and picnics that were to be, the loves half spoken, and the i>"- m I v> h"- 104 UNDER THE DEODARS i ! -S i! debts unpaid I Without demur and without question, fast as tonga could fly or pony gallop, back to their Regiments and their Batteries, as though they were hastening to their weddings, fled the subalterns. Bobby received his orders on returning from a dance at Viceregal Lodge where he had but only the Haverley girl kiiows what Bobby had said or how many waltzes he had claimed for the next ball. Six in the morning saw Bobby at the Tonga Office in the drenching rain, the whirl of the last waltz still in his ears, and an intoxication due neither to wine nor waltz- ing in his brain. * Good man ! ' shouted Deighton of the Horse Battery through the mists. ' Whar you raise dat tonga? I'm coming with you. Ow ! But I've a head and half. 1 didn't sit out all night. They say the Battery's awful bad,' and he hummed dolorously — * Leave the what at the what's-its-name, Leave the flock without shelter, Leave the corpse uninterred, Leave the bride at the altar ! *My faith I It'll be more bally corpse than bride, though, this journey. Jump in, Bobby. Get on, Ooachtvan! ' On the Umballa platform waited a detachment of officers discussing the latest news from the stricken cantonment, and it was here that Bobby learned tlie real condition of the Tail Twisters. 'They went into camp,' said an elderly Major recalled from the whist-tables at Mussoorie to a sickly Native Regiment, * they went into camp with two hundred and ten sick m carts. Two hundred and ten fever cases ^-1' ONLY A SUBALTERN 105 only, and the balance looking like so many gliosta with sore eyes. A Madras Regiment could have walked through 'em.* *But they were as fit as be-damned when I left them I ' said Bobby. *Then you'd better make them as fit as be-damned when you rejoin,' said the Major brutally. Bobby pressed his forehead against the rain-splashed window pane as the train lumbered across the sodden Doab, and prayed for the health of the Tyneside Tail Twisters. Naini Tal had sent down her contingent with all speed; the lathering ponies of the Dalhousie Road staggered into Pathankot, taxed to the full stretch of their strength ; whije from cloudy Darjiling the Calcutta Mail whirled up the last straggler of the little army that was to fight a fight, in which was neither medal nor honour for the winning, against an enemy none other than * the sickness that destroyeth in the noonday.' And as each man reported himself, he said : * This is a bad business,' and went about his own forthwith, for every Regiment and Battery in the cantonment was under canvas, the sickness bearing them company. Bobby fought his way through the rain to the Tail Twisters' temporary mess, and Revere could have fallen on the boy's neck for the joy of seeing that ugly, wholesome phiz once more. 'Keep 'em amused and interested,' said Revere. 'They went on the drink, poor fools, after the first two cases, and there was no improvement. Oh, it's good to have you back, Bobby! Porkiss is a — never mind.' Deighton came over from the Artillery camp to f y '^i* .:U^: ■fi'. f. i. •4^/<'^ 106 UNDER THE DEODARS 'li! attend a dreary mess dinner, and contributed to the general gloom by nearly weeping over the condition of his beloved Battery. Porkiss so far forgot himself as to insinuate that the presence of the officers could do no earthly good, and that the best thing would be to send the entire Regiment into hospital and 'let tlie doctors look after them.' Porkiss was demoralised with fear, nor was his peace of mind restored when Revere said coldly : ' Oh I The sooner you go out the better, if that's your way of thinking. Any public school could send U3 fifty good men in yo^iv place, but it takes time, time, Porkiss, and money, and a certain amount of trouble, to make a Regiment. 'S'pose youWe the person we go into camp for, eh ? ' Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great and chilly fear which a drenching in the rain did not allay, and, two days later, quitted this world for another where, men do fondly hope, allowances are made for the weaknesses of the flesh. The Regimental Sergeant- Major looked wearily across the Sergeants' Mess tent when tne news was announced. * There goes the worst of them,' he said. ' It'll take the best, and then, please God, it'll stop.' The Ser- geants were silent till one said : ' It couldn't be him ! ' and all knew of whom Travis was thinking. Bobby Wick stormed through the tents of his Com- pany, rallying, rebuking, mildly, as is consistent with the Regulations, chaffing the faint-hearted; haling the sound into the watery sunlight when there was a break in the weather, and bidding them be of good cheer for their trouble was nearly at an end; scuttling on his dun pony round the outskirts of the camp and heading back men who, with the innate perversity of British ONLY A SUBALTERN 107 soldiers, were always wandering into infected villages, or drinking deeply from rain-flooded marshes ; com- forting the panic-stricken with rude speech, and more than once tending the dying who had no friends — the men without * townies ' ; organising, with banjos and burnt cork. Sing-songs which should allow the talent of the Regiment full play ; and generally, as he explained, * playing the giddy garden-goat all round.' * You're worth half a dozen of us, Bobby,' said Revere in a moment of enthusiasm. 'How t' e devil do you keep it up ? ' Bobby made no answer, but had Revere looked into the breast-pocket of his coat he might have seen there a sheaf of badly-written letters which perhaps accounted for the power that possessed the boy. A letter came to Bobby every other day. The spelling was not above reproach, but the sentiments must have been most satisfactory, for on receipt Bobby's eyes softened marvellously, and he was wont to fall into a tender abstraction for a while ere, shaking his cropped head, he charged into his work. By what power he drew after him the hearts of the roughest, and the Tail Twisters counted in their ranks some rough diamonds indeed, was a mystery to both skipper and C. O., who learned from the regimental chaplain that Bobby was considerably more in request in the hospital tents than the Reverend John Emery. ' The men seem fond of you. Are you in the hos- pitals much ? ' said the Colonel, who did his daily round and ordered the men to get well with a hardness that did not cover his bitter grief. * A little, sir,' said Bobby. * 'Shouldn't go there too often if I were you. They i I' 108 UNDER THE DEODARS say it's not contagious, but there's no use in running unnecessary risks. We can't afford to have you down, y' know.' Six days later, it was with the utmost difficulty that the post-runner plashed his way out to the camp with the mail-bags, for the rain was falling in torrents. Bobby received a letter, bore it off to his tent, and, the programme for the next week's Sing-song being satis- factorily disposed of, sat down to answer it. For mi hour the unhandy pen toiled over the paper, and where sentiment rose to more than normal tide-level, Bobby Wick stuck out his tongue and breathed heavily. He was not used to letter-writing. ' Beg y' pardon, sir,' said a voice at the tent door ; * but Dormer's 'orrid bad, sir, an' they've taken him orf, sir.* ' Damn Private Dormer and you too I ' said Bobby Wick, running the blotter over the half -finished letter. *Tell him I'll come in the morning.' *'E's awful bad, sir,' said the voice hesitatingly. There was an undecided squelching of heavy boots. * Well ? ' said Bobby impatiently. * Excusin' 'imself bef ore'and for takin' the liberty, 'e says it would be a comfort for to assist 'im, sir, if ' * Tattoo lao! Get my pony! Here, come in out of the rain till I'm ready. What blasted nuisances you are I That's brandy. Drink some ; you want it. Hang on to my stirrup and tell me if I go too fast. Strengthened by a four-finger ' nip ' which he swal- lowed without a wink, the Hospital Orderly kept up with the slipping, mud-stained, and very disgusted pony as it shambled to the hospital tent. Private Dormer was certainly ''orrid bad,' He ONLY A SUBALTERN 109 had all but reached the stage of collapse and was not pleasant to look upon. * What's this, Dormer ? ' said Bobby, bending over the man. * You're not going out this time. You've got to come fishing with me once or twice more yet.' The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a whisper said, — ' Beg y' pardon, sir, disturbin' of you now, but would you min' 'oldin' my 'and, sir ? ' Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy cold hand closed on his own like a vice, forcing a lady's ring which was on the little finger deep into the flesh. Bobby set his lips and waited, the water dripping from the hem of his trousers. An hour passed and the grasp of the hand did not relax, nor did the expression of the drawn face change. Bobby with infinite craft lit him- self a cheroot with the left hand, his right arm was numbed to the elbow, and resigned himself to a night of pain. Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sitting on the side of a sick man's cot, and a Doctor in the doorway using language unfit for publication. * Have you been here all night, you young ass ? ' said the Doctor. ' There or thereabouts,' said Bobby ruefully. * He's frozen on to me.' Dormer's mouth shut with a click. He turned his head and sighed. The clinging hand opened, and Bobby's arm fell useless at his side. 'He'll do,' said the Doctor quietly. 'It must have been a toss-up all through the night. 'Think you're to be congratulated on this case.' ' Oh, bosh ! ' said Bobby. ' I thought the man had gone out long ago — only — only I didn't care to take ;i ITIf- m I,