UC-NRLF B 3 55D 7M5 ^ THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS UNDER THE DEODARS BY RUDYARD KIPLING Authorized Edition NEW YORK LOVELL, CORYELL & COMPANY 310-318 SIXTH AVENUE GL,J^J^^^ XcJ^ Copyright 1891, BY UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY ■U.^ /- ^^ This edition of my collected writings is issued in America with my cordial sanction. RUDYARD KIPLING. London, March, i8pi» iw598597 PREFACE. To THE ADDRESS OF CAPTAIN J. MAFFLIN, Duke of Derrfs {Pink) Hussars, Dear Mafflin, — You will remember that I wrote this story as an Awful Warning. None the less you have seen fit to disregard it and have followed Gadsby's example — as I betted you would. I acknowledge that you paid the money at once, but you have prejudiced the mind of Mrs. Mafflin against myself, for though I am almost the only respectable friend of your bachelor days, she has been darwaza band to me through- out the season. Further, she caused you to invite me to dinner at the Club, where you called me '* a wild ass of the desert," and 3 4 PREFACE. went home at half-past ten, after discoursing for twenty minutes on the responsibiHties of house-keeping. You now drive a mail-phae- ton and sit under a Church of England cler- gyman. 1 am not angry, Jack. It is your kismet, as it was Caddy's, and his kismet who can avoid ? Do not think that I am moved by a spirit of revenge as I write, thus pub- licly, that you and you alone are responsible for this book. In other and more expansive days, when you could look at a magnum with- out flushing and at a cheroot without turning white, you supplied me with most of the material. Take it back again — would that I could have preserved your fetterless speech In the telling — take It back, and by your slippered hearth read It to the late Miss Deercourt. She will not be any the more willing to receive my cards, but she will admire you immensely, and you, I feel sure, will love me. You may even Invite me to another very bad dinner — at the Club, which, as you and your wife know, Is a safe neutral ground for the entertainment of wild PREFACE. 5 asses. Then, my very dear hypocrite, we shall be quits. Yours always, RUDYARD KIPLING.,* P.S, — On second thoughts I should rec- ommend you to keep the book away from Mrs. Mafflin. CONTENTS. THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. PAGE Poor Dear Mamma 9 The World Without 29 The Tents of Kedar 49 With any Amazement 70 The Garden of Eden 89 Fatima 108 The Valley of the Shadow 133 The Swelling of Jordan 152 UNDER THE DEODARS. The Education of Otis Yeere 179 At the Pit's Mouth 226 A Wayside Comedy 239 The Hiv. of Illusion 264 A Second-Rate Woman 284 POOR DEAR MAMMA. The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky, The deer to the wholesome wold, And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid, As it was in the days of old, Gypsy Song, Scene. — Interior ^/Miss Minnie Threegan's bedroom at Simla. Miss Threegan, in win- dow-seat, turning over a drawer/ul of chif- fons. Miss Emma Deercourt, bosom-friend, who has come to spend the day, sitting on the bed, manipulating the bodice of a ball- room frock and a bunch of artificial lilies of the valley, Ti^ne 5.30 p.m., on a hot May afternoon. Miss Deercourt. — And he said : — "I shall never forget this dance," and, of course, I said : — ** Oh ! How can you be so silly ! " Do you think he meant anything, dear ? 9 lO THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, Miss Threegan. — {Extracting long lav- ender silk stocking from the rubbish^ You know him better than / do. Miss D. — Oh, do be sympathetic, Minnie ! I'm sure he does. At least I would be sure if he wasn't always riding with that odious Mrs. Hagan. Miss T. — I suppose so. How does one manage to dance through one's heels first ? Look at this — isn't it shameful ? {Spreads stocking-heel on open hand for inspection?) Miss D. — Never mind that! You can't mend It. Help me with this hateful bodice. I've run the string so, and I've run the string so, and I cant make the fulness come right. Where would you put this ? ( Waves lilies of the valley?) Miss T. — As high up on the shoulder as possible. Miss D. — Am I quite tall enough? I know It makes May Olger look lop-sided. Miss T. — Yes, but May hasn't your shoul- ders. Hers are like a hock-bottle. Bearer. — {Rapping at door?) Captain Sahib ay a. POOR DEAR MAMMA. II Miss D. — {Jumping up wildly, and hunting for body, which she has discarded owing to the heat of the day.) Captain Sahib ! What Captain Sahib ? Oh, good gracious, and I'm only half dressed ! Well, I sha n't bother. Miss T.— {Calmly,) You needn't. It isn't for us. That's Captain Gadsby. He is going for a ride with Mamma. He gener- ally comes five days out of the seven. Agonized Voice. — {From, an inner apart- ment?) Minnie, run out and give Captain Gadsby some tea, and tell him I shall be ready in ten minutes ; and, O Minnie, come to me an instant, there's a dear girl ! Miss T. — O bother! {Aloud.) Very well, Mamma. Exit, and reappears, after five minutes^ flushed, and rtibbing her fingers. Miss D. — You look pink. What has happened ? Miss T. — {In a stage whisper!) A twenty-four-inch waist, and she won't let it out. Where are my bangles ? {Rmnmages 12 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. on the toilet table, and dabs at her hair luith a brush in the interval?) Miss D. — Who is this Captain Gadsby? I don't think I've met him. Miss T. — You 7nust have. He belongs to the Harrar set. I've danced with him, but I've never talked to him. He's a big yellow man, just like a newly hatched chicken, with an e-normous mustache. He walks like this {imitates Cavalry swagger^, and he goes '' Ha — Hmmm ! " deep down in his throat when he can't think of anything to say. Mamma likes him. I don't. Miss D. — {Abstractedly^ Does he wax that mustache ? Miss T. — {Busy with pomder-puff^ Yes, I think so. Why? Miss D. — {Bending over the bodice and sewing furiously^ Oh, nothing — only . . . Miss T. — {Sternly.) Only what ? Out with it, Emma. Miss D. — Well, May Olger— she's en- gaged to Mr. Charteris, you know — said • . . Promise you won't repeat this ? POOR DEAR^ MAMMA. 13 Miss T. — Yes, I promise. What did she say? Miss D. — That — that being kissed {with a rush) by a man who didnt wax his mus- tache was — Hke eating an ^g^ without salt. Miss T. — (^At her full height, zvith crush- ing scof^n.) May Olger Is a horrid, nasty Thing, and you can tell her I said so. I'm glad she doesn't belong to my set . . .1 must go and feed this man ! Do I look presentable ? Miss D. — Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your Mother, and then we can talk, /shall listen at the door to hear what you say to him. Miss T. — 'Sure I don't care. Fm not afraid of Captain Gadsby. In proof of this swings into drawing-room with a mannish stride followed by two short steps, ivhich produces tJie effect of a restive horse entering. Misses Captain Gadsby, who is sitting in the shadow of the windozv- curtain, and gazes rotmd helplessly. Cafiain Gadsby. — {Aside.) The filly, 14 THE STORY OF THE GADSDYS. by Jove! Must ha picked up th^t action from the sire. (^Aloud, rising.) Good- evening, Miss Threegan. MissT. — ( Conscious that she is flushing?) Good-evening, Captain Gadsby. Mamma told me to say that she will be ready in a few minutes. Won't you have some tea? {Aside:) I hope Mamma will be quick. What am I to say to the creature? {Aloud and abruptly?) Milk and sugar. Capt. G. — No sugar, tha-anks, and very litde milk. Ha-Hmmm. Miss T. — {Aside?) If he's going to do that, I'm lost. I shall laugh. I knoiu I shall ! Capt. G. — {Pidling at his mtistache and zuatching it sideways doiun his nose?) Ha- Hmmm. {Aside?) 'Wonder what the little beast can talk about. 'Must make a shot at it. Miss T. — {Aside?) Oh, this is agoniz- ing. I micst say something. Both Together. — Have you been . . . Capt. G. — I beg your pardon. You were going to say — POOR DEAR MAMMA. 1 5 Miss T. — ( Who has been watching the mustache with awed fascination^ Won't you have some eggs ? Capt. G. — {^Looking bewilder edly at the tea-table?) Eggs ! (Aside.) Oh, Hades ! She must have a nursery-tea at this hour. S'pose they've wiped her mouth and sent her to me while the Mother is getting on her duds. {Alo2cd.) No, thanks. Miss T. — ( Crimson with confusion^ Oh ! I didn't mean that. I wasn't thinking of mu — eggs for an instant. I mean salt. Won't you have some sa — sweets ? (^Aside.) He'll think me a raving lunatic. I wish Mamma would come. Capt. G. — (Aside.) It ivas a nursery-tea and she's ashamed of it. By Jove! She doesn't look half bad when she colors up like that . (A loud, help ing h imselffrovi the dish.) Have you seen those new chocolates at Peliti's ? Miss T. — No, I made these myself. What are they like? Capt. G. — These! Z^^-licious. (Aside.) And that's a fact. 1 6 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Miss T. — {Aside) Oh, bother ! He'll think I'm fishing for compliments. {Aloud?) No, Pelitl's of course. Capt. G. — {Enthusiastically) Not to compare with these. How d'you make them ? I can't get my khansamah to understand the simplest thing beyond mutton and mu7^ghi. Miss T. — Yes.^^ I'm not a khansamahy you know. Perhaps you frighten him. You should never frighten a servant. He loses his head. It's very bad policy. Capt. G. — He's so awf'ly stupid. Miss T. — {Folding her ha^ids in her lap) You should call him quietly and say: — " O khansamah jee I " Capt. G. — {Getting interested) Yes? {Aside) Fancy that little featherweight saying, '' O khansamah jee'' to my blood- thirsty Mir Khan ! Miss T. — Then you should explain the dinner, dish by dish. Capt. G, — - But I can't speak the vernac- ular. POOR DEAR MAMMA. 1 7 Miss T. — (^Patronizingly ?) You should pass the Higher Standard and try. Capt. G. — I have, but I don't seem to be any the wiser. Are you ? Miss T. — I never passed the Higher Standard. But the khansamah Is very pa- tient with me. He doesn't get angry when I talk about sheep's topees, or order maimds of grain when I mean seers. Capt. G. — (^Aside, with intense indigna- tion?) I'd like to see Mir Khan being rude to that girl ! Hullo ! Steady the Buffs ! {Aloud,) And do you understand about horses, too? Miss T. — A little — not very much. I can't doctor them, but I know what they ought to eat, and I am In charge of our stable. Caff. G. — Indeed ! You might help me then. What ought a man to give his sais In the Hills ? My ruffian says eight rupees, because everything Is so dear. Miss T. — Six rupees a month, and one rupee Simla allowance — neither more nor less. And a grass-cut gets six rupees. That's better than buying grass In the bazar. 1 8 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Capt. G. — {Admiringly?) How do you know ? Miss T. — I have tried both ways. Capt. G. — Do you ride much, then ? I've never seen you on the Mall ? Miss T. — {Aside?) I haven't passed him moi'e than fifty times. {Aloud?) Nearly every day. Capt. G. — By Jove ! I didn't know that. Ha-Hmmm ! {Ptills at his mustaches a7id is silent for forty seconds?) Miss T. — {Desperately, a7id wondering ivhat will happen next?) It looks beautiful. I shouldn't touch it if I were you. {Aside?) It's all Mamma's fault for not coming before. I will be rude ! Capt. G. — {Bronzing under the tan, and bringing down his ha?td very quickly?) Eh ! Wha-at ! Oh, yes ! Ha ! Ha ! {Laughs un- easily?) {Aside,) Well, of all the dashed cheek ! I never had a woman say that to me yet. She must be a cool hand or else . . . Ah ! that nursery tea ! Voice from the Unknown. — Tchk ! Tchk ! Tchk! POOR DEAR MAMMA. . I9 Capt. G. — Good gracious ! What's that ? Miss T. — The dog, I think. {Aside.) Emma has been Hstening, and I'll never for- give her ! Capt. G. — {Aside.) They don't keep dogs here. {Aloud.) 'Didn't sound like a dog, did it? Miss T. — Then it must have been the cat. Let's go into the veranda. What a lovely evening it is ! Steps into vermida and looks out across the hills into sunset. The Captain fol- lows. Capt. G. — {Aside?) Superb eyes ! I v^onder that I never noticed them before ! {Aloud?) There's going to be a dance at Viceregal Lodge on Wednesday. Can you spare me one ? Miss T. — {Shortly?) No ! I don't want any of your charity-dances. You only ask me because Mamma told you to. I hop and I bump. You know I do ! Capt. G. — {Aside?) That's true, but little girls shouldn't understand these things. 20 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. (^Aloud.) No, on my word, I don*t. You dance beautifully. Miss T. — Then why do you always stand out after half a dozen turns ? I thought offi- cers In the Army didn't tell fibs. Capt. G. — It wasn't a fib, believe me. I really do want the pleasure of a dance with you. Miss T. — {Wickedly.) Why? Won't Mamma dance with you any more ? Capt. G. — {Moi^e earnestly than the neces- sity demands?) I wasn't thinking of your Mother. {Aside ^ You little vixen ! Miss T. — {Still looking out of the nvin- dow.) Eh? Oh, I beg your pardon. I was thinking of something else. Capt. G. — {Aside.) Well ! I wonder what she'll say next. I've never known a woman treat me like this before. I might be — Dash it, I might be an Infantry subaltern ! {Aloud.) Oh, _^/^<3;5'^ don't trouble. I'm not worth thinking about. Isn't your Mother ready yet ? Miss T. — I should think so ; but promise POOR DEAR MAMMA. 21 me, Captain Gadsby, you won't take poor dear Mamma twice round Jakko any more. It tires her so. Capt. G. She says that no exercise tires her. Miss T. — Yes, but she suffers afterwards. You don't know what rheumatism is, and you oughtn't to keep her out so late, when it gets chilly in the evenings. Capt. G. — (^Aside?) Rheumatism ! I thought she came off her horse rather in a bunch. Whew ! One lives and learns. {Aloud.) Vm sorry to hear that. She hasn't mentioned it to me. Miss T. (^Flurried ^ Of course not ! Poor dear Mamma never would. And you mustn't say that I told you either. Promise me that you won't. Oh, Captain Gadsby, promise me you won't ! Capt. G. — I am dumli, or — I shall be as soon as you've given me that dance, and an- other . . . if you can trouble yourself to think about me for a minute. Miss T. — But you won't like it one little bit. You'll be awfully sorry afterwards. 22 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Capt. G. — I shall like it above all things, and I shall only be sorry that I didn't get more. (^Aside.) Now what in the world am I saying? Miss T. — Very well. You will have only yourself to thank if your toes are trodden on. Shall we say Seven ? Capt. G. — And Eleven. (Aside), She can't be more than eight stone, but, even then, it*s an absurdly small foot. {Looks at his own riding boots.) • Miss T. — They're beautifully shiny. I can almost see my face in them. Capt. G. — I was thinking whether I should have to go on crutches for the rest of my Y\{t if you trod on my toes. Miss T. — Very likely. Why not change Eleven for a square ? Capt. G. — No, please ! I want them botl waltzes. Won't you write them down ? Miss T. — / don't get so many dances tha I shall confuse them. You will be the of fender. Capt. G. — Wait and see! {Aside?) She doesn't dance perfectly, perhaps, but . . . POOR DEAR MAMMA. 23 Miss T. — Your tea must have got cold by this time. Won't you have another cup ? Capi\ G. — No, thanks. Don't you think it's pleasanter out in the veranda? (^Aside.) I never saw hair take that color In the sun- shine before. (^Aloud.) It's like one of Dick- see's pictures. Miss T. — Yes ! It's a wonderful sunset, isn't It ? {Bhrntly.) But what do yoii know about Dicksee's pictures ? Capt. G. — I go Home occasionally. And I used to know the Galleries. (^Nci^votcsly.) You mustn't think me only a Philistine with ... a mustache. Miss T. — Don't ! Please don't ! I'm so sorry for what I said then. I was horribly rude. It slipped out before I thought. Don't you know the temptation to say frightful and shocking things just for the mere sake of saying them ? I'm afraid I gave way to it. Capt. G. — ( Watching the girl as she flushes^ I thifik I know the feeling. It would be terrible if we all yielded to it, wouldn't it ? For instance, I might say . . . 24 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. Poor dear Mamma. — (^Entering, habited, hat fed, and booted.) Ah, Captain Gadsby ! 'Sorry to keep you waiting. 'Hope you haven't been bored. 'My little girl been talking to you ? Miss T. — (Aside.) I'm not sorry I spoke about the rheumatism. Fm not! I'm not! I only wish I'd mentioned the corns too. Capt. G. — (Aside,) What a shame ! I wonder how old she Is. It never occurred to me before. (Aloud.) We've been discuss- ing " Shakespeare and the musical glasses " In the veranda. Miss T. — (Aside.) Nice man ! He knows that quotation. He isnt a Philistine with a mustache. (Aloud.) Good-by, Captain Gadsby. (Aside.) What a huge hand and what a squeeze ! I don't suppose he meant it, but he has driven the rings into my fingers. Poor dear Mamma. — Has Vermilion come round yet ? Oh, yes ! Captain Gadsby, don't you think that the saddle is too far forward ? (They pass into the front veranda!) Capt. G. — (Aside.) How the dickens POOR DEAR MAMMA, 2 5 should I know what she prefers ? She told me that she doted on horses. (^Alotid.) I think it Is. Miss T. — ( Coming out into front veran- da^ Oh ! Bad Buldoo ! I must speak to him for this. He has taken up the curb two links, and Vermilion hates that. {Passes out and to horse s head.) Capt. G. — Let me do It ! Miss T. — No, Vermilion understands me. Don't you, old man? {Looses curb-chain skilfully, and pats horse on nose and throttle.) Poor Vermilion ! Did they want to cut his chin off ? There ! Captain Gadsby watches the interlude with undisguised admiration. Poor dear Mamma. — {Tartly to Miss T.) You've forgotten your guest, I think, dear. Miss T. — Good gracious ! So I have ! Good-by. {Retreats indoors hastily?) Poor dear Mamma. — {Bunching reins in fingers hampered by too tight gauntlets?) Captain Gadsby ! Capt. Gadsby stoops a7id makes the foot-rest. 26 THE STORY OF TME GADSBYS. Poor dear Mamma blunders, halts too long, and breaks through it. Captain G. — (Aside.) Can't hold up eleven stone forever. It's all your rheuma- tism. (Aloud.) Can't imagine why I was so clumsy. (Aside.) Now Little Feather- weight would have gone up like a bird. They ride out of the garden. The Captain falls back. Capt. G. — (Aside^ How that habit catches her under the arms ! Ugh ! Poor dear Mamma. — ( With the worn smile of sixteen seasons, the worse for ex- change.) You're dull this afternoon, Cap- tain Gadsby. Capt. G. — (Spurring up wearily.) Why did you keep me waiting so long? £t c cetera, et c cetera, et c cetera, (an interval of three weeks.) Gilded Youth. — (Sitting ofi railings op- posite Town Hall.) Hullo, Gaddy ! 'Been trotting out the Gorgonzola ? We all thought it was the Gorgon you're mashing. POOR DEAR MAMMA. 2/ Capt. G. — ( With withering emphasis^ You young cub ! What the does it mat- ter to you ? Proceeds to read Gilded Youth a lecture on discretion and deportment, which crumples latter like a Chinese Lantern. Departs fum- ing. (further interval of five weeks.) Scene. — Exterior of New Library on a foggy evening. Miss Threegan and Miss Deercourt meet among the 'rickshaws. Miss T. is carrying a bundle of books under her left arm. Miss D. — (^L^evel intonation^ Well ? Miss T. — {Ascending intonation^ Well ? Miss D. — {Capturing her friend's left arm, taking away all the books, placing books in 'rickshaw, returning to arm, securing hand by the third finger and investigating^ Well ! You bad girl ! And you never told me. Miss T. — {Demurely.^ He — he — he only spoke yesterday afternoon. Miss D. — Bless you, dear ! And I'm to 28 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. be bridesmaid, aren't I ? You know you promised ever so long ago. Miss T. — Of course. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. (^Gets into 'rickshaw?) Oh, Emma! Miss D. — ( With intense interest^ Yes, dear? Miss T. — {Piano.) It's quite true . . . about . . . the . . . Q.gg. Miss D. — What ^gg} Miss T. — {Pianissimo prestissimo^ The ^gg without the salt. {Forte.) Chalo ghar ko jaldi, jhampani I CURTAIN. THE WORLD WITHOUT. " Certain people of importance." Scene. — Smoking-room of the Degchi Club. Time 10.30 v.m, of a stuffy 7iight in the Rains. Four men dispersed in picturesque attitudes and easy-chairs. To these enter Blayne of the Irregular Moguls, in evening di^ess. Blayne. — Phew ! The Judge ought to be hanged In his own store-godown. Hi, khit- vtatgar ! Poora whiskey-peg, to take the taste out of my mouth. CuRTiss — {Royal Artillery.) That's it, is it ? What the deuce made you dine at the Judge's ? You know his bandobust. Blayne. — Thought it couldn't be worse than the Club ; but I'll swear lie buys ullaged qliuor and doctors it with gin and ink (look- 29 30 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. ing round the room.) Is this all of you to-night ? DooNE. — (P. W. D.) Anthony was called out at dinner. Mingle had a pain in his tummy. CuRTiss. — Miggy dies of cholera once a week in the Rains, and gets drunk on chloro- dyne in between. 'Good little chap, though. Any one at the Judge's, Blayne ? Blayne. — Cockley and his memsahib looking awfully white and fagged. 'Female girl — couldn't catch the name — on her way to the Hills, under the Cockleys' charge — the Judge, and Markyn fresh from Simla — disgustingly fit. CuRTiss. — Good Lord, how truly magnifi- cent ! Was there enough ice ? When I mangled garbage there I got one whole lump — nearly as big as a walnut. What had Markyn to say for himself? Blayne. — 'Seems that every one is having a fairly good time up there in spite of the rain. By Jove, that reminds me ! I know I hadn't come across just for the pleasure of THE WORLD WITHOUT. 3 1 your society. News ! Great news ! Mar- kyn told me. DooNE. — Who's dead now ? Blayne. — No one that I know of ; but Caddy's hooked at last ! Dropping Chorus. — How much ? The Devil ! Markyn was pulling your leg. Not Caddy ! Blayne. — "Yea, verily, verily, verily! Verily, verily, I say unto thee." Theodore, the gift o' Cod ! Our Phillup ! It's been given out up above. Mackesy. — (^Barrister-at-Law.) Huh ! Women will give out anything. What does accused say ? Blayne. — Markyn told me that he con- gratulated him warily — one hand held out, t'other ready to guard. Caddy turned pink and said it was so. CuRTiss. — Poor old Caddy ! They all do it. Who's she ? Let's hear the details. Blayne. — She's a girl — daughter of a Colonel Somebody. Doone. — Simla's stiff with Colonels' daughters. Be more explicit.^ 32 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, Blayne. — Wait a shake. What was her name ? Three — something. Three — CuRTiss. — Stars, perhaps. Gaddy knows that brand. Blayne. — Threegan — Minnie Threegan. Mackesy. — Threegan ! Isn't she a Httle bit of a girl with red hair ? Blayne. — 'Bout that — from what Mar- kyn said. Mackesy. — Then I've met her. She was at Lucknow last season. 'Owned a perma- nently juvenile Mamma, and danced dam- nably. I say, Jervoise, you knew the Three- gans, didn't you ? Jervoise. — ( Civilian of twenty-five years service, waking up fro7n his doze?) Eh ! What's that? Knew who? How? I thought I was at Home, confound you ! Mackesy. — The Threegan girl's engaged, so Blayne says. Jervoise. — {Slowly.) Engaged — en- gaged ! Bless my soul ! I'm getting an old man ! Little Minnie Threegan engaged ! It was only the other day I went home with THE WORLD WITHOUT, 33 them In the Sural — no, the Massilia — and she was crawHng about on her hands and knees among- the ayahs. 'Used to call me the '' 7/Vy^ Tack Sahib'' because I showed her my watch. And that was in Sixty-Seven — no, Seventy. Good God, how time flies ! I'm an old man. I remember when Threegan married Miss Derwent — daughter of old Hooky Derwent — but that was before your time. And so the little baby's engaged to have a little baby of her own ! Who's the other fool ? Mackesy. — Gadsby of the Pink Hussars. Jervoise. — 'Never met him. Threegan lived in debt, married in debt, and '11 die in debt. 'Must be glad to get the girl off his hands. Blayne. — Gaddy has money — lucky devil. Place at Home, too. DooNE. — He comes of first-class stock. 'Can't quite understand his being caught by a Colonel's daughter, and {looking cautiously round room) Black Infantry at that ! No offence to you, Blayne. 34 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, Blayne (stiffly) — Not much, tha-anks. CuRTiss — {quoting motto of Irregular Moguls^ — *' We are what we are," eh, old man ? But Gaddy was such a superior ani- mal as a rule. Why didn't he go Home and pick his wife there ? Mackesy. — They are all alike when they come to the turn into the straight. About thirty a man begins to get sick of living alone — CuRTiss. — And of the eternal muttony- chap in the morning. DooNE. — It's dead goat as a rule, but go on, Mackesy. Mackesy. — If a man's once taken that way nothing will hold him. Do you remem- ber Benoit of your service, Doone ? They transferred him to Tharanda when his time came, and he married a plate-layer's daughter, or something of that kind. She was the only female about the place. Doone. — Yes, poor brute. That smashed Benoit's chances altogether. Mrs. Benoit used to ask : — '' Was you goin' to the dance this evenin' ? " THE WORLD WITHOUT, 35 CuRTiss. — Hang it all ! Gaddy hasn't married beneath him. There's no tar-brush in the family, I suppose. Jervoise. — Tar-brush ! Not an anna. You young fellows talk as though the man was doing the girl an honor in marrying her. You're all too conceited — nothing's good enough for you. Blayne. — Not even an empty Club, a dam' bad dinner at the Judge's, and a Sta- tion as sickly as a hospital. You're quite right. We're a set of Sybarites. DooNE. — Luxurious dogs, wallowing in — CuRTiss. — Prickly heat between the shoulders. I'm covered with it. Let's hope Beora will be cooler. Blayne. — Whew ! Are you ordered into camp, too ? I thought the Gunners had a clean sheet. CuRTiss. — No, worse luck. Two cases yesterday — one died — and if we have a third, out we go. Is there any shooting at Beora, Doone ? DooNE. — The country's under water, ex- 36 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. cept the patch by the Grand Trunk Road. 1 was there yesterday, looking at a bund, and came across four poor devils in their last stage. It's rather bad from here to Kuchara. CuRTiss. — Then we're pretty certain to have a heavy go of it. Heigho ! I shouldn't mind changing places with Gaddy for a while. 'Sport with Amaryllis in the shade of the Town Hall, and all that. Oh, why doesn't somebody come and marry me, instead of let- ting me go into cholera camp ? Mackesv (^pointing to notice forbidding dogs in the Club.) — Ask the Committee. CuRTiss. — You irreclaimable ruffian ! You'll stand me another peg for that. Blayne, what will you take? Mackesy is fined on moral grounds. Doone, have you any pref- erence ? DooNE. - — Small glass Klimmel, please. Excellent carminative, these days. Anthony told me so. Mackesy {signing voucher for fotir drinks^ — Most unfair punishment. I only thought of Curtiss as Actaeon being chivied THE WORLD WITHOUT, 37 round the billiard tables by the nymphs of Diana. Blayne. — Curtiss would have to import his nymphs by train. Mrs. Cockley's the only woman in the Station. She won't leave Cockley, and he's doing his best to get her to go. Curtiss. — Good, indeed! Here's Mrs. Cockley's health. To the only wife in the Station and a damned brave woman ! Omnes (drinking?) — A damned brave woman 1 Blayne. — I suppose Gaddy will bring his wife here at the end of the cold weather. They are going to be married almost immedi- ately, I believe. Curtiss. — Gaddy may thank his luck that the Pink Hussars are all detachment and no headquarters this hot weather, or he'd be torn from the arms of his love as sure as death. Have you ever noticed the thorough- minded way British Cavalry take to cholera ? It's because they are so expensive. If the Pinks had stood fast here, they would have 38 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, been out in camp a month ago. Yes, I should decidedly like to be Gaddy. Mackesy. — He'll go Home after he's mar- ried, and send in his papers — see if he doesn't. Blayne. — Why shouldn't he ? Hasn't he money ? Would any one of us be here if we weren't paupers ? DooNE. — Poor old pauper ! What has become of the six hundred you rooked from our table last month ? Blayne. — It took unto itself wings. I think an enterprising tradesman got some of it, and a 5-/^r^^ gobbled the rest — or else I spent it. CuRTiss. — Gaddy never had dealings with a shroff in his life. DooNE. — Virtuous Gaddy ! If / had three thousand a month, paid from England, I don't think I'd deal with a shroff €\\ki^r, Mackesy (^yawning). — Oh, it's a sweet life ! I wonder whether matrimony would make it sweeter. CuRTiss. — Ask Cockley — with his wife dying by inches ! THE WORLD WITHOUT, 39 Blayne. — Go home and get a fool of a girl to come out to — what is it Thackeray says? — *' the splendid palace of an Indian pro-consul." DooNE. — Which reminds me. My quar- ters leak like a sieve. I had fever last night from sleeping in a swamp. And the worst of it is, one can't do anything to a roof till the Rains are over. CuRTiss. — What's wrong with you ? You haven't eighty rotting Tommies to take into a running stream. DooNE. — No : but I'm a compost of boils and bad language. I'm a regular Job all over my body. It's sheer poverty of blood, and I don't see any chance of getting richer — either way. Blayne. — Can't you take leave ? DooNE. — That's the pull you Army men have over us. Ten days are nothing in your sight. Fm so important that Government can't find a substitute if I go away. Ye-es, I'd like to be Gaddy, whoever his wife may be. 40 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. CuRTiss. — YouVe passed the turn of life that Mackesy was speaking of. DooNE. — Indeed I have, but I never yet had the brutaHty to ask a woman to share my life out here. Blayne. — On my soul I believe you're right. I'm thinking of Mrs. Cockley. The woman's an absolute wreck. DooNE. — Exactly. Because she stays down here. The only way to keep her fit would be to send her to the Hills for eight months — and the same with any woman. I fancy I see myself taking a wife on those terms. Mackesy. — With the rupee at one and six- pence. The little Doones would be little Dehra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie chi-chi to bring home for the holidays. CuRTiss. — And a pair of be-ewtiful sam- d/iur-horns for Doone to wear, free of ex- pense, presented by — Doone. — Yes, it's an enchanting prospect. By the way, the rupee hasn't done falling yet. The time will come when we shall THE WORLD WITHOUT. 4I think ourselves lucky if we only lose half our pay. CuRTiss. — Surely a third's loss enough. Who gains by the arrangement ? That's what I want to know. Blayne. — The Silver Question ! I'm going to bed if you begin squabbling. Thank Good- ness, here's Anthony — looking like a ghost. Enter Anthony, Indian Medical Staff, very white and tired. Anthony. — 'Evening, Blayne. It's rain- ing in sheets. Peg lao, khitmatgar. The roads are something ghastly. CuRTiss. — How's Mingle ? Anthony. Very bad, and more frightened. I handed him overto Fewton. Mingle might just as well have called him in the first place, instead of bothering me. Blayne. — He's a nervous little chap. What has he got, this time ? Anthony. — 'Can't quite say. A very bad tummy and a blue funk so far. He asked me at once if it was cholera, and I told him not to be a fool. That soothed him. 42 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. CuRTiss. — Poor devil ! The funk does half the business in a man of that build. Anthony {lighting a cheroot) . — I firmly believe the funk will kill him if he stays down. You know the amount of trouble he's been giving Fewton for the last three weeks. He's doing his very best to frighten himself into the grave. General Chorus. — Poor little devil ! Why doesn't he get away ? Anthony. — 'Can't. He has his leave all right, but he's so dipped he can't take it, and I don't think his name on paper would raise four annas. That's in confidence, though. Mackesy. — All the Station knows it. Anthony. — ''I suppose I shall have to die here," he said, squirming all across the bed. He's quite made up his mind to King- dom Come. And I know he has nothing more than a wet-weather tummy if he could only keep a hand on himself. Blayne. — That's bad. That's very bad. Poor little Miggy. Good little chap, too. I say — THE WORLD WITHOUT. 43 Anthony. — What do you say ? Blayne. — Well, look here — anyhow. If it's like that — as you say — I say fifty. CuRTiss. — I say fifty. Mackesy. — I go twenty better. DooNE. — Bloated Croesus of the Bar ! I say fifty. Jervoise, what do you say ? Hi ! Wake up ! Jervoise. — Eh! What's that? What's that? CuRTiss. — We want a hundred dibs from you. You're a bachelor drawing a gigantic income, and there's a man in a hole. Jervoise. — What man ? Any one dead ? Blayne. — No, but he'll die if you don't give the hundred. Here ! Here's a peg- voucher. You can see what we've signed for, and a chaprassi will come round to-morrow to collect it. So there will be no trouble. Jervoise {signing), — One hundred, E. M. J. There you are {feebly). It isn't one of your jokes, is it ? Blayne. — No, it really is wanted. An- thony, you were the biggest poker-winner 44 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. last week, and you Ve defrauded the tax-col- lector too long. Sign ! Anthony. — Let's see. Three fifties and a seventy — two twenty — three twenty — say four twenty. That'll give him a month clear at the Hills. Many thanks, you men. I'll send round the chaprassi to-morrow. CuRTiss. — You must engineer his taking the stuff, and of course you mustn't — Anthony. — Of course. It would never do. He'd weep with gratitude over his even- ing drink. Blayne. — Thafs just what he would do, damn him. Oh ! I say, Anthony, you pre- tend to know everything. Have you heard about Gaddy ? Anthony. — No. Divorce Court at last ? Blayne. — Worse. He's engaged. Anthony. — How much ? He cant be ! Blayne. — He is. He's going to be mar- ried In a few weeks. Markyn told me at the Judge's this evening. It's pukka. Anthony. — You don't say so ? Holy Moses ! There'll be a shine in the tents of Kedar. THE WORLD WITHOUT. 45 CuRTiss. — 'Regiment cut up rough, think you? Anthony. — 'Don't know anything about the Regiment. Mackesy. — It is bigamy, then ? Anthony. — Maybe. Do you mean to say that you men have forgotten, or is there more charity in the world than I thought ? DooNE. — You don't look pretty when you are trying to keep a secret. You bloat. Explain. Anthony. — Mrs. Herriott ! Blayne (^after a long pause, to the room generally) . — It's my notion that we are a set of fools. Mackesy. — Nonsense. That business was knocked on the head last season. Why, young Mallard — Anthony. — Mallard was a candle-stick, paraded as such. Think a while. Recollect last season and the talk then. Mallard or no Mallard, did Gaddy ever talk to any other woman ? CuRTiss. — There's something in that. It 46 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. was slightly noticeable now you come to men- tion it. But she's at Naini Tal and he's at Simla. Anthony. — He had to go to Simla to look after a globe-trotter relative of his — a per- son with a title. Uncle or aunt. Blayne. — And there he got engaged. No law prevents a man growing tired of si woman. Anthony. — Except that he mustn't do it till the woman is tired of him. And the Herriott woman was not that. CuRTiss. — She may be now. Two months of Naini Tal work wonders. Doone. — Curious thing how some women carry a Fate with them. There w^as a Mrs. Deegie in the Central Provinces whose men invariably fell away and got married. It be- came a regular proverb with us when I was down there. I remember three men desper- ately devoted to her, and they all, one after another, took wives. CuRTiss. — That's odd. Now I should have thought that Mrs. Deegie's influence THE WORLD WITHOUT, 47 would have led them to take other men's wives. It ought to have made them afraid of the judgment of Providence. Anthony. — Mrs. Herriott will make Gaddy afraid of something more than the judgment of Providence, I fancy. Blayne. — Supposing things are as you say, he'll be a fool to face her. He'll sit tight at Simla. Anthony. — 'Shouldn't be a bit surprised if he went off to Naini to explain. He's an unaccountable sort of man, and she's likely to be a more than unaccountable woman. Doone. — What makes you take her char- acter away so confidently ? Anthony. — Primtim tenipus, Gaddy was her first, and a woman doesn't allow her first man to drop away without expostulation. She justifies the first transfer of affection to her- self by swearing that it is forever and ever. Consequently . . . Blayne. — Consequently, we are sitting here till past one o'clock, talking scandal like a set of Station cats. Anthony, it's all your 48 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS, fault. We were perfectly respectable till you came in. Go to bed. Fin off. Good-night all. CuRTiss, — Past one ! It's past two, by Jove, and here's the khit coming for the late charge. Just Heavens ! One, two, three, four, five rupees to pay for the pleasure of saying that a poor little beast of a woman is no better than she should be. I'm ashamed of myself. Go to bed, you slanderous villains, and if I'm sent to Beora to-morrow, be pre- pared to hear I'm dead before paying my card-account ! CURTAIN. THE TENTS OF KEDAR. Only why should it be with pain at all. Why must I 'twixt the leaves of coronal Put any kiss of pardon on thy brow? Why should the other women know so much. And talk together : — Such the look and such The smile he used to love with, then as now. Any Wife to any Husband, Scene. — A Naini Tal dinner for thirty-fouy. Plate, wines, crockery, and khitmatgai s carefully calculated to scale of Rs. 6,000 per me^isem, less Exchange. Table split length- ways by bank of flowers. Mrs. Herriott. — {After conversation has risen to proper pitch?) Ah! 'Didn't see you in the crush in the drawing-room. i^Sotto voce?) Where have you been all this while, Pip? Captain Gadsby. — {Turning from regu- 49 so THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. larly ordained dinner paHner and settling hock glasses?) Good-evening. (^Sottovoce,) Not quite so loud another time. You've no notion how your voice carries. {Aside?) So much for shirking the written explanation. It'll have to be a verbal one now. Sweet prospect ! How on earth am I to tell her that I am a respectable, engaged member of so- ciety and it's all over between us ? Mrs H. — I've a heavy score against you. Where were you at the Monday Pop ? Where were you on Tuesday ? Where were you at the Lamonts' tennis ? I was looking every- where. Capt. G. — For me ! Oh, I was alive somewhere, I suppose. {Aside.) It's for Minnie's sake, but it's going to be dashed unpleasant. Mrs. H. — Have I done anything to offend you ? I never meant it if I have. I couldn't help going for a ride with the Vaynor man. It was promised a week before you came up. Capt. G. — I didn't know — Mrs. H. — It really was. THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 5 1 Capt. G. — Anything about it, I mean. Mrs. H. — What has upset you to-day? All these days ? You haven't been near me for four whole days — nearly one hundred hours. Was it kind of you, Pip ? And I've been looking forward so much to your coming. Capt. G. — Have you ? Mrs. H. — You know I have ! I've been as foolish as a schoolgirl about it. I made a little calendar and put it in my card-case, and every time the twelve o'clock gun went off I scratched out a square and said; — "That brings me nearer to Pip. My Pip ! " Capt. G. — ( With an uneasy laugh.) What will Mackler think if you neglect him so ? Mrs. H. — And it hasn't brought you nearer. You seem farther away than ever. Are you sulking about something ? I know your temper. Capt. G. — No. Mrs. H. — Have I grown old in the last few months, then ? {Reaches forward to dank of flowers for menu- card?) 52 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Partner on Left. — Allow me. {Hands menu-card. Mrs. H. keeps her arm at full stretch for three seconds^ Mrs. H. — {To partner.) Oh, thanks. I didn't see. {Turns right agai?i.) Is any- thing in me changed at all ? Capt. G. — For Goodness' sake go on with your dinner ! You must eat something. Try one of those cutlet arrangements. {Aside.) And I fancied she had good shoulders, once upon a time ! What an ass a man can make of himself! Mrs. H. — {Helpiug herself to a paper frilU seven peas, some stamped carrots and a spoonful of gravy?) That isn't an answer. Tell we whether I have done anything. Capt. G. — {Aside ^ If it Isn't ended here there will be a ghastly scene somewhere else. If only I'd written to her and stood the racket — at long range ! ( To khitmat- gar.) Han ! Simpkin do. {Aloud.) I'll tell you later on. Mrs. H. — Tell me now. It must be some foolish misunderstanding, and you know that THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 53 there was to be nothing of that sort between us ! We, of all people in the world, can't afford it. Is it the Vaynor man, and don't you like to say so ? On my honor — Capt. G. — I haven't given the Vaynor man a thought. Mrs. H. — But how d'you know that / haven't? Capt. G. — (^Aside.) Here's my chance and may the Devil help me through with it. {Aloud and measuredly.) Believe me, I do not care how often or how tenderly you think of the Vaynor man. Mrs. H. — I wonder if you mean that. — Oh, what is the good of squabbling and pre- tending to misunderstand when you are only up for so short a time ? Pip, don't be a stupid ! Follows a pause, during which he crosses his left leg over his right and continues his dinner. Capt. G. — {In answer to the thunderstorm in her eyes.) Corns — my worst. Mrs. H. — Upon my word, you are the 54 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. very rudest man In the world ! I'll never do it again. Capt. G. — (Aside.) No, I don't think you will ; but I wonder what you will do be- fore it's all over. ( To khihnatgar?) Thorah 07ir Simp kin do. Mrs. H. — Well ! Haven't you the grace to apologize, bad man ? Capt. G. — {Aside.) I mustn't let it drift back 7tow. Trust a woman for being as blind as a bat when she won't see. Mrs. H. — I'm waiting : or would you like me to dictate a form of apology ? Capt. G. — (Desperately^ By all means dictate. Mrs. W. — (Lightly:) Very well. Re- hearse your several Christian names after me and go on : — " Profess my sincere repent- ance." Capt. G. — " Sincere repentance." Mrs. H. — " For having behaved — " Capt. G. — (Aside.) At last ! I wish to Goodness she'd look away. " For having be- haved " — as I have behaved, and declare THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 55 that I am thoroughly and heartily sick of the whole business, and take this opportunity of making clear my intention of ending it, now, henceforward, and forever. (Aside.) If any one had told me I should be such a black- guard . . . ! Mrs. H. — (Shaking a spoonful of potato- chips into her plate?) That's not a pretty joke. Capt. G. — No. It's a reality. (Aside,) I wonder if smashes of this kind are always so raw. Mrs. H. — Really, Pip, you're getting more absurd every day. Capt. G. — I don't think you quite under- stand me. Shall I repeat it ? Mrs. H. — No ! For pity's sake don't do that. It's too terrible, even in fun. Capt. G. — (Aside.) I'll let her think it over for a while. But I ought to be horse- whipped. Mrs. H. — I want to know what you meant by what you said just now. Capt. G. — Exactly what I said. No less. $6 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, Mrs. H. — But what have I done to de- serve It ? What have I done ? Capt. G. — (Aside.) If she only wouldn't look at me. (Aloud and very slowly, his eyes on his plate.) D'you remember that even- ing In July, before the Rains broke, when you said that the end would have to come sooner or later . . . and you wondered for which of us it would come first ? Mrs. H. — Yes! I was only joking. And you swore that, as long as there was breath in your body, it should never come. And I believed you. Capt. G. — (Fingering menu - card.) Well, it has. That's all. A long pause, during which Mrs. H. boivs her head and rolls the bread-twist into little pellets : G. stares at the oleanders. Mrs. H. — ( Throwing back her head and laughing naturally.) They train us women well, don't they, Pip? Capt. G. — (Brutally, touching shirt-stud.) So far as the expression goes. (Aside.) It isn't in her nature to take things quietly. There'll be an explosion yet. THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 5/ Mrs. H. — i^With a shudder?) Thank you. B-but red Indians allow people to wriggle when they're being tortured, I be- lieve. {^Slips fan from girdle and fans slowly : rim of fan level with chin.) Partner on Left. — Very close to-night, isn't it ? You find it too much for you ? Mrs. H. — Oh, no, not in the least. But they really ought to have punkahs, even in your cool Naini Tal, oughtn't they ? ( Turns, dropping fan and raising eyebrozus.) Capt. G. — It's all right. {Aside.) Here comes the storm ! Mrs. H. — {^Her eyes on the tablecloth : fan ready in right hand.) It was very cleverly managed, Pip, and I congratulate you. You swore — you never contented yourself with merely saying a thing — you swore that, as far as lay in your power, you'd make my wretched life pleasant for me. And you've denied me the consolation of break- ing down. I should have done it — indeed I should. A woman would hardly have thought of this refinement, my kind, consid- 58 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. erate friend. (^Fan-guard as before,) You have explained things so tenderly and truth- fully, too ! You haven't spoken or written a word of warning, and you have let me believe in you till the last minute. You haven't con- descended to give me your reason yet. No ! A woman could not have managed it half so well. Are there many men like you in the world ^. Caff. G. — I'm sure I don't know. ( To khitmatgar ?) Ohe ! Simpkin do, Mrs. H. — You call yourself a man of the world, don't you ? Do men of the world behave like Devils when they do a woman the honor to get tired of her ? Capt. G. — I'm sure I don't know. Don't speak so loud ! Mrs. H. — Keep us respectable, O Lord, whatever happens ! Don't be afraid of my compromising you. You've chosen your ground far too well, and I've been properly brought up. (^Lowering fan.) Haven't you any pity, Pip, except for yourself? Capt. G. — Wouldn't it be rather im- ^ THE TENTS OF KEDAR. $9 pertinent of me to say that I'm sorry for you ? Mrs. H. — I think you have said it once or twice before. You're growing very care- ful of my feeHngs. My God, Pip, I was a good woman once ! You said I was. You've made me what I am. What are you going to do with me ?. What are you going to do with me ? Won't you say that you are sorry ? i^Helps herself to iced asparagus?) Capt. G. — I am sorry for you, if you want the pity of such a brute as I am. I'm aw fly sorry for you. Mrs. H. — Rather tame for a man of the world. Do you think that that admission clears you ? Capt. G. — What can I do ? I can only tell you what I think of myself. You can t think worse than that ? Mrs. H. — Oh, yes, I can ! And now, will you tell me the reason of all this ? Remorse ? Has Bayard been suddenly con- science-stricken ? Capt. G. — (^Angrily, his eyes still low- 60 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS. ered,) — No! The thing has come to an end on my side. That's all. Mafisch ! Mrs. H. — ''That's all. Mafisch!'' As though I were a Cairene Dragoman. You used to make prettier speeches. D you remember when you said . . . ? Capt. G. — For Heaven's sake don't bring that back ! Call me anything you like and I'll admit It — Mrs. H. — But you don't care to be re- minded of old lies? If I could hope to hurt you one-tenth as much as you have hurt me to-night . . . No, I wouldn't — I couldn't do it — liar though you are. Capt. G. — I've spoken the truth. Mrs. H. — yiy dear Sir, you flatter your- self. You have lied over the reason. Pip, remember that I know you as you don't know yourself. Vou have been everything to me, though you are . . . {^Fan- guard?) Oh, what a contemptible Thing it is ! And so you are merely tired of me ? Capt. G. — - Since you insist upon my re- peating it — Yes. THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 6 1 Mrs. H. — Lie the first. I wish I knew a coarser word. Lie seems so ineffectual in your case. The fire has just died out and there is no fresh one ? Think for a minute, Pip, if you care whether I despise you more than I do. Simply Mafisch, is it ? Capt. G. — Yes. (^Aside.) I think I deserve this. Mrs. H. — Lie number two. Before the next glass chokes you, tell me her name. Capt. G. — {Aside.) I'll make her pay for dragging Minnie into the business ! {Aloud.) Is it likely? Mrs. H. — Very likely if you thought that it would flatter your vanity. You'd cry my name on the housetops to make people turn round. Capt. G. — I wish I had. There would have been an end of this business. Mrs. H. — Oh, no, there would not . . . xA.nd so you were going to be virtuous and blase, were you ? To come to me and say : — ''I've done with you. The incident is clo-osed." I ought to be proud of having kept such a man so long. 62 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Capt. G. — (Aside.) It only remains to pray for the end of the dinner. (Aloud,) You know what I think of myself. Mrs. H. — As it's the only person in the world you ever do think of, and as I know your mind thoroughly, I do. You want to get it all over and . . . Oh, I can't keep you back ! And you're going — think of it, Pip — to throw me over for another woman. And you swore that all other women were . . . Pip, my Pip ! She cafit care for you as I do. Believe me, she can't ! Is it any one that I know ? Capt. G. — Thank Goodness it isn't. (Aside ^ I expected a cyclone, but not an earthquake. Mrs. H. — ?i\i^ cant ! Is there anything that I wouldn't do for you — or haven't done ? And to think that I should take this trouble over you, knowing what you are ! Do you despise me for it ? Capt. G. — ( Wiping his mouth to hide a smile.) Again ? It's entirely a work of charity on your part THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 63 Mrs. H. — Ahhh ! But I have no right to resent it. . . . Is she better-looking than I ? Who was it said — ? Capt. G. — No — not that ! Mrs. H. — I'll be more merciful than you were. Don't you know that all women are alike ? Capt. G. — {Aside?) Then this is the ex- ception that proves the rule. Mrs. W. — AU of them! I'll tell you anything you like. I will, upon my word ! They only want the admiration — from any- body — no matter who — anybody ! But there is always one man that they care for more than any one else in the world, and would sacrifice all the others to. Oh, do lis- ten ! I've kept the Vaynor man trotting after me like a poodle, and he believes that he is the only man I am interested in. I'll tell you what he said to me. Capt. G. — Spare him. {Aside.) I won- der what his version is. Mrs. H. — He's been waiting for me to look at him all through dinner. Shall I 64 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. do it, and you can see what an idiot he looks ? Capt. G. — " But what imports the nomi- nation of this gentleman ? " Mrs. H. — Watch ! {Sends a glance to the Vaynor man, who tries vainly to combine a mouthful of ice-puddi?ig, a smirk of self satisfactio7iy a glare of intense devotion^ and the stolidity of a British dining countenance?) Capt. G. — ( Critically?) He doesn't look pretty. Why didn't you wait till the spoon was out of his mouth ? Mrs. H. — To amuse you. She'll make an exhibition of you as I've made of him ; and people will laugh at you. Oh, Pip, can't you see that ? It's as plain as the noonday sun. You'll be trotted about and told lies, and made a fool of like the others. / never made a fool of you, did I ? Capt. G. — {Aside.) What a clever little woman it is ! Mrs. H. — Well, what have you to say ? Capt. G. — I feel better. Mrs. H. — Yes, I suppose so, after I have THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 65 come down to your level. I couldn't have done it if I hadn't cared for you so much. 1 have spoken the truth. Capt. G. — It doesn't alter the situation. Mrs. H. — (^Passionately?) Then she has said that she cares for you ! Don't believe her, Pip. It's a lie — as black as yours to me ! Capt. G. — Ssssteady ! I've a notion that a friend of yours is looking at you. Mrs. H. — He ! I hate him. He introduced you to me. Capt. G. — (^Aside.) And some people would like women to assist in making the laws. Introduction to imply condonement. (^Aloud.) Well, you see, if you can reraem- ber so far back as that, I couldn't, in common politeness, refuse the offer. Mrs. H. — In common politeness ! We have got beyond that I Caff. G. — {^Aside.) Old ground means fresh trouble. (A/oud.) On my honor — Mrs. H. — Your ivhat ? Ha, ha ! Capt. G. — Dishonor, then. She's not what you imagine. I meant to — ^ THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mrs. H. — Don't tell me anything about her ! She 'wont care for you, and when you come back, after having made an exhibition of yourself, you'll find me occupied with — Capt. G. — (^Insolently.) You couldn't while I am alive. {Aside.) If that doesn't bring her pride to her rescue, nothing will. Mrs. H. — (^Drawing- herself up.) Couldn't do it? J? i^Softenmg^ You're right. I don't believe I could — though you are what you are — a coward and a liar in grain. Capt. G. — It doesn't hurt so much after your little lecture — with demonstrations. Mrs. H. — One mass of vanity! Will nothing ever touch you in this life ? There must be a Hereafter if it's only for the bene- fit of . . . But you will have it all to your- self. Capt. G. — {^Under his eyebrows.) Are you so certain of that ? Mrs. H. — I shall have had mine in this life ; and it will serve me right. Capt. G. — But the admiration that you insisted on so strongly a moment ago ? {Aside.) Oh, I am a brute ! THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 6/ Mrs. H. — (^Fiercely). Will that console me for knowing that you will go to her with the same words, the same arguments, and the — the same pet names you used to me ? And if she cares for you, you two will laugh over my story. Won't that be punishment heavy enough even for me — even for me ? . . . And it's all useless. That's another punishment. Capt. G. — {^Feebly?) Oh, come ! I'm not so low as you think. Mrs. H. — Not now, perhaps, but you will be. Oh, Pip, if a woman flatters your vanity, there's nothing on earth that you would not tell her ; and no meanness that you would not do. Have I known you so long without knowing that ? Caff. G. — If you can trust me in nothing else — and I don't see why 1 should be trusted — you can count upon my holding my tongue. Mrs. H. — If you denied everything you've said this evening and declared it was all in fun {a long pause), I'd trust you. Not 68 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Otherwise. All I ask Is, don't tell her my name. Please don't. A man might forget : a woman never would. (^Looks up table and sees hostess beginning to collect eyes.) So it's all ended, through no fault of mine. . . . Haven't I behaved beautifully? I've ac- cepted your dismissal, and you managed it as cruelly as you could, and I have made you respect my sex, haven't I ? {^Arranging gloves a?td fan,) I only pray that she'll know you some day as I know you now. I wouldn't be you then, for I think even your conceit will be hurt. I hope she'll pay you back the humiliation you've brought on me. I hope . . . No. I don't. I cant give you up ! I must have something to look forward to or I shall go crazy. When it's all over, come back to me, come back to me, and you'll find that you're my Pip still ! Capt. G. — {^Voy clearly.) 'False move, and you pay for It. It's a girl ! Mrs. H. — (^Rising.) Then it zuas true! They said . . . but I wouldn't insult you by asking. A girl ! / was a girl not very long THE TENTS OF KEDAR. 69 ago. Be good to her, Pip. I dare say she believes in you. Goes out with an uncertain smile. He watches her through the door, and settles into a chair as the men redistribute themselves. Capt. G. — Now, if there is any Power who looks after this world, will He kindly tell me what I have done ? (^Reaching out for the claret, and half aloiid.) What have -I done ? CURTAIN. WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. " And are not afraid with any amazement." Marriage Service. Scene. — A bachelor s bedroom — toilet-table arranged with unnatural neatness. Cap- tain Gadsby asleep and snoring heavily. Time, 10.30 a. m. — a glorious autum7i day at Simla. Enter delicately Captaiii Maf- flin of Gadsby s regiment. Looks at sleeper, and shakes his head min'inuring " Poor Gaddy!' Performs violent faiitasi a with hair-brushes on chair-back. Capt. M. — Wake up, my sleeping beauty ! {Howls.) *' Uprouse ye, then, my merry merry men ! It is our opening day ! It is our opening da-ay ! " 70 WITH ANY A MA ZEMEN T. 7 1 Gaddy, the little dicky-birds have been bill- ing and cooing for ever so long ; and I'm here ! Capi\ G. — (^Sitting up and yawning^ 'Mornin'. This is awfly good of you, old fellow. Most awfly good of you. 'Don't know what I should do without you. 'Pon my soul, I don't. 'Haven't slept a wink all night. Capt. M. — I didn't get in till half-past eleven. 'Had a look at you then, and you seemed to be sleeping as soundly as a con- demned criminal. Capt. G. — Jack, if you want to make those disgustingly worn-out jokes, you'd better go away. ( With portentous gravity^ It's the happiest day in my life. Capt. M. — ( Chuckling grimly^ Not by a very long chalk, my son. You're going through some of the most refined torture you've ever known. But be calm, /am with you. 'Shun ! Dress ! Capt. G. — Eh ! Wha-at ? Capt. M. — Do you suppose that you are Jl THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. your own master for the next twelve hours ? If you ^(^, of course . . . (^Makes for the door ^ Capt. G. — No ! For Goodness' sake, old man, don't do that ! You'll see me through, won't you ? I've been mugging up that beastly drill, and can't remember a line of it. Capt. M. — ( Overhauling G!s uniform?) Go and tub. Don't bother me. I'll give you ten minutes to dress in. Interval, filled by the noise as of a healthy grampus splashing in the bath-room, Capt. G. — (^Emerging from dressing- room?) What time is it ? Capt. M. — Nearly eleven. Capt. G. — Five hours more. O Lord ! Capt. M. — {Aside.) 'First sign of funk, that. 'Wonder if it's going to spread. {Aloud.) Come along to breakfast. Capt. G. — I can't eat anything. I don't want any breakfast. Capt. M. — {Aside.) So early ! {Aloud.) Captain Gadsby, I order you to eat breakfast, and a dashed good breakfast, too. None of your bridal airs and graces with me ! I WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 73 Leads G. downstairs, and stands over him while he eats two chops. Capt. G. — ( Who has looked at his watch thrice in the last five minutes^ What time is it? Capt. M. — Time to come for a walk. Light up. Capt. G. — I haven't smoked for ten days, and I won't noiv. ( Takes cheroot which M. has cut for him, and blows smoke through his nose luxuriously?) We aren't going down the Mall, are we ? Capt. M. — (Aside.) They're all alike in these stages. (Aloud.) No, my Vestal. We're going along the quietest road we can find. Capt. G. Any chance of seeing Her ? Capt. M. — Innocent ! No ! Come along, and, if you want me for the final obsequies, don't cut my eye out with your stick. Capt. G. — (Spinning round.) I say, isn't She the dearest creature that ever walked ? What's the time? What comes after*' wilt thou take this woman ? " 74 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Capt. M. — You go for the ring. R'clect it'll be on the top of my right-hand little fin- ger, and just be careful how you draw it off, because I shall have the Verger's fees some- where In my glove. Capt. G. — ( Walking forward hastily?) D the Verger ! Come along ! It's past twelve, and I haven't seen Her since yester- day evening. {Spinning round again.^ She's an absolute angel, Jack, and She's a dashed deal too good for me. Look here, does She come up the aisle on my arm, or how? Capt. M. — If I thought that there was the least chance of your remembering anything for two consecutive minutes, I'd tell you. Stop passaging about like that ! Capt. G. — {Halting in the middle of the road.) I say. Jack. Capt. M. — Keep quiet for another ten minutes if you can, you lunatic, and walk! The two tramp at five miles an hour for fifteen minutes. Capt. G. — What's the time ? How about WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 75 that cursed wedding-cake and the sHppers ? They don't throw 'em about in church, do they? Capt. M. — In-varlably. The Padre leads off with his boots. Caff. G. — Confound your silly soul ! Don't make fun of me. I can't stand it, and I won't ! Capt. M. — {Untroubled^) So-ooo, old horse ! You'll have to sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon. Capt. G. — {Spinning round?) I'm not going to be treated like a dashed child. Understand that ! Cai't. M. — (Aside.) Nerves gone to fiddle-strings. What a day we're having ! ( Tender /y putting his hand on G!s shoul- der?) My David, how long have you known this Jonathan ? Would I come up here to make a fool of you — after all these years? Capt. G. — {Penitently?) I know, I know, Jack — but I'm as upset as I can be. Don't mind what I say. Just hear me run through the drill and see if I've got it all right : -^ ^ ^6 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. '' To have and to hold for better or worse, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, so help me God. — Amen." Capt. M. — {Suffocating with suppressed laughter.) Yes. That's about the gist of it. I'll prompt if you get into a hat. Capt. G. — {Earnestly.) Yes, you'll stick by me, Jack, won't you? I'm awf'ly happy, but 1 don't mind telling you that I'm in a blue funk ! Capt. M. — {Gravely.) Are you? I should never have noticed it. You don't look like it. Caft. G. — Don't I? Thafs all right. {Spinning round.) On my soul and honor, Jack, She's the sweetest little angel that ever came down from the sky. There isn't a woman on earth fit to speak to Her ! Capt. M. — {Aside.) And this is old Gaddy! {Aloud.) Go on if it relieves you. Capt. G. - — You can laugh ! That's all you wild asses of bachelors are fit for. WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. 77 Capt. M. — {Drawling.^ You nevei would wait for the troop to come up. You aren't quite married yet, y'know. Capt. G. — Ugh ! That reminds me. I don't beHeve I shall be able to get into vny boots. Let's go home and try 'em on ! (^Hurries forward.) Capt. M. — 'Wouldn't be in yotir shoes for anything that Asia has to offer. Capt. G. — (^Spinning routid.) That just shows your hideous blackness of soul — your dense stupidity — your brutal narrow- mindedness. There's only one fault about you. You're the best of good fellows, and I don't know what I should have done with- out you, but — you aren't married. (^Wags h is he a d gravely, ) Take a w i fe , J ack . Capt. M. — ( With a face like a wall?) Ya-as. Whose for choice ? Capt. G. — If you're going to be a black- guard, I'm going on . . . What's the time ? Capt. M. {Hums) — " An' since 'tv/as very clear we drank only ginger-beer, Faith, there must ha' been some stingo in the ginger." yS THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Come back, you maniac. I'm going to take you home, and you're going to lie down. Capt. G. — What on earth do I want to He down for ? Capt. M. — Give me a Hght from your cheroot and see. Capt. G. — ( Watching cheroot-butt quiver like a tuning-fork^ Sweet state I'm in ! Capt. M. — You are. I'll get you a peg and you'll go to sleep. They return and M. compounds a four- finger peg. Capt. G. — O, bus ! bus ! It'll make me as drunk as an owl. Capt. M. — 'Curious thing, 'twont have the slightest effect on you. Drink' it off, chuck yourself down there, and go to bye-bye. Capt. G. — It's absurd. I shan't sleep. I k?iow I sha n't ! Falls into heavy doze at e?id of seveji min- utes, Capt. M. watches him tenderly. Capt. M. — Poor old Gaddy ! I've seen a few turned off before, but never one who WITH ANY AMAZEMENT, 79 went to the gallows in this condition. 'Can't tell how 'it affects 'em, though. It's the thoroughbreds that sweat when they're backed into double-harness. . . . And that's the man who went through the guns at Amdheran like a devil possessed of devils. {Lea7is over G.) But this is worse than the guns, old pal — worse than the guns, isn't it ? (G. turns ifi his sleep, mid M. touches him clumsily on the forehead.) Poor, dear old Gaddy ! Going like the rest of 'em — going like the rest of 'em . . . Friend that sticketh closer than a brother . . . eight years. Dashed bit of a slip of a girl . . . eight weeks ! And — where's your friend ? (^Smokes disconsolately till church clock strikes three?) Capt. M. — Up with you ! Get into your kit. Capt. G. — Already ? Isn't It too soon ? Hadn't I better have a shave ? Capt. M. — No I You're all right. (^Aside.) He'd chip his chin to pieces. Capt. G. — What's the hurry? 80 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Capt. M. — You've got to be there first. Capt. G. — To be stared at ? Capt. M. — Exactly. You're part of the show. Where's the burnisher ? Your spurs are in a shameful state. Capt. G. — {Gruffly.) Jack, I be damned if you shall do that for me. Capt. M. — {More gruffly.) Dry up and get dressed ! If I choose to clean your spurs, you're under my orders. Capt. G. dresses, ^.follows suit. Capt. M. — {Critically, walking- round.) M'yes, you'll do. Only don't look so like a criminal. Ring, gloves, fees — that's all right for me. Let your mustache alone. Now, if the tats are ready, we'll go. Capt. G. — {Nervously.) It's much too soon. Let's light up ! Let's have a peg ! Let's — Capt. M. — Let's make bally asses of our- selves. Bells. — ( Without.) Good — peo — pie — all To prayers — we call. WITH AAV AMAZEMENT. 8l Capt, M. — There go the bells ! Come on — unless you'd rather not. ( They ride off) Bells. — We honor the King And Bride's joy do bring — Good tidings we tell And ring the Dead's knell. Capt. G. — (^Dismounting at the door of the Church^ I say, aren't we much too soon ? There are no end of people inside. I say, aren't we much too late ? Stick by me, Jack ! What the devil do I do ? Capt. M. — Strike an attitude at the head of the aisle and wait for Her. (G. groans as M. zvheels hint ifito position before three hundred eyes.) Capt. M. — (^hnploiingly?) Gaddy, if you love me, for pity's sake, for the Honor of the Regiment, stand up ! Chuck yourself into your uniform ! Look like a man ! I've got to speak to the Padre a minute. (G. breaks into a gentle perspiration^ If you 82 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. wipe your face I'll never be your best man again. Stand up! (G. trembles visibly?) Capt. M. — {Returning.) She's coming now. Look out when the music starts. There's the organ beginning to clack. Bride steps out of 'rickshaw at Church door, G. catches a glimpse of her and takes heart. Organ. — {Diapason and bourdon?) The Voice that breathed o'er Eden, That earliest marriage day, The primal marriage blessing, It hath not passed away. Capt. M. — ( Watching G.) By Jove ! He is looking well. 'Didn't think he had it in him. CArr. G. — How long does this hymn go on for? Capt. M. — It will be over directly. {Anxiously?) Beginning to bleach and gulp ? Hold on, Gaddy, and think o* the Regiment. Cait. G. — {Measuredly.) I say, there's a big brown lizard crawling up that wall. WITH ANY AMAZEMENT, 83 Capt. M. — My Sainted Mother ! The last stage of collapse ! Bride comes up to left of altar, lifts her eyes once to G., who is suddenly smitten mad. Capt. G. — {To himself agaift and again.) Little Featherweight's a woman — a woman ! And I thought she was a little girl. Capt. M. — {In a zvhisper.) From the halt — inward wheel. Capt. G. obeys mechanically and the cere- mony proceeds. Padre. — ... only unto her as long as ye both shall live ? Capt. G. — {His throat useless?) Ha — hmmm ! Capt. M. — Say you will or you won't. There's no second deal here. Bride gives response with perfect coolness ^ and is given away by the father. Capt. G. — ( Thinkittg to show his learn- ing.) Jack, give me away now, qtiick I Caff. M. — You've given yourself away quite enoueh. Her rizht hand, man ! Re- jfjeat ! Repeat! "Theodore Philip." Have you forgotten your own name } 84 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Capt. G. stumbles through Affirinatio7i^ which IhHde repeats without a tremor. Capt. M. — Now the ring ! Follow the Padre ! Don't pull off my glove ! Here it is ! Great Cupid, he's found his voice ! G. repeats Troth i^i a voice to be heard to the end of the Church and turns on his heel. Capt. M. — (^Desperately?) Rein back ! Back to your troop ! Tisn't half legal yet. Padre. — ... joined together let no man put asunder. Capt. G. paralyzed with fear, jibs after Blessing. Capt. M. — (^Quickly.) On your own front — one length. Take her with you. I don't come. You've nothing to say. (Capt. G. jingles up to altar.) Capt. M. — (/;^ a piercing rattle meant to be a whisper?) Kneel, you stiff-necked ruf- fian ! Kneel ! Padre. — ... whose daughters ye are, so long as ye do well and are not afraid with any amazement. Caff. M. — Dismiss! Break off! Left wheel ! WITH ANY AMAZEMENT, 85 All troop to vestry. They sign. Capt. M. — Kiss Her, Gaddy. Capt. G. — {Rubbifig the ink into his glove ^ Eh ! Wha — at ? Capt. M. — {Taking one pace to Bride.^ If you don't, I shall. Capt. G. — {^Interposifig an arm?) Not this journey ! General kissing, in which Capt. G. is pur- sued by unknown fe^nale. QkYY. G. — {^Faintly to M.) This Is Hades ! Can I wipe my face now ? Capt. M. — My responsibility has ended. Better ask Missis Gadsby. Capt. G. winces as if shot and procession is Mendelssohned out of Church to paternal roof, where usual tortures take place over the wedding-cake. Capt. M. — {At table?) Up with you, Gaddy. They expect a speech. CAFr. G. — {After three mifiutes' agony. ^ Ha — hmmm. ( Thunders of applause?) Caff. M. — Doocid good, for a first at- tempt. Now go and change your kit while 86 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mamma Is weeping over — "the Missus." (Capt. G. disappears. Capt. M. starts up tearing his hair.) It's not half legal. Where are the shoes ? Get an ayah. Ayah. — Missle Captain Sahib done gone band karo all the jiitis. Caff. M. — (^Brandishing scabbarded sword?) Woman, produce those shoes ! Some one lend me a bread-knife. We mustn't crack Gaddy's head more than it is. (Slices heel off white satin slipper and puts slipper tip his sleeve?) Where is the Bride? (77? the company at large?) Be tender with that rice. It's a heathen custom. Give me the big bag. Bride slips out quietly into 'rickshaw and departs towards the sunset. Capt. M. — {^hi the operi?) Stole away, by Jove ! So much the worse for Gaddy ! Here he is. Now, Gaddy, this'll be livelier than Amdheran ! Where's your horse ? Caff. G . — (^Furiously, seeing that the woine7i arc out of earshot.^ Where the is my Wife f WITH ANY AMAZEMENT. ^7 Capt. M. — Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You'll have to ride like Young Loch- invar. Horse comes round on his hind legs ; re- fuses to let G. handle him, Capt. G. — Oh, you will, will you ? Get round, you brute — you hog — you beast! Get round ! Wrenches horses head over, 7iearly break- ing lower jaw ; swings himself into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale of Best Patna, Capt. M. — For your life and your love — ride, Gaddy ! — And God bless you ! Throws half a pound of rice at G., zuho disappears, bozved forward on the saddle, in a cloud of sunlit dust. Capt. M. — I've lost old Gaddy. {Lights cigarette and strolls off, singing absently) : — " You may carve it on his tombstone, you may cut it on his card, That a young man married is a young man marred ! " Miss Deercourt. — {Fro?n her horse.) SS THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Really, Captain Mafflin ! You are more plain- spoken than polite ! Capt. M. — {Aside.) They say marriage Is like cholera. 'Wonder who'll be the next victim. White satin slippe7^ slides from his sleeve and falls at his feet. Left W07idering. CURTAIN. THE GARDEN OF EDEN. " And ye shall be as — Gods ! " Scene. — Thymy grass-plot at back of the Mahasu dak-bungaloiv , overlooking little ivooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest of Fagoo ; on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line of the Snoivs. Capt. Gadsby, now one week a husband, is smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in the sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug. Overhead, the Fagoo eagles. Mrs. G. comes out of bungalow. Mrs. G. — My husband ! Capt. G. — (^Lazily, zuith intense enjoy- ment.) Eh, wha-at? Say that again. Mrs. G. — I've written to Mamma and told her that we shall be back on the 1 7th. 89 QO THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, Capt. G. — Did you give her my love ? Mrs. G. — No, I kept all that for myself. {Sitting down by his side.) I thought you wouldn't mind. Capt. G. — ( With mock sternness?) I ob- ject awfly. How did you know that it was yours to keep ? Mrs. G. — I guessed, Phil. Capt. G. — {Rapturously?) Lit- tie Feath- erweight ! Mrs. G. — I wo7zt be called those sporting pet names, bad boy. Capt. G. — You'll be called anything I choose. Has It ever occurred to you, Madam, that you are my Wife ? Mrs. G. — It has. I haven't ceased won- dering at it yet. Capt. G. — Nor I. It seems so strange ; and yet, somehow, It doesn't. ( Confidently.) You see, it could have been no one else. Mrs. G.— {Softly.) No. No one else — for me or for you. It must have been all arranged from the beginning. Phil, tell me again what made you care for me. J"" THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 91 Capt. G. — How could 1 help It ? You werejj'6'^, you know. Mrs. G. — Did you ever want to help It ? Speak the truth ! Capt. G. — {A twinkle in his eye.) I did, darling, just at the first. But only at the very first. (C/iuck/es.) I called you — stoop low and I'll whisper — ''a little beast." Ho ! Ho ! Ho! Mrs. G. — ( Taking him by the mustache and making him sit up.) ''A — little — beast ! " Stop laughing over your crime ! And yet you had the — the — awful cheek to propose to me ! Capt. G. — I'd changed my mind then. And you weren't a little beast any more. Mrs. G. — Thank you, Sir! And when was I ever? Capt. G. — Never I But that first day, when you gave me tea in that peach-colored muslin gown thing, you looked — you did Indeed, dear — such an absurd little mite. And I didn't know what to say to you. Mrs. G. — ( Twisting mustache?) So 92 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. you said '' little beast." Upon my word, Sir ! /called 7^^ a " Crrrreature," but I wish now I had called you something worse. Capt. G. — {Very meekly^ I apologize, but you're hurting me awfly. {Inter hide?) You're welcome to torture me again on those terms. Mrs. G. — Oh, ivhy did you let me do It? Capt. G. — {Looking across valley^ No reason In particular, but — if It amused you or did you any good — you might — wipe those dear little boots of yours on me. Mrs. G. — {Stretching out her hands,) Don't ! Oh, don't ! Philip, my King, please don't talk like that. It's how /feel. You're so much too good for me. So much too good ! Capt. G. — Me ! I'm not fit to put my arm round you. {Puts it roimd.) Mrs. G. — Yes, you are. But I — what have I ever done ? Capt. G. — Given me a wee bit of your heart, haven't you, my Queen ? IHE GARDEN OF EDEN, 93 Mrs. G. — That's nothing. Any one would do that. They cou — couldn't help It. Caff. G. — Pussy, you'll make me horribly conceited. Just when I was beginning to feel so humble, too. Mrs. G. — Humble! I don't believe It's in your character. Capt. G. — What do you know of my char- acter, Impertinence? Mrs. G. — Ah, but I shall, shan't I, Phil? I shall have time in all the years and years to come, to know everything about you ; and there will be no secrets between us. Capt. G. — Little witch ! I believe you know me thoroughly already. Mrs. G. — I think I can guess. You're selfish ? Capt. G. — Yes. Mrs. G. — Foolish ? Capt. G. — Very. Mrs. G. — And a dear? Capt. G. — That is as my lady pleases. Mrs. G. — Then your lady is pleased. {A pause.) D'you know that weVe two sol- emn, serious, grown-up people — 94 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Capt. G. — ( Tilting her straw hat over her eyes.) You grown up ! Pooh ! You're a baby. Mrs. G. — And we're talking nonsense. Capt. G. — Then let's go on talking non- sense. I rather like it. Pussy, I'll tell you a secret. Promise not to repeat ? Mrs. G. — Ye — es. Only to you. Capt. G. — I love you. Mrs. G. — Re-ally ! For how long ? Capt. G. — For ever and ever. Mrs. G. — That's a long time. Capt. G. — 'Think so ? It's the shortest / can do with. Mrs. G. — You're getting quite clever. Capt. G. — I'm talking to you. Mrs. G. — Prettily turned. Hold up your stupid old head and I'll pay you for it ! Capt. G. — {^Affecting supreme contempt?) Take it yourself if you want it. Mrs. G. — I've a great mind to . . . and I will ! ( Takes it, arid is repaid with interest^ Capt. G. — Little Featherweight, it's my opinion that we are a couple of idiots. THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 95 Mrs. G. — We're the only two sensible people in the world ! Ask the eagle. He's coming by. Capt. G. — Ah ! I dare say he's seen a good many " sensible people " at Mahasu. They say that those birds live for ever so long. Mrs. G. — How long ? Capt. G. — A hundred and twenty years. Mrs. G. — A hundred and twenty years! O-oh ! And in a hundred and twenty years where will these two sensible people be ? Capt. G. — What does it matter so long as we are together now ? Mrs. G. — (^Looking round the horizon^ Yes. Only you and I — I and you — in the whole wide, wide world until the end. {^Sees the line of the Snows?) How big and quiet the hills look! D'you think they care for us? Capt. G. — 'Can't say I've consulted 'em particularly. / care, and that's enough for me. Mrs. G. — {^Drawing nearer to him.) 96 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Yes, now . . . but afterwards. What's that little black blur on the Snows ? Capt. G. — A snowstorm, forty miles away. You'll see it move, as the wind car- ries it across the face of that spur, and then it will be all gone. Mrs. G. — And then it will be all gone. (^Shivers ?j Capt. G. — {AjzxioMsiy.) 'Not chilled, pet, are you ? 'Better let me get your cloak. Mrs. G. — No. Don't leave me, Phil. Stay fiere. I believe I am afraid. Oh, why are the hills so horrid / Phil, promise me, promise me that you'll always, always love me. Capt. G. — What's the trouble, darling? I can't promise any more than I have ; but I'll promise that again and again if you like. Mrs. G. — (^Her head on his shoulder.) Say it, then — say it ! N-no — don't ! The — the — eagles would laugh. {^Recozming'.) My husband, you've married a little goose. Capt. G. — ( Very tenderly.) Have I ? I am content w^hatever she is, so long as she is mine. THE GARDEN OF EDEN, 9/ Mrs. G. — (^Quickly?) Because she is yours or because she Is me mineself ? Capt. G. — Because she is both. (P/A eously.) I'm not clever, dear, and I don't think I can make myself understood properly. Mrs. G. — / understand. Pip, will you tell me something ? Capt. G. — Anything you like. (AstWe.) I wonder what's coming now. Mrs. G. — (^Haltingly, her eyes lowered^ You told me once in the old days — centuries and centuries ago — that you had been en- gaged before. I didn't say anything — theti, Capt. G. — {lujiocently.) Why not ? Mrs. G. — (^Raising her eyes to his.) Because — because I was afraid of losing you, my heart. But now — tell about it — please. Capt. G. — There's nothing to tell. I was awf'ly old then — nearly two and twenty — and she was quite that. Mrs. G. — That means she was older than you. I shouldn't like her to have been younger. Well ? 98 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Capt. G. — Well, I fancied myself In love and raved about a bit, and — oh, yes, by Jove ! I made up poetry. Ha ! Ha ! Mrs. G. — You never wrote any for me I What happened ? Capt. G. — I came out here, and the whole thing went phut. She wrote to say that there had been a mistake, and then she married. Mrs. G. — Did she care for you much ? Capt. G. — No. At least she didn't show it as far as I remember. Mrs. G. — As far as you remember ! Do you remember her name ? {^Hears it and bows her head?) Thank you, my husband. Capt. G. — Who but you had the right ? Now, Little Featherweight, have you ever been mixed up in any dark and dismal tragedy ? Mrs. G. — If you call me Mrs. Gadsby, p'raps I'll tell. Capt. G. — {Throwing Parade rasp into his voice?) Mrs. Gadsby, confess ! Mrs. G. — Good Heavens, Phil ! I never THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 99 knew that you could speak in that terrible voice. Capt. G. — You don't know half my accomplishments yet. Wait till we are settled in the Plains, and I'll show you how I bark at my troop. You were going to say, darling ? Mrs. G. — I — I don't like to, after that voice. (^Tremulously.) Phil, never you dare to speak to me in that tone, whatever I may do ! Capt. G. — My poor little love ! Why, you're shaking all over. I am so sorry. Of course I never meant to upset you. Don't tell me anything. I'm a brute. Mrs. G. — No, you aren't, and I will tell. . . . There was a man. Caff. G. — {Lig'htly.) Was there ? Lucky man ! Mrs. G. — {In a whisper.) And I thought I cared for him. Capt. G. — Still luckier man ! Well ? Mrs. G. — And I thought I cared for him — and I didn't — and then you came — and 100 THE STORY OF THE GADSBVS, I cared for you very, very much indeed. That's all. (^Face hidden.) You aren't angry, are you ? Capt. G. — Angry ? Not In the least. {Aside.') Good Lord, what have I done to deserve this angel ? Mrs. G. — (Aside.) And he never asked for the name ! How funny men are ! But perhaps it's as well. Capt. G. — That man will go to heaven because you once thought you cared for him. 'Wonder if you'll ever drag me up there ? Mrs. G. — {Firmly.) 'Sha'n't go if you don't. Capt. G. — Thanks. I say, Pussy, I don't know much about your religious beliefs. You were brought up to believe in a heaven and all that, weren't you ? Mrs. G. — Yes. But it was a pincushion heaven, with hymn-books in all the pews. Capt. G. — ( Wagging his head with in- tense conviction.) Never mind. There is a pukka heaven. THE GARDEN OF EDEN, lOI Mrs. G. — Where do you bring that mes- sage from, my prophet ? Capt. G. — Here ! Because we care for each other. So it's all right. Mrs. G. — i^As a troop of langurs crash through the branches^ So it's all right. But Darwin says that we came from those ! Capt. G. — (^Placidly?) Ah ! Darwin was never in love with an angel. That settles it. Sstt, you brutes ! Monkeys, in- deed ! You shouldn't read those books. Mrs. G. — (^Folding her hands}) If it pleases my Lord the King to issue proclama- tion. Capt. G. — Don't, dear one. There are no orders between us. Only I'd rather you didn't. They lead to nothing, and bother people's heads. Mrs. G. — Like your first engagement. Capt. G. — ( With an immense calm?) That was a necessary evil and led to you. Are you nothing ? Mrs. G. — Not so very much, am I ? Capt. G. — All this world and the next to me. 102 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mrs. G. — ( Very softly^ My boy of boys ! Shall I tell you something ? Capt. G. — Yes, if it's not dreadful — about other men. Mrs. G. — It's about my own bad little self. Capt. G. — Then it must be good. Go on, dear. Mrs. G. — (^Slowly.) I don't know why I'm telling you, Pip ; but if ever you marry again — {Interlude.) Take your hand from my mouth or I'll bite I — In the future, then remember ... I don't know quite how to put it ! Capt. G. — {^Snorting indignantly?) Don't try. " Marry again," indeed ! Mrs. G. — I must. Listen, my husband. Never, never, 7iever tell your wife anything that you do not wish her to remember and think over all her life. Because a woman — yes, I am a woman, Sir — cant forget. Capt. G. — By Jove, how do you know that ? Mrs. G. — (^Confusedly?) I don't. I'm THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 103 only guessing. I am — I was — a silly little girl ; but I feel that I know so much, oh, so very much more than you, dearest. To begin with, I'm your wife. Capt. G. — So I have been led to believe. Mrs. G. — And I shall want to know every one of your secrets — to share everything you know with you. {^Stares round desper- ately for lucidity a7id coherence,^ Capt. G. — So you shall, dear, so you shall — but don't look like that. Mrs. G. — For your own sake don't stop me, Phil. I shall never talk to you in this way again. You must not tell me ! At least, not now. Later on, when I'm an old matron it won't matter, but if you love me, be very good to me now ; for this part of my life I shall never forget ! Have I made you under- stand ? Capt. G. — I think so, child. Have I said anything yet that you disapprove of? Mrs. G. — Will you be very angry ? That — that voice, and what you said about the engagement — 104 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, Capt. G. — But you asked to be told that; darling. Mrs. G. — And that's why you shouldn't have told me ! You must be the judge, and, oh, Pip, dearly as I love you, I sha'n't be able to help you ! I shall hinder you, and you must judge In spite of me ! Capt. G. — (^Meditatively.') We have a great many things to find out together, God help us both — say so. Pussy — but v^e shall understand each other better every day ; and I think I'm beginning to see now. How In the world did you come to know just the Importance of giving me just that lead ? Mrs. G. — I've told you that I dont know. Only somehow it seemed that, in all this new life, I was being guided for your sake as well as my own. Capt. G. — (Aside.) Then Mafflin was right ! They know, and we — we're blind — all of us. (Lightly^ 'Getting a little be- yond our depth, dear, aren't we? I'll re- member, and, if I fail, let me be punished as I deserve. THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 1 05 Mrs. G. — There shall be no punishment. We'll start into life together from here — you and I — and no one else. Capt. G. — And no one else. {^A pause?) Your eyelashes are all wet, Sweet? Was there ever such a quaint little Absurdity ? Mrs. G. — Was there ever such nonsense talked before ? Capt. G. — (^Knocking the ashes out of his pipe.^ 'TIsn't what we say, It's what we don't say. that helps. And It's all the profoundest philosophy. But no one would understand — even If It were put Into a book. Mrs. G. — The Idea ! No — only we our- selves, or people like ourselves — If there are any people like us. Capt. G. — (^Magisterially^ All people, not like ourselves, are blind Idiots. Mrs. G. — (^Wiping her eyes.) Do you think, then, that there are any people as happy as we are ? Cafp. G. — 'Must be — unless weVe ap- propriated all the happiness in the world. Mrs. G. — (Loohii/g towards Simla.) Poor dears ! Just fancy if we have ! I06 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Capt. G. — Then we'll hang on to the whole show, for it's a great deal too jolly to lose — eh, wife o' mine ? Mrs. G. — Oh, Pip, Pip! How much of you Is a solemn, married man and how much a horrid, slangy school-boy ? Capt. G. — When you tell me how much of you was eighteen last birthday and how much is as old as the Sphinx and twice as mysterious, perhaps I'll attend to you. Lend me that banjo. The spirit moveth me to yowl at the sunset. Mrs. G. — Mind ! It's not tuned. Ah ! How that jars ! Capt. G. — (^Turning' pegs,) It's amaz- ingly difficult to keep a banjo to proper pitch. Mrs. G. — It's the same with all musical instruments. What shall It be ? Capt. G. — "Vanity," and let the hills hear. (^Sing's through the fii^st ajid half of the second verse. Turning to Mrs. G.) Now, chorus ! Sing, Pussy ! Both together. — ( Con brio, to tJie horror THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 107 of the monkeys who are settling for the night. ^ " Vanity, all is Vanity," said Wisdom, scorn- ing me — I clasped my true Love's tender hand and answered frank and free — ee : — " If this be Vanity who'd be wise ? If this be Vanity who'd be wise ? If this be Vanity who'd be wi — ise ? {Crescendo?) — Vanity let it be ! " Mrs. G. — {^Defiantly to the gray of the evening sky. ) '' Vanity let it be ! " Echo. — {From the Fagoo spur.) Let it be! CURTAIN. FATIMA. " And you may go into every room of the house and see everything that is there, but into the Blue Room you must not go.'" — The Story of Blue Beard. Scene. — The Gadsbys bungalow in the Plains. Time, ii a. m., on a Sunday morning. Captain Gadsby, in his shirt- sleeves, is bending over a complete set of Hussar s equipment, from saddle to picket- ing-rope, which is neatly spread over the floor of his study. He is smoking an un- clean briar, and his forehead is puckered with thought. Caw. G. — ( To himself , fingering a head- stall^ Jack's an ass ! There's enough brass on this to load a mule . . . and, if the Amer- icans know anything about anything, it can be cut down to a bit only. 'Don't want the io8 ' FATIMA, 109 watering-bridle, either. Humbug ! . . . Half a dozen sets of chains and pulleys for the same old horse ! (^Scratching- his head.) Now, let's consider it all over from the beginning. By Jove, I've forgotten the scale of weights ! Ne'er mind. 'Keep the bit only, and elim- inate every boss from the crupper to the breastplate. No breastplate at all. Simple leather strap across the breast — like the Russians. Hi ! Jack never thought oi that ! Mrs. G. — (^Entcri^ig hastily, her hand boimd in a cloth}) Oh, Pip ! I've scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam. Capt. G. — {Abse7itly>) Eh ! Wha-at ? Mrs. G. — ( With round- eyed reproach^ I've scalded it <^zf-fully ! Aren't you sorry? And I did so want that jam to jam properly. Capt. G. — Poor little woman ! Let me kiss the place and make it well. {Lhirolling bandage?) You small sinner ! Where's that scald ? I can't see it. Mrs. G. — On the top of the little fmger. There ! — It's a most 'normous big burn ! CAFr. G. — (^Kissing- little Jinger.) Baby ! no THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, Let Hyder look after the jam. You know I don't care for sweets. Mrs. G. — In-deed ? ... Pip ! Capt. G. — Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Minnie, and leave me to my own base devices. I'm busy. Mrs. G. — ( Calmly settling herself in long chair.) So I see. What a mess you're making ! Why have you brought all that smelly leather stuff Into the house ? Capt. G. — To play with. Do you mind, dear ? Mrs. G. — Let nie play, too. I'd like It. Caff. G. — I'm afraid you wouldn't. Pussy. . . . Don't you think that jam will burn, or whatever it is that jam does when It's not looked after by a clever little housekeeper ? Mrs. G. — I thought you said Hyder could attend to It. I left him In the veranda, stir- ring — when I hurt myself so. Caff. G. — (^His eye retnrning to the cqui'pment?) Po-oor little woman ! . . . Three pound four and seven is three eleven, and that can be cut down to two eicrht, with FAT/MA. Ill just a lee-t\Q care, without weakening any- thing. Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands. What's the use of a shoe-case when a man's scouting ? He can't stick it on with a lick — like a stamp — the shoe ! Skittles ! Mrs. G. — What's skittles ? Pah ! What is this leather cleaned with ? Capt. G. — Cream and champagne and . . . Look here, dear, do you really want to talk to me about anything important ? Mrs. G. — No. I've done my accounts, and I thought I'd like to see what you're doinof. Capt. G. — Well, love, now you've seen and . . . Would you mind ? . . . That is to say . . . Minnie, I really am busy. Mrs. G. — You want me to go ? CxvT. G. — Yes, dear, for a little while. This tobacco will hang in your dress, and saddlery doesn't interest you. Mrs. G. — Everything you do interests me, Pip. Capt. G. — Yes, I know, I know, dear. I'll tell you all about it some day when I've 112 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, put a head on this thing. In the mean- time . . . Mrs. G. — I'm to be turned out of the room like a troublesome child ? Capt. G. — No-o. I don't mean that ex- actly. But, you see, I shall be tramping up and down, shifting these things to and fro, and I shall be in your way. Don't you think so ? Mrs. G. — Can't I lift them about ? Let me try. (^Reaches forward to troopers saddle^ Capt. G. — Good gracious, child, don't touch it. You'll hurt yourself. {Picking up saddle?) Little girls aren't expected to handle numdahs. Now, where would you like it put ? {Holds saddle above his head.) Mrs. G. — {A break in her voice?) No- where. Pip, how good you are — and how strong! Oh, what's that ugly red streak in- side your arm ? Capt. G. — {Lozvering saddle quickly?) Nothing. It's a mark of sorts. {Aside?) And Jack's coming to tiffin with his notions all cut and dried ! FATIMA. 113 Mrs. G. — I know It's a mark, but I've never seen it before. It runs all up the arm. What is it ? Capt. G. — A cut — If you want to know. Mrs. G. — Want to know ! Of course I do ! I can't have my husband cut to pieces in this way. How did it come ? Was it an accident ? Tell me, Pip. Capt. G. — (^Grimly?) No. 'Twasn't an accident. I got It — from a man — in Afghanistan. Mrs. G. — In action ? Oh, Pip, and you never told me ! Capt. G. — I'd forgotten all about It. Mrs. G. — Hold up your arm ! What a horrid, ugly scar ! Are you sure It doesn't hurt now ? How did the man give it you ? Capi\ G. — i^Despe^^ately looking at his watch?) With a knife. I came down — Old Van Loo did, that's to say — and fell on my leg, so I couldn't run. And then this man came up and began chopping at me as I sprawled. 114 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mrs. G. — Oh, don't, don't! That's enough ! . . . Well, what happened ? Capt. G. — I couldn't get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner and stopped the performance. Mrs. G. — How ? He's such a lazy man, I don't believe he did. Capt. G. — Don't you ? I don't think the man had much doubt about it. Jack cut his head off. Mrs. G. — Cut — his— head— off ! *' With one below " as they say in the books ? Capt. G. — I'm not sure. I was too inter- ested in myself to know much about it. Anyhow, the head was off, and Jack was punching old Van Loo in the ribs to make him get up. Now you know all about it, dear, and now ... Mrs. G. — You want me to go, of course. You never told me about this, though I've been married to you for ever so long ; and you never would have told me if I hadn't found out ; and you never do tell me any- thing about yourself, or what you do, or what you take an interest in. FA TIM A, 115 Capt, G. — Darling, I'm always with you, aren't I ? Mrs. G. — Always In my pocket, you were going to say. I know you are ; but you are always thinking away from me. Capt. G. — ( Trying to hide a smile?) Am I? I wasn't aware of it. I'm awf'ly sorry. Mrs. G. — {Piteously.) Oh, don't make fun of me ! Pip, you know what I mean. When you are reading one of those things about Cavalry, by that idiotic Prince — why doesn't he be a Prince instead of a stable- boy ? Capt. G. — Prince Kraft a stable-boy ! Oh, my Aunt ! Never mind, dear ! You were going to say ? Mrs. G. — It doesn't matter. You don't care for what I say. Only — only you get up and walk about the room, staring in front of you, and then Mafflin comes in to dinner, and after I'm in the drawing-room I can hear you and him talking, and talking, and talk- ing, about things I can't understand, and — 1 1 6 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. oh, I get SO tired and feel so lonely ! — I don't want to complain and be a trouble, Pip ; but I do — Indeed I do ! Capt. G. — My poor darling ! I never thought of that. Why don't you ask some nice people In to dinner ? Mrs. G. — Nice people ! Where am I to find them ? Horrid frumps ! And if I did, I shouldn't be amused. You know I only want j(??^. Caff. G. — And you have me surely, Sweetheart ? Mrs. G. — I have not ! Pip, why don't you take me Into your life ? Capt. G. — More than I do ? That would be difficult, dear. Mrs. G. — Yes, I suppose It would — to you. I'm no help to you — no companion to you ; and you like to have It so. Capt. G. — Aren't you a little unreason- able, Pussy? Mrs. G. — (^Stampmg her foot?) I'm the most reasonable woman In the world — when I'm treated properly. FATIMA. 117 Capt. G. — And since when have I been treating you improperly ? Mrs. G. — Always — and since the begin- ning. You hiow you have. Capt. G. — I don't. But I'm willing to be convinced. Mrs. G. — (^Pointing to saddlery^ There ! Capt. G. — How do you mean ? Mrs. G. — What does all that mean ? Why am I not to be told ? Is It so precious ? Capt. G. — I forget Its exact Government value just at present. It means that it is a great deal too heavy. Mrs. G. — Then why do you touch It ? Capt. G. — To make It lighter. See here, little love, I've one notion and Jack has another, but we are both agreed that all this equipment Is about thirty pounds too heavy. The thing Is how to cut It down without weakening any part of it, and, at the same time, allowing the trooper to carry every- thing he wants for his own comfort — socks and shirts and things of that kind. Il8 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mrs. G. — Why doesn't he pack them in a little trunk ? Capt. G. — {Kissing her.) Oh, you dar- ling ! Pack them in a little trunk, indeed ! Hussars don't carry trunks, and it's a most important thing to make the horse do all the carrying. Mrs. G. — But why need you bother about it ? You're not a trooper. Capt. G. — No ; but I command a few score of him ; and equipment is nearly everything in these days. Mrs. G. — More than me ? Capt. G. — Stupid ! Of course not ; but it's a matter that I'm tremendously interested in, because if I or Jack, or I and Jack, hack out some sort of lighter saddlery and all that, it's possible that we may get it adopted. Mrs. G. — How ? Capt. G. — Sanctioned at Home, where they will make a sealed pattern — a pattern that all the saddlers must copy — and so it will be used by all the regiments. Mrs. G. — And that interests you ? FA77MA. 119 Capt. G. — It's part of my profession, y'know, and my profession is a good deal to me. Everything in a soldier's equipment is important, and if we can improve that equip- ment, so much the better for the soldiers and for us. Mrs. G.— Who's ''us"? Capt. G. — Jack and I, though Jack's notions are too radical. What's that big sigh for, Minnie ? Mrs. G. — Oh, nothing . . . and you've kept all this a secret from me ! Why ? Capt. G. — Not a secret, exactly, dear. I didn't say anything about it to you because I didn't think it would amuse you. Mrs. G. — And am I only made to be amused ? Capt. G. — No, of course. I merely mean that It couldn't interest you. Mrs. G. — It's your work and — and if you'd let me, I'd count all these things up. If they are too heavy, you know by how much they are too heavy, and you must have a list of things made out to your scale of lightness, and — I20 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Capt. G. — I have got both scales some- where In my head ; but It's hard to tell how light you can make a headstall, for Instance, until you've actually had a model made. Mrs. G. — But If you read out the list, I could copy it down, and pin It up there just above your table. Wouldn't that do ? Capt. G. — It would be awf 'ly nice, dear, but It would be giving you trouble for noth- ing. I can't work that way. I go by rule of thumb. I know the present scale of weights, and the other one — the one that I'm trying to work to — will shift and vary so much that I couldn't be certain, even if I wrote It down. Mrs. G. — I'm so sorry. I thought I might help. Is there anything else that I could be of use In ? Capt. G. — (^Looking round the room.) I can't think of anything. You're always help- ing me, you know. Mrs. G.— Ami? How? Capt. G. — You are you of course, and as long as you're near me — I can't explain exactly, but it's In the air. ,^^1^ FATIMA. 121 Mrs. G. — And that's why you wanted to send me away? Capt. G. — That's only when I'm trying to do work — grubby work like this. Mrs. G. — Mafflin's better, then, isn't he? Capt. G. — (^Rashly.) Of course he is. Jack and I have been thinking down the same groove for two or three years aUgut this equipment. It's our hobby, and it may really be useful some day. Mrs. G. — {After a pause ^ And that's all that you have away from me ? Capt. G. — It isn't very far away from you now. Take care that the oil on that bit doesn't come off on your dress. Mrs. G. — I wish — I wish so much that I could really help you. I believe I could . . . if I left the room. But that's not what I mean. Capt. G. — (Aside.) Give me patience ! I wish she would go. {Aloud.) I assure you you can't do anything for me, Minnie, and I must really settle down to this. Where's my pouch ? 122 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Mrs. G. : — {Crossing to writing-table^ Here you are, Bear. What a mess you keep your table In ! Capt. G. — Don't touch it. There's a method In my madness, though you mightn't think It. Mrs. Q,— {At table) I want to look. . . . Do you keep accounts, Pip ? Capt. G. — {Bending over saddlery?) Of a sort. Are you rummaging among the Troop papers ? Be careful. Mrs. G. — Why? I shan't disturb any- thing. Good gracious ! I had no Idea that you had anything to do with so many sick horses. Capt. G. — 'Wish I hadn't, but they Insist on falling sick. Minnie, If I were you I really should not Investigate those papers. You may come across something that you won't like. Mrs. G. — Why will you always treat me like a child ? I know I'm not displacing the horrid things. Capt. G. — {Resignedly.) \'cry well, then. FA TIM A. 123 Don't blame me if anything happens. Play with the table and let me go on with the saddlery. {Slipping hand into trousers- pocket.^ Oh, the deuce ! Mrs. G. — i^Her back to G.) What's that for? Capt. G. — Nothing. (Aside.) There's not much of importance in it, but I wish I'd torn it up. Mrs. G. — ( Turning over contents of table ^ I know you'll hate me for this ; but I do want to see what your work is like. (A pause?) Pip, what are '' farcy-buds " ? Capt. G. — Hah ! Would you really like to know ? They aren't pretty things. Mrs. G. — This Journal of Veterinary Science says they are of "absorbing inter- est." Tell me. Capt. G. — (Aside?) It may turn her attention. Gives a long and designedly loathsome account o^ glanders and farcy. Mrs. G. — Oh, that's enough. Don't go on ! 124 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. Caff. G. But you wanted to know. . . . Then these things suppurate and matterate and spread — Mrs. G. — Pip, you're making me sick ! You're a horrid, disgusting school-boy. Capt. G. — ( On his knees among the bridles^ You asked to be told. It's not my fault if you worry me into talking about horrors. Mrs. G. — Why didn't you say — No ? Capt. G. — Good Heavens, child ! Have you come in here simply to bully me ? Mrs. G. — I bully you ? How could I ! You're so strong. {Hysterically?) Strong enough to pick me up and put me outside the door, and leave me there to cry. Aren't you ? Capt. G. — It seems to me that you're an irrational little baby. Are you quite well ? Mrs. G. — Do I look ill ? . {Rettirning to table.) Who is your lady friend with the big gray envelope and the fat monogram outside ? Capt. G. — {Aside.') Then it wasn't in FATIMA. 125 the drawers, confound it. {Aloud.) *' God made her, therefore let her pass for a woman." You remember what farcy-buds are like ? Mrs. G. — {Showing envelope.) This has nothing to do with them. I'm going to open it. May I ? Capt. G. — Certainly, if you want to. I'd sooner you didn't, though. I don't ask to look at your letters to the Deercourt girl. Mrs. G. — You'd better not. Sir ! ( Takes letter from envelope?) Now, may I look ? If you say no, I shall ciy. Capt. G. — You've never cried in my knowledge of you, and I don't believe you could. Mrs. G. — I feel very like it to-day, Pip. Don't be hard on me. {Reads letter?) It begins in the middle, without any '' Dear Captain Gadsby," or anything. How funny ! CAn\ G. — {Aside.) No, it's not Dear Captain Gadsby, or anything, now. How funny ! Mrs. G.- What a strange letter ! {Reads.) 126 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS. *' And SO the moth has come too near the candle at last, and has been singed into — shall I say Respectability ? I congratulate him, and hope he will be as happy as he deserves to be." What does that mean ? Is she congratulating you about our marriage ? Capt. G. — Yes, I suppose so. Mrs. G. — instill reading letter?) She seems to be a particular friend of yours. Capt. G. — Yes. She was excellent matron of sorts — a Mrs. Herriott — wife of a Colonel Herriott. I used to know some of her people at Home long ago — before I came out. Mrs. G. — Some Colonels' wives are young — as young as me. I knew one who was younger. CAFr. G. — Then it couldn't have been Mrs. Herriott. She was old enough to have been your mother, dear. Mrs. G. — I remember now. Mrs. Scargill was talking about her at the Duffins' tennis, before you came for me, on Tuesday. Cap- tain Mafflin said she was a " dear old woman." FAIIMA. 127 Do you know, I think Mafflin is a very clumsy man with his feet. Capt. G. — {Aside.) Good old Jack! {Aloud.) Why, dear? Mrs. G. — He had put his cup down on the ground then, and he hterally stepped into it. Some of the tea spirted over my dress — the gray one. I meant to tell you about it before. Caff. G. — {Aside.) There are the mak- ings of a strategist about Jack, though his methods are coarse. {Aloud.) You'd better get a new dress, then. {Aside.) Let us pray that that will turn her. Mrs. G. — Oh, it isn't stained in the least. I only thought that I'd tell you. {Returning to letter.) What an extraordinary person ! {Reads.) *' But need I remind you that you have taken upon yourself a charge of ward- ship " — what in the world is a charge of wardship ? — '' which, as you yourself know, may end in Consequences "... Capt. G. — {Aside.) It's safest to let 'em see everything as they come across it ; but 'seems to me that there are exceptions to the 128 THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, rule. {Alotcd.) I told you that there was nothing to be gained from rearranging my table. Mrs. G. — {Absently.) What does the woman mean ? She goes on talking about Consequences — ''almost inevitable Conse- quences " with a capital C — for half a page. {Fltcshing- scarlet.) Oh, good gracious ! How abominable ! Capt. G. — {Promptly.) Do you think so ? Doesn't it show a sort of motherly in- terest in us ? {Aside.) Thank Heaven, Harry always wrapped her meaning up safely ! {Aloud.) Is It absolutely necessary to go on with the letter, darling? Mrs. G. — It's Impertinent — it's simply horrid. What right has this woman to write in this way to you ? She oughtn't to. Capt. G. — When you write to the Deercourt girl, I notice that you generally fill three or four / sheets. Can't you let an old woman babble on paper once in a way ? She means well. Mrs. G. — I don't care. She shouldn't write, and If she did, you ought to have shown me her letter. FA TIM A, 129 Capt. G. — Can't you understano something! 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 wsy you look at it, you ought to. You who could go so far! " *' I dor^'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 ungloved paw that rested on the turned-backed 'rickshatv hood, and, looking the man full in the face, said tenderly, almost too tenderly, " / believe in you if you mis- trust yourself. Is that enough, my friend ? " " It is enough," answered Otis very solemnly. He was silent for a long time, redreaming the dreams that he had dreamed eight years 2l6 UNDER THE DEODARS. ago, but through them all ran, as sheet-light- ning 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 deso- late land worth the living. Gradually it went abroad among men and women, in the pauses between dance, play, and Gymkhana, that Otis Yeere, the man with the newly lit light of self-confidence . in his eyes, had " done something decent " in the wilds \vhence he came. He had brought an erring Munici- pality 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 avast knowledge of the aboriginal tribes ; was, in spite of his juniority, the greatest authority on the abo- riginal Gullals. No one quite knew who or what the Gullals 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 hill- men, somewhere near Sikkim, whose friend- THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YE ERE. 21/ ship even the Great Indian Empire would find it worth her while to secure. Now we know that Otis Yeere had showed Mrs. Hauksbee his M.S. notes of six years' stand- ing on these same Gullah. 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 *' intelli- gent local board " for a set of haramzadas. Which act of '' brutal and tyrannous oppres- sion " won him a Reprimand Royal from the Bengal Government ; but in the anecdote as amended for Northern consumption we find no record of this. Hence we are forced to conclude that Mrs. Hauksbee ^' edited " his reminiscences 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. 2l8 UNDER THE DEODARS. 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 dis- posal, proud of himself 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 be 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 impos- sible to say. This lamentable thing befell, bred directly by a statement of Mrs. Hauks- THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YE ERE 2ig bee 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." Otis Yeere *' stopped dead," as Mrs. Hauksbee put it in discussing the relapse with Mrs. Mallowe. '' He has behaved," she said angrily, "just like Captain 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 disappoint 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 — o, not at a dance," said Mrs. Mal- lowe cautiously. *' Men are never themselves 220 UNDER THE DEODARS. quite at dances. Better wait till to-morrow morning." *' Nonsense. If he's going to revert 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 sha'n'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! oh! oh! The man's an idiot! A raving, positive idiot ! 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 .f^" said Mrs. Mallowe, 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. But you know what I mean I said. Then it was a THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YE ERE. 221 square, and I sat it out with him and wanted an explanation, and he said — Oh ! I haven't patience with such idiots ! You know what I said about going to DarjiHng next year? It doesn't matter to me where I go. I'd have changed the Station and lost the rent to 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 DarjiHng, 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 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 rr^^/^ 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 ! " 222 UNDER THE DEODARS, " Very few men understand devotion thoroughly." *' Oh Polly, dont 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 can't help laughing at it now, though I felt nearly ready to cry with rage. He raved and I stormed — I'm afraid we must have made an awful noise in our kala jug g ah. Protect my character, dear, if it's all over Simla by to-morrow — and then he bobbed forward in the middle of this insanity ■ — I firmly believe the man's demented — and kissed me." " Morals above reproach," purred Mrs. Mallowe. '' So they were — so they are ! It was the most absurd kiss. I don't believe he'd ever kissed a woman in his life before. I threw THE EDUCATION OF OTIS VEERE. 223 my head back, and it was a sort of slidy, pecking dab, just on the end of the chin — here." Mrs. Hauksbee tapped her rather masculine chin with her fan. '' Then, of course, I was furiously angry, and told him that he was no gentleman, and I was sorry Fd 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! before — oceans before. Isn't it perfectly disgusting ? " '' 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. 224 UNDER THE DEODARS. ** Last wreck of a feeble intellect ! Poetry ! Is it his own, do you think ? Oh, that I ever built my hopes on such a maudlin idiot ! " *' No. It's a quotation from Mrs. Brown- ing, and, in view of the facts of the case, as Jack says, uncommonly well chosen. Listen : Sweet thou hast trod on a heart — Pass ! 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? '^ didn't — I didn't — I didn't!"— said Mrs. Hauksbee angrily, her eyes filling with tears ; ** there was no malice at all. Oh, it's too vexatious ! " " You've misunderstood the compliment," said Mrs. Mallowe. " He clears you com- pletely and — ahem — I should think by this, that he has cleared completely too. My ex- THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE. 225 perience 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 can never tell about 2. man!'' said Mrs. Hauksbee with deep scorn. Reviewing the matter as an Impartial out- sider. It strikes me that I'm about the only person who has profited by the education of Otis Yeere. It comes to twenty-seven pages and bittock. AT THE PIT'S MOUTH. Men say it was a stolen tide — The Lord that sent it he 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 unwisest. The Man should have looked after his Wife, who should have avoided the Tertium Quid, who, again, should have mar- ried a wife of his own, after clean and open flirtations, to which nobody can possibly 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 AT THE PIT'S MOUTH. 227 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 ap- pointments, and take an interest in his wel- fare, 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 horse- back, but it was to meet the Man's Wife ; and when he fiew 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 inexpen- sive luxuries of that kind. He worked very hard, and sent her a letter or a post-card daily. She also wrote to him daily, and 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- office together. Now, Simla is a strange place, and Its customs are peculiar ; nor is any man who has not spent at least ten seasons there 228 UNDER THE DEODARS. qualified to pass judgment on circumstantial 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 relations between the Man's Wife and the Tertlum Quid. If there was, and hereon you must form your own opinion. It was the Man's Wife's fault. She was kittenish in her manners, wearing generally an air of soft and fluffy Innocence. But she was deadlily learned and evil-in- structed ; 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 fashion of treating friendships. Certain attachments which have set and crystallized 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 AT THE PIT'S MOUTH. 229 seem to win any recognized official status ; while a chance-sprung acquaintance, not two months old, 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 infinite toleration, and others have not. The Man's Wife had not. If she looked over the garden wall, for instance, women taxed her with stealing their husbands. She complained pathetically that she was not allowed to choose her own friends. When she put up her 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 had she been so per- mitted. She preferred some semblance of intrigue to cloak even her most commonplace actions. 230 UNDER THE DEODARS. After two months of riding, first round Jakko, then Elysium, then Summer Hill, then Observatory Hill, then under Jutogh, and lastly up and down the Cart Road 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 mustache, and replied that horrid people were un- worthy 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 husband 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 allowing her name to be so AT THE PIT'S MOUTH. 23 1 generally coupled with the Tertium Quid's ; that she was too much of a child to under- stand the dangers of that sort of thing ; that he, her husband, was the last fnan 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 let- ter was sweetened with many pretty little pet names, and it amused the Tertium Quid con- siderably. 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 report- ing. 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, 232 UNDER THE DEODARS, particularly when the procession passes under the wet, dank dip beneath the Rockcllffe Hotel, where the sun is shut out, and all the hfll 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 acquaintances who are far too busy amusing themselves up the hill to attend to old partners. The idea of using a Cemetery as a rendezvous is dis- tinctly a feminine one. A man would have said simply, " Let people talk. We'll go down the Mall.". A woman is made differ- ently, especially if she be such a woman as the Man's Wife. She and the Tertium Quid enjoyed each other's society among the graves of men and women that 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 die AT THE PIT'S MOUTH. .233 out and the ready-made ones are not ready. Any self-respecting Indian Cemetery 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 weak- ened 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 varying with the climate and population. One day when the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid had just arrived in the Ceme- tery, they saw some coolies breaking ground. They had marked out a full-size grave, and the Tertium Quid asked them whedier any Sahib was sick. They said that they did not know ; but it was an order that they should dig a Sahib's grave. "• Work away," said the Tertium Quid, ** and let's see how it's done." The coolies worked away, and the Man's 234 UNDER THE DEODARS. 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?" ''What's queer?" said the Man's Wife. "I have got a chill down my back — just as If a goose have walked over my grave." "Why do you look at the horror, 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 Cemetery any more. I don't think grave- dlgglng is cheerful." The two talked and agreed that the Ceme- tery was depressing. They also arranged for a ride next day out from the Cemetery through the Mashobra Tunnel up to Fagoo and back, because ail the world was going to AT THE PIT'S MOUTH. 235 a garden-party at Viceregal Lodge, and all the people of Mashobra would go too. Coming up the Cemetery road, the Ter- tium 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 Cemetery, after allowing all the Mashobra people time to pass into Simla. That night it rained heavily, and, next day, when the Tertium Quid came to the trystlng-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 sun shining divinely. The road below Ma- shobra to Fagoo is officially styled the 236 UNDER THE DEODARS. 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 Thibit," 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 hubbys 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 nervous grin — the sort of grin men wear when they are not quite easy in their saddles. The mare seemed to be sink- AT THE PIT'S MOUTH. 237 ing by the stern, and her nostrils cracked while she was trying to realize what was happening. The rain of the previous night 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. He grinned nervously 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 was glued to the saddle — his face blue and white — and he looked into the Man's Wife's eyes. Then the Man's Wife clutched at the mare's head and caught her by the nose instead of the bridle. The brute threw up her head and went down with a scream, the Tertium Quid upon her, and the nervous grin still set on his face. The Man's Wife heard the tinkle-tinkle of little stones and loose earth falling off the roadway, and the sliding roar of the man 238 UNDER THE DEODARS. and horse going down. Then everything was quiet, and she called on Frank to leave his mare and walk up. But Frank did not answer. He was underneath the mare, nine hundred feet below, spoiling a patch of Indian corn. As the revellers came back from Viceregal Lodge in the mists of the evening, they met a temporarily insane woman, on a tempo- rarily mad horse, swinging round the corners, with her eyes and her mouth open, and her head like the head of a Medusa. She was stopped by a man at the risk of his life, and taken out of the saddle, a limp heap, and put on the bank to explain herself. This wasted twenty minutes, and then she was sent home in a lady's 'rickshaw, still with her mouth open and her hands picking at her riding-gloves. She was in bed for the following three days, which were rainy; so she missed attending the funeral of the Tertium Quid, who was lowered into eighteen inches of water, instead of the twelve to which he had first objected. . A WAYSIDE COMEDY. Because to every purpose there is time and judgment ; there- fore the misery of man is great upon him. Eccl. via. 6. Fate and the Government of India have turned the Station of Kashima into a prison ; and, because there is no help for the poor souls who are now lying there in torment, I write this story, praying that the Government of India may be moved to scatter the Euro- pean population to the Four Winds. Kashima is bounded on all sides by the rock-tipped circle of the Dosehri hills. In Spring, it is ablaze with roses ; in Summer, the roses die and the hot winds blow from the hills; in Autumn, the white mists from the jkils cover the place as with water, and in Winter the frosts nip everything young and tender to carthrleveL There is but one view 240 UNDER THE DEODARS, in Kashima — that of a stretch of perfectly fiat pasture and plough-land, running up to the gray-blue scrub of the Dosehri hills. There are no amusements except snipe and tiger shooting ; but the tigers have been long since hunted from their lairs in the rock- caves, and the snipe only come once a year. Narkarra — one hundred and forty- three miles by road — is the nearest station to Kashima. But Kashima never goes to Nar- karra, where there are at least twelve English people. It stays within the circle of the Dosehri hills. All Kashima acquits Mrs. Vansuythen of any intention to do harm ; but all Kashima knows that she, and she alone, brought about their pain. Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain Kurrell know this. They are the English 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 wiU not A WAYSIDE COMEDY. 24 1 understand, that all laws weaken in a small and hidden community where there Is no public opinion. If the Israelites had been only a ten-tent camp of gypsies, their Head- man would never have taken the trouble to climb a hill and bring down the lithographed edition of the Decalogue, and a great deal of trouble would have been avoided. 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. Vansuythen 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 maliciously 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 242 UNDER THE DEODARS. was a fair woman, with very still gray eyes, the color 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 natural. 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. She knows and Is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to Kashlma ; but Major Van- suythen cannot understand 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. Vansuy- then came out of those far-away places where there Is society and amusement, Kurrell had discovered that Mrs. Boulte was the one A WAYSIDE COMEDY. 243 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 distant as Narkarra or the railway that ran down to the sea. But the Govern- ment 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 welcome. 244 UNDER THE DEODARS. Kashlma 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 Station, its rights and privileges. When the Vansuythens were settled down, they gave a tiny house-warming to all Kashima ; and that made Kashima 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 demon- stratively affectionate. They had been mar- ried twelve years, and 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 A WAYSIDE COMEDY. 245 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 beside ; 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 ear-shot — was slipping the links of the allegiance. ''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 Kashlma is as fortunate as Love, in that 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. Boulte came into the house one evening, and leaned against the door-posts of the 246 UNDER THE DEODARS. drawing-room, chewing his mustache. Mrs. Boulte was putting some flowers into a vase. There is a pretence of civiHzation 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 ^iv^ minutes, very distinctly, that there might be no misunderstanding her meaning. When Samson broke the pillars of Gaza, he did a little thing, and one not to be compared 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 cautious wife, to hold her hand. She struck a' Boulte's heart, because her A WAYSIDE COMEDY. 247 own was sick with suspicion of Kurrell, and worn out with the long strain of watching alone through the Rains. There was no plan or purpose in her speaking. The sen- tences made themselves ; and Boulte lis- tened, 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 breaking out into tears, he laughed and stared straight in front of him at the Dosehri hills. '' Is that all?" he said. *' Thanks, I only wanted to know, you know." *' What are you going to do ? " said the woman, between her sobs. "Do! Nothing. What should I do? Kill Kurrell or send you Home, or apply for leave to get a divorce ? It's two days' dak into Narkarra." He laughed again and went on : " ril 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." 248 UNDER THE DEODARS. He took Up his helmet and went out of the room, and Mrs. Boulte sat till the moon- light streaked the floor, thinking and think- ing and thinking. She had done her best upon the spur of the moment to pull the house down ; but it would not fall. More- over, 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 hus- band says that I am free to elope with you. Get a dak for Thursday, and we will fly after dinner." There was a cold-bloodedness about that procedure which did not appeal to her. So she sat still in her own house and thought. At dinner-time Boulte came back from his walk, white and worn and haggard, and the woman was touched at his distress. As the evening wore on, she muttered some expres- sion of sorrow, something approaching to contrition. Boulte came out of a brown study and said, " Oh, that ! I wasn't A IVAYSIDE COMEDY. 249 thinking about that. By the way, what does Kurrell say to the elopement ? " '* I haven't seen him," said Mrs. Boulte. '^Good'God, is that all?" But Boulte was not listening, and her sen- tence ended in a gulp. The next day brought no comfort to Mrs. Boulte, for Kurrell did not appear, and the new life that she, in the five minutes' mad- ness 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 unendurable. 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 Vansuy- then Woman would talk to her ; and, since talking opens the heart, perhaps there might be some comfort to be found in her company. She was the only other woman in the Station. 250 UNDER THE DEODARS. In Kashlma there are no regular calling- hours. Every one can drop in upon every one else at pleasure. Mrs. Boulte put on a big terai hat, and walked across to the Van- suythen'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 husband's voice, saying, — " But on my Honor ! On my Soul and Honor, I tell you she doesn't care for me. She told me so last night. I would have told you then if Vansuythen 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 little laugh. '' Kurrell ! Oh, it can't be ! You two must have made some horrible mistake. Perhaps . you • — you lost your temper, or misunderstood, or some- A WAYSIDE COMEDY. 25 1 thing. Things cant be as wrong as you say." Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defence to avoid the man's pleading, and was desper- ately trying to keep him to a side-issue. *' There must be some mistake," she in- sisted, '' and it can be all put right again." Boulte laughed grimly. '' It can't be Captain Kurrell ! 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. Van- suythen stood up with a 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. 252 UNDER THE DEODARS. '' 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. Van- suythen was only an ordinarily 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." *' You said he swore he had not cared for me. Was that true ? " " Yes," said Mrs. Vansuythen very softly. Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she stood, and then fell forward fainting. ''What did I tell you?" said Boulte, as though the conversation had 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 — what was he saying to you ? " A WAYSIDE COMEDY, 253 But Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explanations or impassioned protestations, was kneeling over Mrs. Boulte. '' Oh you brute ! " she cried. '' Are 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? I hate you, and I hate Captain Kurrell. Lift her up carefully and now — go ! Go away ! " Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuy- then's bedroom and departed before the storm of that lady's wrath and disgust, im- penitent and burning with jealousy. Kurrell had been making love to Mrs. Vansuythen — would do Vansuythen as great a wrong as he had done Boulte who caught himself consid- ering whether Mrs. Vansuythen would faint if she discovered that the man she loved had foresworn her. In the middle of these meditations, Kur- rell came cantering along the road and pulled up with a cheery : " Good-mornin'. 'Been mashing Mrs. Vansuythen as usual, eh ? 254 UNDER THE DEODARS, Bad thing for a sober, married man, that. What will Mrs. Boiilte say ? " Boulte raised his head and said slowly, — '' Oh, you liar ! " Kurrell's face changed, *' What's that?" he asked quickly. *' Nothing much," said Boulte. *' Has my wife told you that you tvv^o 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 '' satisfaction." 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 liaison 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 killing you, and I'm pretty sure you'd get none from killing me." A WAYSIDE COMEDY, 255 Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously dls- proportioned 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." Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and replied by another question : — ** Go on. What happened ? " " Emma fainted," said Boulte simply. " But, look here, what had you been saying to Mrs. Vansuythen ? " Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with 256 UNDER THE DEODARS. 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 dishonorable. '' 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 himself 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. Van- suythen say after you had laid your disen- gaged 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 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 A WAYSIDE COMEDY. 257 long and loudly, rocking 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 stranp-ers in Kashima, or they might have thought that captivity within the Dosehri hills had driven half the European population mad. The laughter stopped abruptly. Kurrell was the first to speak. '' Well, what are you going to do ? " Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills. '' Nothing," said he quietly, " What's the use ? It's too ghastly for anything. We must let the old life go on. I can only call you a hound and a liar, and I can't go on calling you names forever. Besides which, I don't feel that I'm much better. We can't get out of this place, y'know. 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." 258 UNDER THE DEODARS, 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 of 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 companion. Mrs. Boulte saw the look. '' Speak to him ! " she pleaded, turning to the woman at her side. " Oh, speak to him ! Tell him what you told me just now. Tell him you hate him. Tell him you hate him ! " A WAYSIDE COMEDY. 259 She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais, decorously Impassive, went forward to hold the horse. Mrs. Vansuythen turned scarlet and dropped the rein. She wished to be no party to such an unholy explanation. *' I've nothing to do with It," she began coldly ; but 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, wont you believe her?" *' Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were — that you were fond of her once upon a time," went on Mrs. Vansuythen. ♦* Well ! " said Kurrell brutally. " It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte had better be fond of her own husband first." 26o UNDER THE DEODARS, " Stop ! " said Mrs. Vansuythen. " 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 that I'll never, never speak to you again. Oh, I don't dare to say what I think of you, you . . . man ! Sais^ gorah ho jane do!' *' I want to speak to Ted," moaned Mrs. Boulte, but the dog- cart rattled on, and Kur- rell was left on the road, shamed, and boiling with wrath against Mrs. Boulte. He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own house, and, she being freed from the embarrassment of Mrs. Boulte's presence, learned for the second time a truth- ful opinion of himself and his actions. In the evenings, it was the wont of all Kashima to meet at the platform on the Nar- karra Road, to drink tea, and discuss the trivialities of the day. Major Vansuythen and his wife found themselves alone at the gathering-place for almost the first time in their remembrance ; and the cheery Major, A WAYSIDE COMEDY. 26 1 in the teeth of his wife's remarkably reason- able 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 indignation, to the Boultes. " That'll never do ! Hang it all, weVe one family here ! You miisi 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 embraced the company in one expansive grin. As he grinned, Mrs. Vansuythen raised her eyes for an instant and looked at 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. *' YouVe singing villanously out of tune, Kurrell," said the Major, truthfully. " Pass me that banjo." 262 UNDER THE DEODARS. And he sang in excruciatlng-wise till the stars came out and 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 the maintenance of a burdensome geniality, she has been com- pelled to break her vow of not speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which must of neces- sity preserve the semblance of politeness and interest, serves admirably to keep alight 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 hus- band's — detests Ted. And Ted — that gal- lant captain and honorable man — knows now that it is possible to hate a woman once A WAYSIDE COMEDY, 263 loved, even to the verge of wishing to silence her forever with blows. Above all, is he shocked that Mrs. Boulte cannot see the error of her ways. Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting to- gether in amity and all good friendship. Boulte has put their relationship on a most satisfactory footing. "You're a blackguard," he says to Kur- rell, " 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 vowed that she prefers her hus- band's company to any in the world. From the way in which she clings to him, she would certainly appear to be speaking the truth. But of course, as the Major says, ** in a little Station we must all be friendly." THE HILL OF ILLUSION. What rendered vain their deep desire ? A God, a God their severance ruled, And bade between their shores to be The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea. M. 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 a 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. THE HILL OF ILLUSION. 26$ He. — Mean it! I've been shaping my affairs to that end since Autumn. What makes you speak as though it had occurred to you for the first time ? She. — I ? Oh ! 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 — arranpfements ? He. — Ours, Sweetheart, please. She. — Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has marked your fore- head ? Have you ever tried sulphate of copper in water? He. — It'll go away in a day or two up here. The arrangements are simple enough. Tonga in the early morning — reach Kalka at twelve — Umballa at seven — down, straight by night-train, to Bombay, and then the steamer of the 21st for Rome. That's my idea. The Continent and Sweden — a ten- week honeymoon. She. — Ssh ! Don't talk of it in that way. 266 UNDER THE DEODARS. It makes me afraid. Guy, how long have we two been insane ? He. — Seven months and fourteen days, I forget the odd hours exactly, but I'll think. She. — I only wanted to see if you remem- bered. Who are those two on the Blessing- ton Road ? He. — Eabrey and the Penner woman. What do they matter to usf Tell me every- thing that you've been doing and saying and thinking. She. — Doing little, saying less, and think- ing a great deal. I've hardly been out at all. He. — 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 dif- ficulty ? 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 ? THE HILL OF ILLUSION, 267 He. — I'm sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to carry us away. Ha! ha! She. — And they^;^ of the situation comes in — where, my Lancelot? He. — Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something. She. — They say men have a keener sense of humor than women. Now / was thinking of the scandal. He. — Don't think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it. She. — It will be there all the same — in the mouths of Simla — telegraphed over India, and talked of at the dinners — and when He goes out they will stare at Him to 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 268 UNDER THE DEODARS. ruin to me, as the world reckons it — out- casting, 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. How d'you do, Mrs. Middleditch ? Your husband ? I think he's riding down to Annandale with Colonel Statters, Yes, isn't it divine after the rain ? . . . Guy, how long am I to be allowed to bow to Mrs. 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. She. — Murder. Is that so great a sin after all ? I wonder how he felt before the drop fell. THE HILL OF ILLUSION. 269 He. — I don't think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman It Is this evening ! You're shivering. Put on your cape, dear. She. — I think I will. Oh ! Look at the mist coming over Sanjaoll ; and I thought we should have sunshine on the Ladles' Mile ! Let's turn back. He. — What's the good ? 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 ! 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 per- fect. 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 grow- ing generous in his old age. D'you like 270 UNDER THE DEODARS. 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 ? He. — Assuredly. She. — I wonder ! 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 Station go on still ? That was ages and ages ago. It must be crumbling to pieces. THE HILL OF ILLUSION, 2/1 All except the Amirtollah kutcha road. I don'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 ! Let us get on quickly. He. — 'Better walk a little. Stop your jhampanis and get out. What's the matter with you this evening, dear ? She. — Nothing. You must grow accus- tomed to my ways. If I'm boring you I can go home. Here's Captain Congleton coming, I dare say he'll be willing to escort me. He. — Goose ! Between us, too ! Damn Captain Congleton. There ! She. — Chivalrous Knight. Is it your habit to swear much in talking? It jars a little, and you might swear at me. He. — My angel ! I didn't know what I was saying ; and you changed so quickly that I couldn't follow. I'll apologize in dust and ashes. She. — Spare those. There'll be enough 2/2 UNDER THE DEODARS. of them later on. — Good-night, Captain Congleton. Going to the singlng-quadrilles already ? What dances am I giving you next week ? No ! You must have written them down wrong. Five and Seven, / said. If you've made a mistake, I certainly don't Intend to suffer for it. You must alter your programme. He. — I thought you told me that you had not been going out much this season ? She. — Quite true, but when I do I dance with Captain 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! Don't! Well now Fm 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 ? THE HILL OF ILLUSION. 273 He. — 'Can't say that I do exactly. Tm 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 " rev- erent devotion " ? 1 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. — I 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 my word and honor, 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 be unable to resent it. You want too much, my Lancelot, and . . . you know too much. 274 UNDER THE DEODARS. He. — 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 ! 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 forgotten. She. — / remember. He tells her that he trusts her and worships the ground she walks on, and that he'll love and honor 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 ? THE HILL OF ILLUSION. 275 She. — And then, Guy, and then, that girl needs ten times the love and trust and honor — yes, honor — that was enough when she was only a mere wife if — if — the second life she elects to lead is to be made even bear- able. Do you understand ? He. — Even bearable ! It'll be Paradise. 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 and 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 ! " Ha! ha! ha! He. — Ssh 1 Don't laugh in that horrible way! She. — I — I-c-c-c-can't help it! Isn't it 2/6 UNDER THE DEODARS, too absurd ! Ah ! 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 exhibition 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 ! Don't kill me, though. You're sticking it into my head ! Let me do it. You men are so clumsy. He. — Have you had many opportunities of comparing us — in this sort of work ? She. — Guy, what is my name ? He. — Eh ! I don't follow. She. — Here's my card-case. Can you read ? THE HILL OF ILLUSION. 2'J'J He. — Yes. Well ? She. — Well, that answers 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 scandalized. She. — They'll be more scandalized 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 ! Swear I don't? Give me your word of honor, my honorable 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. Lis- ten ! 278 UNDER THE DEODARS, <' Pendant une anne' toute entiere. Le regiment n'a pas r'paru. Au Ministere de la Guerre On le r'porta comme perdu. On se r'noncait a 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. Am I 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 you pick up the Chanson du Colonel? It isn't a drawing- room song. It isn't proper. She. — Mrs. Buzgago taught it me. She is both drawing-room and proper, and in an- other month she'll shut her drawing-room to me, and, thank God, she isn't as improper as I am. Oh Guy, Guy ! 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 intelli- gence, and, just now, very bewildered. THE HILL OF ILLUSION. 279 When you have quite finished flashing through all your moods tell me, and I'll try to understand the last one. She. — Moods, Guy ! 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 social suicide for his sake, and, and ... I don't want to be French and rave about '' ma mere,'' 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 elopement will give him ? Have you any people at Home, Guy, to be pleased with your performances ? He. — One or two. We can*t make omelets without breaking eggs. Sn^ {slowly), — I don't see the necessity — 280 UNDER THE DEODARS. He. — Hah ! What do you mean ? She. — Shall I speak the truth ? 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? She. — Of you. He. — Oh, damn it all ! The old business ! This is too bad ! She. — Of you. He. — And what now ? She. — What do you think of me ? He. — Beside the question altogether. What do you intend to do ? She. — I daren't risk it. I'm afraid. If I could only cheat . . . He. — A la Buz g ago ? No, thanks. That's the one point on which I have any notion of Honor. 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 ? THE HILL OF ILLUSION, 28 1 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 you'll swear, and then you'll get jealous, and then you'll mistrust me — you do now — and you your- self will be the best reason for doubting. And I — what shall / 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 f He. — I see that you are desperately unreasonable, little woman. She. — There! The moment I begin to object, you get angry. What will you do when I am only your property — stolen property ? It can't be, Guy. It can't be ! I thought it could, but it cant. You'll get tired of me. He. — I tell you I shall 7iot, Won't any- thing make you understand that ? She. — There, can't you see? If you speak to me like that now, you'll call me 2S2 UNDER THE DEODARS. horrible names later, if I don't do everything as you like. And if you were cruel to me, Guy, where should I go — where should I go ? I can't trust you. Oh ! I caiit trust you ! 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 can't trust you, and I don't trust myself. Oh Guy, let it die away and be forgotten ! 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 ! The day after. I get into my 'rickshaw 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- THE HILL OF ILLUSION, 283 quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. Can't you hear Mrs. Buzgago's voice? She has a solo. It's quite a new idea. Listen ! Mrs. Buzgago {in the Old Library, con, molt, exp.^, ^ " See saw ! Margery Daw ! 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. Dont be angry with me. He. — Angry ! You ktiow I trust you abso- lutely. Good-night and — God bless you! ( Three seconds later. Solus.) Hmm ! I'd give something to discover whether there's another man at the back of all this. A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. Est fuga^ volvitur 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. Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha, " Dressed ! Don't tell me that woman ever dressed in her life. She stood in the middle of the room while her ayah — 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 the 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 A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 285 With chocolates, for I am . . . Did you bring anything from PeHtl'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 her, 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, 1 believe, and her husband is some- where in Madras. Go and call, if you are so interested." '' What have I to do with Shigramitish women ? She merely caught my attention for a minute, and I wondered at 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 her 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 ! " 286 UNDER THE DEODARS, '' Perhaps they also expected " — '* Polly, don't be Rabelaisian ! " Mrs. Mallowe curled herself up comfort- ably 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. Hauksbee stepped into the veranda and looked down upon the Mall, her forehead puckered with thought. "Hah!", said Mrs. Hauksbee shortly. '' Indeed ! " ''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 ! — Is specially clingsome." A SECOND-RATE WOMAN, 287 " 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." '' O-oh ! 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 ! Some men ought to be killed." '' What happened then ? " *' He posed as the horror of horrors — a misunderstood man. Heaven knows the femme inconiprise is sad enough and bad enough — but the other thing ! " *' And so fat too ! /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 288 UNDER THE DEODARS. when the plot is — of the most old possible." " Yes. Men are so unblushlngly 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 Unutterabilities after a week's acquaintance. Even then, they always paint themselves a la Mrs. Gummidge — throwing cold water on him. 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 — and very clumsily they hide. Alas ! These chocolates pall upon me, and I haven't eaten more than a dozen. I think I shall go to sleep." " Then you'll get fat, dear. If you took more exercise and a more intelligent interest in your neighbors you would " — *' Be as universally loved as Mrs. Hauksbee. A SECOND-RATE IVOMAA'. 289 You're a darling in many ways and I like you — you are not a woman's woman — but wAy do you trouble yourself about mere human beings ? " " Because In the absence of angels, who I am sure would be horribly dull, men and 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 reformed, and has passed his Higher Standard, or whatever the authorities think fit 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, 290 UNDER THE DEODARS. and earned the undying hatred of Mamma Holt, what will you do with me, Dispenser 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 not be successful after all. I think I shall begin by preventing you from — what is it? — 'sleeping on ale-house benches and snoring In the sun.'" '' 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 'rtckshazv-ho\N, 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." A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 29 1 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. Hauks- bee, 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 . . . I'm 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 suppose — both grubby. Polly, I'd never forgive that woman as long as the world rolls." 292 UNDER THE DEODARS. *' I forgive every woman everything," said Mrs. Mallowe. " He will be a sufficient pun- ishment for her. What a common voice she has ! " Mrs. Delville's voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less lovely, and her raiment was strikingly neglected. All these facts Mrs. Mallowe absorbed 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 — Oh! " "What is it?" " She doesn't know how to use them ! On my Honor, she does not. Look ! Oh look ! Untidiness I can endure, but igno- rance 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 objection- A SECOND-RATE IVOJfAJV. 293 able couple sHe and The Dancing Master make ! Which reminds me. Do you sup- pose they'll ever dance together ? " '* Wait and see. I don't envy her the con- versation of The Dancing master — loathly man ! His wife ought to be up here before long?" '' Do you know anything about him ? '* ** Only what he told me. It may be all a fiction. He married a girl bred in the coun- try, I think, and, being an honorable, chival- rous soul, told me that he repented his bar- gain and sent her to her mother as often as possible — a person who 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. //e thought he was being epigrammatic and bijlliant." '' That is a vice peculiar to men. I dis- 294 UNDER THE DEODARS, like him because he is generally In the wake of some girl, to the disgust of the Eliglbles. He will persecute May Holt no more, unless I am much mistaken." *' No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his attention 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 him according to his folly ; and we part with a coolness between us. I laugh." '' I'm different. I've no sense of humor." '' Cultivate it, then. It has been my mainstay for more years than I care to think about. A well-educated sense of Humor will save a woman when Religion, Training, and Home influences fail. And we may^all need salvation sometimes." A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 295 *' Do you suppose that the Delvllle woman has humor?" " Her dress bewrays her. How can a Thing who wears her supplement under her left arm have any notion of the fitness of things — much less their folly? If she dis- cards The Dancing Master after having once seen him dance, I may respect her. Other- wise" — " 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 with The Dancing Master — an hour later you met her here at the Library." " Still with The Dancing Master, remem- ber. " Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why on the strength of that should you imagine " — " I imagine nothing. I have no imagina- tion. I am only convinced that The Dan- cing Master Is attracted to The Dowd because he Is objectionable in every way and she in every other. If I know the man as you 296 UNDER THE DEODARS. have described him, he holds his wife in deadly subjection at present." " She is twenty years younger than he." " Poor wretch ! And, in the end, after he has posed and swaggered and lied — he has a mouth under that ragged mustache sim- ply made for lies — he will be rewarded ac- cording 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: " What shall he have who killed the Deer f She was a lady of unfettered speech. One month later, she announced her intention of calling upon Mrs. Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Mallow^e were in morning wrappers, and there was a great peace in the land. '' I should go as I was," said Mrs. Mallowe. '' It would be a delicate compliment to her style." Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass. A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 297 *' Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened these doors, I should put on this robe, after all the others, to show her what a morning-wrapper ought to be. It might enliven her. As it is, I shall go in the dove- colored — sweet emblem of youth and inno- cence — and shall put on my new gloves." " If you really are going, dirty tan would be too good ; and you know that dove-color spots with the 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 ! When did she do that ? " " Yesterday — riding with The 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 ierai with the elastic under her chin. I felt almost too well content to take the trouble to despise her." "The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What did he think ? " 298 UNDER THE DEODARS. ''Does a boy ever notice these things? Should I Hke him If he did ? He stared In the rudest way, and just when I thought he had seen the elastic, he said, ' There's some- thing very taking about that face.' I re- buked 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 Imme- diately went to call." *' I forbade him. Let her be satisfied with The Dancing 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 limit to the treachery of youth ! I ordered the Hawley Boy, as he valued my patronage, 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 ten minutes, and then emerged as though she had been tipped out A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 299 of the dirty-clothes-basket. You know my way, dear, when I am at all put out. I was Superior, crrrruski?igly Superior ! 'Lifted my eyes to Heaven, and had heard of noth- ing — 'dropped my eyes on the carpet and ' really didn't know ' — 'played with my card-case and ' supposed so.' The Hawley Boy giggled 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 managed to convey the impres- sion that she was suffering from stomach- ache, 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 lazi- ness, nothing else — or her garments 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." 300 UNDER THE DEODARS. ''Lu—cy/'' "• Well — ril withdraw the tongue, though rm 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 honor, don't put the only avail- able seat facing the window, and a child may eat jam in my lap before 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 famil- iar way." A SECOXD-RATE WOMAN. 301 '' Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll forgive." " Listen to the voice of History. I am only describing what I saw. He entered, the heap on the sofa revived slightly, and the Hawley 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 and 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 Hawley Boy so." '' And what did that sweet youth do ? " " Turned shell-pink and looked across the 302 UNDER THE DEODARS. far blue hills like a distressed cherub. Aiit I talking wildly, Polly ? Let me say my say, and I shall be calm. Otherwise 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 understands me when I am — what's the word ? " " Tete-felee',' suggested Mrs. Mallowe. *' Exactly ! And now let us have tifiFin. The demands of Society are exhausting, and as Mrs. Delville says " — Here Mrs Hauks- bee, to the horror of the khitinatgars, 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 vulgar. I am con- sumed 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 have lived through or near all — (iU—maA " A SECOND-RATE V/OMAN. 303 *' And yet do not understand that men and women never behave twice aHke. I am old who was young — if ever I put my head in your lap, you dear, big sceptic, you will learn 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 calmly. " 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 ungratified, 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, thought- fully rubbing her nose. ** That is the last link of the chain, if we 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 304 UNDER THE DEODARS. 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 be caught up to Heaven." '' Don't be irreverent/' said Mrs. Mallowe, " I like Mrs. Bent's face." " I am discussing the Waddy," returned Mrs. Hauksbee 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 draw- ing-rooms ; and remember whatever I do, and whatever I look, I never talk — as the Waddy will. Let us hope that The Dancing Master's greasy smile and manner of the pedagogue will ' soften the heart of that cow,' A SECOND-RATE JVOA/AAT. 305 his wife. If mouths speak truth, I should think that Httle 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 ? 'If 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 " — " That she, too, is capable of every iniquity ? I always prefer to believe the best of everybody. It saves so much trouble." '' Very good. I prefer to believe the worst. It saves useless expenditure of sympathy. And you may be quite certain that the Waddy believes with me." Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer. The conversation was holden after dinner while Mrs. Hauksbee was dressing for a dance. ** I am too tired to go," pleaded Mrs. 306 UNDER THE DEODARS, Mallowe, and Mrs. Hauksbee left her in peace till two in the morning, when she was aware of emphatic knocking at her door. " Don't be very angry, dear," said Mrs. 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, but I will not sleep in my stays. And such news too ! Oh, do unlace me, there's a darling! The Dowd — The Dancing Mas- ter — 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 lace. " Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale with- out the aid of your eyes. Do you know you've lovely eyes, dear? Well, to begin with, I took the Hawley Boy to a kala juggahr " Did he want much taking?" A SECOJVD-RATE WOAfAN. 307 *' Lots ! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in hanats, and she was in the next one talking to 7//;;^." ''Which? How? Explain." '' You know what I mean — The Dowd and The Dancing Master. We could hear every word, and we listened shamelessly — 'spe- cially the Hawley Boy. Polly, I quite love that woman ! " '' This is interesting. There ! Now turn round. What happened ? " *' One moment. Ah — h ! Blessed relief. I've been looking forward to taking them off for the last half-hour — which is ominous at my time of life. But, 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 Dancing Master owned it was so in language that nearly made me ill. The Dowd reflected for a while. Then we heard her say, * Look he-ere, Mister Bent, why are you such an 308 UNDER THE DEODARS. aw-ful liar?' I nearly exploded while The 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 minutes, 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 deli- cious ? 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 extraordi- nary 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 A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 309 considered him a hypocrite, and this she repeated twice. She wound up her drawl with : 'An' I'm telHn' you this because your wife is angry with me, an' I hate quarrelHn' with any other woman, an' I Hke 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 blandish- ment, reproof, jocularity, and the style of the Lord High Warden, 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 310 UNDER THE DEODARS. looked more objectionable 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 sha n'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 eaves- dropping was an ornate one but truthful in the main. For reasons best known to her- self, Mrs. '' Shady" Delvllle had turned upon Mr. Bent and rent him limb from limb, cast- ing him away limp and disconcerted ere she withdrew the light of her eyes from him per- manently. Being a man of resource, and anything but pleased in that he had been called both old and fat, he gave Mrs. Bent to understand that he had, during her absence in the Doon, been the victim of unceasing persecution at the hands of Mrs. Delvllle, 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 A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 311 customs of '' some women." When the sit- uation 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 man- ner and conversation were so great that he needed constant surveillance. And he re- ceived it, till he repented genuinely of his marriage and neglected his personal appear- ance. 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. 312 UNDER THE DEODARS, Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full ! " Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria?" " Of nothing in the world except small- pox. Diphtheria kills, but it doesn't disfig- ure. Why do you ask ? " " Because the Bent baby has got it, and the whole hotel is upside down in conse- quence The Waddy has ' set her five young on the rail ' and fled. The Dancing 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 bath — for croup ! " " Where did you learn all this ? " "Just now, on the Mall. Dr. Howlen told me. The Manager of the hotel is abus- ing 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 ? " A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 313 *' On the most strict understanding that we see nothing 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, care- less, and would hold her up to public scorn if it gave you a minute's amusement. There- fore 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 suppose I shall be allowed to circulate in society for a month." 314 UNDER THE DEODARS. "• 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 thankful, for he was afraid of the infection, and also hoped that a few weeks in the hotel alone with Mrs. Delville might lead to some sort of explana- tion. Mrs. Bent had cast 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 bit- terly. " Mrs. Waddy went first. She said I ought to be ashamed o{ myself for introdu- cing diseases there, and I am sure it wasn't my fault that litde Dora." . . . A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 315 "■ How nice ! " cooed Mrs. Hauksbee. ** The Waddy is an infectious disease herself — ' more quickly caught than the plague 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 com- forting, doesn't it ? Remember I'm always in call, and my ayah's 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 unprofit- able attention through the day and the night. The Doctor 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. 3l6 UNDER THE DEODARS. 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 litde to do with the nursing as you possibly can," said the Doc- tor ; '' I'd turn her out of the sick-room, but that I honestly believe she'd die of anxiety. She is less than no good, and I depend on you and the ayahs, remember." Mrs. Hauksbee accepted the responsibility, even though it painted olive hollows under her eyes and forced her into 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 Doc- tor 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." A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 317 " 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 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 ! Do you mean to 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 in despair. '' 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 yo\x help me? She*s dying ! " "I — Tve never seen a child die before ! " 3l8 UNDER THE DEODARS. Stammered Mrs. Hauksbee feebly, and then — let no one 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 in 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 ! " 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. "Oh, you're killing her!" cried Mrs. Bent. '' Where's the Doctor ? Leave her alone ! " A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 319 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 ayahs staggered sleepily into the room, yawning : '' Doctor Sahib haiT 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 get- ting to the air-passages after the last steam- ing. It was the general 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 with- out consultation." ** She was dyin'," said Mrs. Delville, under her breath. " Can you do any thin' ? What a mercy it was I went to the dance ! " 320 tJNDEk THE DEODARS. Mrs. Hauksbee Raised her head. *' Is it all over ? " she gasped. " Fm use- less. I'm worse than useless I What 2iX^ you doing here ? " She stared at Mrs. Delville, and Mrs. Bent, realizing for the first time who was the Goddess from the Machine, stared also. Then Mrs. Delville made explanation, put- ting on a 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 way six months ago, an' I've been tryin' to forget it ever since, an' I — I — I, am very sorry for intrudin' an' anythin' 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. Del- ville. / should have come too late, but, I assure you " — he was addressing himself to Mrs. Delville — " I had not the faintest reason A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 321 to expect this. The membrane must have grown like a mushroom. Will one of you ladles help me, please ? " He had reason for his concluding sentence. Mrs. Hauksbee had thrown herself Into Mrs. Delvllle's arms, where she was weeping copiously, and Mrs. Bent was unplcturesquely mixed up with both, while from the triple tangle came the sound of many sobs and much promiscuous kissing. ** Good gracious ! IVe 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 322 UNDER THE DEODARS. come out of the Valley of Humiliation, had ceased to reproach herself for her col- lapse in an hour of bitter 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 ? " " Kisses don't as a rule, do they ? Of course you know what the result of The Dowd's providential arrival has been." "They ought to build her a statue — only no sculptor dare reproduce those skirts." " Ah ! " said Mrs. Mallowe quietly. '' She has found another reward. The Dancing Master has been smirking through Simla, giving every one to understand that she came because of her undying love for him — for him — to save his child, and all Simla natu- rally believes this." "But Mrs. Bent" — " Mrs. Bent believes it more than any one else. She won't speak to The Dowd now. Isnt The Dancing Master an angel ? " A SECOND-RATE WOMAN. 323 Mrs. Hauksbee lifted up her voice and raged till bed-time. 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 ! ' " " E-xactly," 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 yo?i think?" " Don't ask me. She was a woman. Go to sleep." p UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY BERKELEY Return to desk from which borrowed. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Apr2^5lLU REC^D LD MAR 81961 LD 21-100m-ll,'49(B7146sl6)476 UC BERKELEY LIBRARIES CD31fil5TTl