' were all brave men — Rustums. Wherefore we were sent to that Thana which was eight miles from the next Thana. All day and all night we watched for dacoits. Why does the sahib laugh? Nay, I will make a confession. The dacoits were too clever, and, seeing this, we made no further trouble. It was in the hot weather. What can a man do in the hot days? Is the sahib who is so strong — is he, even, vigorous in that hour? We made an arrangement with the dacoits 48 In Black and White for the sake of peace. That was the work of the Havildar, who was fat. Ho! ho! sahib, he is now getting thin in the jail among the carpets. The Havildar said: '' Give us no trouble, and we will give you no trouble. At the end of the reaping send us a man to lead before the judge, a man of infirm mind against whom the trumped-up case will break down. Thus we shall save our honor." To this talk the dacoits agreed, and we had no trouble at the Thana, and could eat melons in peace, sitting upon our charpoys all day long. Sweet as sugar-cane are the melons of Howli. Now, there was an assistant com.mis- sioner — a Stunt Sahib, in that district, called Yunkum Sahib. Aha! He was hard — hard even as is the sahib who, without doubt, will give me the shadow of his protection. Many eyes had Yunkum Sahib, and moved quickly through his dis- trict. Men called him The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun, because he would arrive unannounced and make his kill, and before sunset, vv^ould be giving trouble to the Tehsildars thirty miles away. No one knev/ the comings or the goings of Yun- kum Sahib. He had no camp, and when his horse was weary he rode upon a devil- carriage. I do not know its name, but the sahib sat in the midst of three silver wheels At Howli Thana 49 that made no creaking, and drove them with his legs, prancing like a bean-fed horse — thus. A shadow of a hawk upon the fields v/as not more without noise than the devil-carriage of Yunkum Sahib. It Vv-as here; it was there; it was gone; and the rapport was made, and there was trou- ble. Ask the Tehsildar of Rohestri how the hen-stealing came to be known, sahib. It fell upon a night that vv'e of the Thana slept according to custom upon our char- poys, having eaten the evening meal and drunk tobacco. \Vhen we awoke in the morning, behold, of our six rifles not one rem.ained! AlsO; the big police-book that was in the Havildar's charge was gone. Seeing these things, we were very much afraid, thinking on our parts that the dacoits, regardless of honor, had come by night, and put us to shame. Then said Ram Baksh, the Havildar: "Be silent! The business is an evil business, but it may yet go well. Let us make the case com- plete. Bring a kid and my tulwar. See you not now, oh fools? A. kick for a horse, but a word is enough for a man." We of the Thana, perceiving quickly what was in the mind of Havildar. and greatly fearing that the service would be lost, made haste to take the kid into the inner room, and attended to the words of the Havildar. " Twentv dacoits came," fo In Black and White said the Havildar, and we, taking- his words, repeated after him according to cus- tom. " There was a great fight," said the Havildar, " and of us no man escaped un- hurt. The bars of the window were broken. Suruj Bui, see thou to that; and, oh men, put speed into your work, for a runner must go with the news to The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun." Thereon, Suruj Bui, leaning with his shoulder, brake in the bars of the window, and I, beating her with a whip, made the Havildar's mare skip among the melon-beds till they were much trodden with hoof-prints. These things being made, I returned to the Thana, and the goat was slain; and certain portions of the walls were black- ened with fire, and each man dipped his clothes a little into the blood of the goat. Know, oh, sahib, that a wound made by man upon his own body can, by those skilled, be easily discerned from a wound wrought by another man. Therefore, the Havildar, taking his tulwar, smote one of us lightly on the forearm in the fat, and another on the leg, and a third on the back of the hand. Thus dealt he with all of us till the blood came; and Suruj Bui, more eager than the others, took out much hair. Oh, sahib, never was so perfect an arrange- ment. Yea, even I would have sworn that the Thana had been treated as we said. At Howli Thana 51 There was smoke and breaking and blood and trampled earth. " Ride now, Maula Baksh," said the Havildar, " to the house of the Stunt Sahib, and carry the news of the dacoity. Do you also, oh, Afzal Khan, run there, and take heed that you are mired with sweat and dust on your in-coming. The blood will be dry on the clothes. I will stay and send a straight report to the Dipty Sahib, and we will catch certain that ye know of, villagers, so that all may be ready against the Dipty Sahib's arrival." Thus Maula Baksh rode and I ran hang- ing on the stirrup, and together we came in an evil plight before The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun in the Rohestri tehsil. Our tale was long and correct, sahib, for we gave even the names of the dacoits and the issue of the fight, and besought him to come. But The Tiger made no sign, and only smiled after the manner of sahibs when they have a wickedness in their hearts. " Swear ye to the rapport? " said he, and we said: ''Thy servants swear. The blood of the fight is but newly dry upon us. Judge thou if it be the blood of the servants of the Presence, or not." And he said: "I see. Ye have done well." But he did not call for his horse or his devil-carriage, and scour the land as was his custom. He said: ''Rest now 52 In Black and White and eat bread, for ye be wearied rnen. I will wait the coming of the Dipty Sahib." Now, it is the order that the Havildar of the Thana should send a straight report of all dacoities to the Dipty Sahib. At noon came he, a fat man and an old. and overbearing withal, but we of the Thana had no fear of his anger; dreading more the silences of The Tiger of Gokral-See- tarun. With him came Ram Baksh, the Havildar, and the others, guarding ten men of the village of Howli — all men evil affected toward the police of the Sirkar. As prisoners they came, the irons upon their hands, crying for mercy — Imam Baksh, the farmer, who had denied his wife to the Havildar, and others, ill-conditioned rascals against whom we of the Thana bore spite. It was well done, and the Havildar was proud. But the Dipty Sahib v/as angry with the Stunt for lack of zeal, and said " Dam-Dam " after the custom of the English people, and extolled the Havildar. Yunkum Sahib lay still in his long chair. "Have the men svvorn?" S3.id Yunkum Sahib. *' Ay, and captured ten evil-doers," said the Dipty Sahib. " There be more abroad in your charge. Take horse — ride, and go in tlie name of the Sirkar! " "Truly there be more evil-doers abroad,'* said Yunkum Sahib, " but there is no need of a horse. Come all men with me." At Howli Thana 53 I saw the mark of a string on the temple of Imam Baksh. Does the Presence know the torture of the Cold Draw? I saw also the face cf The Tiger ci Gokral-Seetarun, the evil smile was upon it, and I stood back ready for what might befall. Well it was, sahib, that I did this thing. Yunkum Sa- hib unlocked the door of his bath-room, and smiled anew. Within lay the six rifles and the big police-book of the Thana of Howli! He had come by night in the devil-carriage that is noiseless as a ghoul, and, moving amiong us asleep, had taken av/ay both the guns and the book! Twice had he come to the Thana, taking each time three rifles. The liver of the Havil- dar was turned to water, and he fell scrab- bling in the dirt about the boots of Yunkum Sahib, crying, " Have mercy! " And I? Sahib, I am a Delhi Pathan, and a young man with little children. The Havildar's mare was in the compound. I ran to her and rode; the black wrath of the Sirkar vvas behind me, and I knew not whither to go. Till she dropped and died I rode the red mare ; and by the blessing of God, who is without doubt on the side of all just men, I escaped. But the Havildar and the rest are novv^ in jail. ... I am a scamp! It is as the Presence pleases. God will make the Presence a Lord, and give him a rich Menisahih as fair as a peri 54 I^ Black acd White to wife, and many strong sons, if he makes me his orderly. The mercy of Heaven be upon the sahib ! Yes, I will only go to the bazaar and bring my children to these so- palace-like quarters, and then — the Pres- ence is m_y father and my mother, and I, Afzal Khan, am his slave. Ohe, Sirdar-ji! I also am of the house- hold of the sahib. GEMINI Great is the justice of the White Man — greater the power of a lie. — Native Proverb, This is your English justice, protector of the poor. Look at my back and loins, which are beaten with sticks — heavy sticks! I am a poor man, and there is no justice in courts. There were two of us, and we were born of one birth, but I swear to you that I was born the first, and Ram Dass is the younger by three full breaths. The astrologer said so, and it is written in my horoscope — the horoscope of Durga Dass. But we were alike — I and my brother who is a beast without honor — so alike that none knew, together or apart, which was Durga Dass. I am a Mahajun of Pali in Marwar, and an honest man. This is true talk. When we were men, we left our father's house in Pali, and went to the Punjab, where all the people are mud-heads and sons of asses. We took shop together in Isser Tang — I and my brother — near 55 56 In Black and White the big well where the governor's camp draws water. But Ram Dass, who is with- out truth, m^ade quarrel with me, and we were divided. He took his books, and his pots, and his ]\Iark, and became a hiinnia — a money-lender — in the long street of Isser Jang, near the gate-way of the road that goes to Alontgomery. It was not my fault tliat w^e pulled each other's turbans. I am a Mahajun of Pali, and I always speak true talk. Ram Dass was the thief and the liar. Now, no man, not even the little chil- dren, could at one glance see which was Ram Dass and which was Durga Dass. But all the people of Isser Jang — m^ay they die without sons ! — said that we were thieves. They used much bad talk, but I took money on their bedsteads and their cooking-pots and the standing crop and the calf unborn, from the well in the big square to the gate of the Montgomery road. They were fools, these people — unfit to cut the toe-nails of a ^larwari from Pali. I lent money to them all. A little, very little only — here a pice and there a pice. God is my witness that I am a poor man! The money is all with Ram Dass — may his sons turn Christian, and his daughter be a burning fire and a shame in the house from generation to generation! ]^Iay she die un- wed, and be the mother of a multitude of bastards ! Let the light go out in the house Gemini 57 of Ram Dass, my brother. This I pray daily twice — with offerings and charms. Thus the trouble began. We divided the town of Isser Jang between us — I and my brother. There was a landholder beyond the gates, living but one short mile out, on the road that leads to Montgomery, and his name was ^.lohammed Shah, son of a Xa- wab. He was a great dev i and drank wine. So long as there were women in his house, and wine and money for the marriage- feasts, he was merry and wiped his mouth. Ram Dass lent him the money, a lakh or half a lakh — how do I know? — and so long as the money was lent, the landholder cared not what he signed. The people of Isser Jang were my por- tion, and the landholder and the out-town was the portion of Ram Dass; for so we had arranged. I was the poor man, for the people of Isser Jang were without wealth, I did what I could, but Ram Dass had only to wait without the door of the landholder's garden-court, and to lend him the money; taking the bonds from the hand of the steward. In the autumn of the year after the lend- ing, Ram Dass said to the landholder: *' Pay me my money;" but the landholder gave him abuse. But Ram Dass went into the courts with the papers and the bonds — all correct — and took our decrees against 58 In Black and White the landholder; and the name of the gov- ernment was across the stamps of the de- crees. Ram Dass took field by field, and mango-tree by mango-tree, and well by well; putting in his own men — debtors of the out-town of Isser Jang — to cultivate the crops. So he crept up across the land, for he had the papers, and the name of the government was across the stamps, till his men held the crops for him on all sides of the big white house of the landholder. It was well done; but when the landholder saw these things he was very angry and cursed Ram Dass after the manner of the Mohammedans. And thus the landholder was angry, but Ram Dass laughed and claimed more fields, as was written upon the bonds. This was in the month of Phagun. I took my horse and w^ent out to speak to the man who makes lac-bangles upon the road that leads to Alontgomery, because he owed me a debt. There was in front of me, upon his horse, my brother Ram Dass. And when he saw me, he turned aside into the high crops, because there was hatred betw^een us. And I went forward till I came to the or- ange-bushes by the landholder's house. The bats were flying, and the evening smoke was low down upon the land. Here met me four men — swashbucklers and Mohammedans — with their faces Gemini 59 bound up, laying hold of my horse's bridle and crying out: "This is Ram Dass! Beat!" Ale they beat with their staves — heavy staves bound about with wire at the end, such weapons as those swine of Pun- jabis use — till, having cried for mercy, I fell down senseless. But these shameless ones still beat me, saying: '' Oh, Ram Dass, this is your interest — well weighed and counted into your hand, Ram Dass." I cried aloud that I was not Ram Dass but Durga Dass, his brother, yet they only beat me the more, and when I could make no more outcry they left me. But I saw their faces. There was Elahi Baksh who runs by the side of the landholder's white horse, and Nur AH the keeper of the door, and Wajib AH the very strong cook, and Abdul Latif the messenger — all of the household of the landholder. These things I can swear on the cow's tail if need be, but — AJii! Ahi! — it has been already sworn, and I am a poor man whose honor is lost. When these four had gone away laugh- ing, my brother Ram Dass came out of the crops and mourned over m^e as one dead. But I opened my eyes, and prayed him to get me water. When I had drunk, he car- ried me on his back, and by by-ways brought me into the town of Isser Jang. My heart was turned to Ram Dass, my 6o In Black and White brother, in that hour, because of his kind- ness, and I lost my enmity. But a snake is a snake till it is dead; and a liar is a liar till the judgment of the gods takes hold of his heel. I was wrong in that I trusted my brother — the son of my mother. When we had come to his house and I was a little restored, I told him my tale, and he said: " Without doubt, it is me whom they would have beaten. But the law courts are open, and there is the justice of the Sirkar above all ; and to the law courts do thou go when this sickness is overpast." Now when we two had left Pali in the old years, there fell a famine that ran from Jeysulmir to Gurgaon and touched Go- gunda in the south. At that time the sis- ter of my father came away and lived with us in Isser Jang; for a man must above all see that his tolk do not die of want. When the quarrel between us tv/ain came about, the sister of my father — a lean she-dog without teeth — said that Ram Dass had the right, and went with him. Into her hands — because she knew medicines and many cures — Ram Dass, my brother, put me faint with the beating and much bruised even to the pouring of blood from the mouth. When I had two days' sickness the fever came upon me; and I set aside the Gemini 61 fever to the account written in my mind against the landholder. The Punjabis of Isser Jang are all the sons of Belial and a she-ass, but they are very good witnesses, bearing testimony un- shakenly whatever the pleaders may say. I would purchase witnesses by the score, and each man should give evidence, not only against Xur AH, Wajib Ah, Abdul Latif and Elahi Baksh, but against the landholder, saying that he upon his white horse had called his men to beat me; and, further, that they had robbed me of two hundred rupees. For the latter testimony, I would remit a little of the debt of the man who sold the lac-bangles, and he should say that he had put the money into my hands, and had seen the robbery from afar, but, being afraid, had run away. This plan I told to my brother Ram Dass; and he said that the arrangement was good, and bade me take comfort and make swift work to be abroad again. My heart was open to my brother in my sickness, and I told him the names of those whom I would call as witnesses — all m^en in my debt, but of that the m.agistrate sahib could have no knowledge, nor the landholder. The fever stayed with me, and after the fever, I was taken with colic, and gripings very terrible. In that day I thought that my end was at hand, but I know now that she who gave 62 In Black and White me the medicines, the sister of my father — a widow, with a widow's heart — had brought about my second sickness. Ram Dass, my brother, said that my house was shut and locked, and brought me the big door-key and my books, together with all the moneys that were in my house — even the money that was buried under the floor; for I was in great fear lest thieves should break in and dig. I speak true talk; there was but very little money in my house. Perhaps ten rupees — perhaps twenty. Flow can I tell? God's my witness that I am a poor man- One night, v/hen I had told Ram Dass all that was in my heart of the lawsuit that I would bring against the landholder, and Ram Dass said that he had made the ar- rangement vvith the v/itnesses, giving me their names written, I was taken with a new great sickness, and they put me on the bed. When I was a little recovered — 1 can not tell how many days afterward — 1 made inquiry for Ram Dass, and the sis- ter of my father said that he had gone to Montgomery upon a lawsuit. I took medi- cine and slept very heavily without waking. When my eyes were opened, there was a great stillness in the house of Ram Dass, and none answered when I called — not even the sister of my father. This filled me Gemini 63 with tear, for I knew not what had happened. Taking a stick in my hand, I went out slowly, till I came to the great square by the well, and my heart was hot in me against the landholder because of the pain of every step I took. I called for Jowar Singh, the carpenter, whose name was f.rst upon the list of those who should bear evidence against the land- holder, saying: ''Are all things ready, and do you know what should be said ? " Jowar Singh answered: ''What is this, and whence do you come, Durga Dass?" I said: "From my bed, where I have so long lain sick because of the landholder. V/here is Ram Dass, my brother, who was to have mnde the arrangements for the wit- nesses? vSurelv you and vours know these things?" Then Jowar Singh said: "What has this to do with us, oh, liar? I have borne ivitness and have been paid, and the land- bolder has, by the order of the court, paid both the five hundred rupees that he -obbed from Ram Dass and yet other five lundred because of the great injury he did :o your brother." The well and the jujube-tree above it and ;he sciuare of Isser Jang became dark in Tiy eyes, brt I leaned on my stick and said: 'Nay! This is child's talk and senseless. 64 In Black and White It was I who suffered at the liands of the landholder, and I am come to make ready the case. Where is my brother Ram Dass? " But Jowar Singh shook his head, and a woman cried: ''What lie is here? What quarrel had the landholder with you, bun- niaf It is only a shameless one and one without faith who profits by his brother's smarts. Have these bunnias no bowels?'' I cried again, saying: " By the Cow — by the Oath of the Cow, by the Temple of the Blue-throated Mahadeo — I and I only was beaten — beaten to the death! Let our talk be straight, oh, people of Isser Jang, and I will pay for the witnesses." And I tottered where I stood, for the sick- ness and the pain of the beating were heavy upon me. Then Ram Narain, who has his carpet spread under the jujube-tree by the well, and writes all letters for the men of the town, came up and said: "To-day is the one-and-fortieth day since the beating, and since these six days the case has been judged in the court, and the assistant com- missioner sahib has given it for your brother Ram Dass, allowing the robbery. to which, too, I bore witness, and all things else as the witnesses said. There were many witnesses, and twice Ram Dass be- came senseless in the court because of his I Gemini 6 5 wounds, and the Stunt Sahib — the baba Stunt Sahib — gave him a chair before all the pleaders. Why do you howl, Durga Dass? These things fell as I have said. Was it not so? *' And Jowar Singh said: " That is truth, 1 v/as there, and there was a red cushion in the chair." And Ram Xarain said: " Great shame has com.e upon the landholder because of this judgment, and fearing his anger, Ram> Dass and all his house have gone back to Pali. Ram Dass told us that you also had gone first, the enmity being healed between you, to open a shop in Pali. Indeed, it were v/ell for you that you go even now^ for the landholder has sworn that if he catch any one of your house, he will hang him by the heels from the well-beam, and, swinging him to and fro, will beat hin} with staves till the blood runs from his ears. What I have said in respect to the case is true as these men here can testify — even to the five hundred rupees." I said: "Was it five hundred?" And. Kirpa Ram, the jaf, said: "Five hundredf. for I bore witness also." And I groaned, for it had been in my heart to have said two hundred only. Then a new fear came upon me and my bowels turned to water, and, running swiftly to the house of Ram Dass, I sought 66 In Black and White for my books and my money in the great wooden chest under my bedstead. There remained nothing; not even a cowrie's value. All had been taken by the devil who said he was my brother. I vv'ent to my own house also and opened the boards of the shutters; but there also was nothing save the rats among the grain-baskets. In that hour my senses left me, and, tearing my clothes, I ran to the well-place, crying out for the justice of the English on my brother Ram Dass, and, in my madness, telling all that the books were lost When men saw that I would have jumped down the well, they believed the truth of my talk; more especially because upon my back and bosom were still the marks of the staves of the landholder. Jowar Singh the carpenter withstood me, and turning me in his hands — for he is a very strong man — showed the scars upon m.y body, and bowed down with laughter upon the well-curb. He cried aloud so that all heard him, from the v;ell-square to the caravansary of the pilgrims: *' Oho! The jackals have quarreled, and the gray one has been caught in the trap. In truth, this man has been grievously beaten, and his brother has taken the money which the court decreed! Oh, hunnia, this shall be told for years against you! The jackals have quarreled, and, moreover, the books Gemini 67 are burned. Oh, people indebted to Durga Dass — and I know that ye be many — the books are burned! " Then all Isser Jang took up the cry that the books were burned. Ahi! Ahi! thai in my folly I had let that escape my mouth — and they laughed throughout the city. They gave me the abuse of the Punjabi, which is a terrible abuse and very fc::;; pelt- ing me also vvith sticks and cow-dung till [ fell dov/n and cried for mercy. Ram Narain, the letter-writer, bade the people cease, for fear that the news should g'et into xNlontgomery, and the policem.en tnight come down to inquire. He said, .ising many bad Vv^ords : " This much mercy kvill I do to you, Durga Dass, though there rt'as no mercy in your dealings with my lister's son ' over the matter of the dun leifer. Has any man a pony on which he ;ets no store, that this fellow may escape? [f the landholder hears that one of the :wain (and God knows whether he beat one jr both, but this man is certainly beaten) )e in the city, there will be a murder done, uid then will come the police, making in- juisition into each man's house and eating he sweet-seller's stuff all day long." Kirpa Ram, the jat, said: " I have a pony ^ery sick. But v/ith beating he can be nade to walk for two miles. If he dies, he hide-sellers will have the body." 68 In Black and White Then Chumbo, the hide-seller, said: "I will pay three anrxas for the body, and will walk by this man's side till such time as the pony dies. If it be more than two miles, I will pay two annas only." Kirpa Ram said: ''Be it so." INIen brought out the pony, and I asked leave to draw a little water from the well, because I was dried up with fear. Then Ram Narain said: "Here be four annas. God has brought you very low, Durga Dass, and I v»^ould not send you away empty, even though the matter of my sister's son's dun heifer be an open sore between us. It is a long way to your own country. Go, and if it be so willed, live; but, above all, do not take the pony's bridle, for that is mine." And I went out of Isser Jarig, amid the laughing of the huge-thighed jats, and the hide-seller walked by my side waiting for the pony to fall dead. In one mile it died, and being full of fear of the landholder, I ran till I could run no more and came to this place. But I swear by the Cow, I swear by all things whereon Hindoos and Mussulmans, and even the sahibs swear, that I, and not m.y brother, was beaten by the landholder. But the case is shut and the doors of the lav.- courts are shut, and God knows where the baba Stunt Sahib — the mother's milk Gemini 69 is not dry upon his hairless Hp — is gene. Ahi! Ahi! I have no witnesses, and the scars will heal, and I am a poor man. But, on my father's soul, on the oath of a Alaha- jun from. Pali, I, and not my brother, was beaten by the landholder! What can I do? The justice of the Eng- lish is as a great river. Having gone for- ward, it does not return. Howbeit, do you, sahib, take a pen and write clearly what I have said, that the Dipty Sahib may see, and reprove the Stunt Sahib, who is a colt yet unlicked by the mare, so young is he. I, and not my brother, was beaten, and he is gone to the west — I do not know where. But, above all things, write — so that sa- hibs may read, and his disgrace be accom- plished — that Ram Dass, my brother, son of Purun Dass, Mahajun of Pali, is a swine and a night-thief, a taker of life, an eater of flesh, a jackals-pawn, without beauty, or faith, or cleanliness, or honor! AT TWENTY-TWO Narrow as the womb, deep as the Pit, and dark as the heart of a man. — Sonthal Miner's Proverb, " A WEAVER went out to reap but stayed to unravel the corn-stalks. Ha! ha! ha! Is there any sense in a weaver? " The never-ending tussle had recom- menced. Janki Meah glared at Kundoo, but, as Janki ^^leah was blind, Kundoo was not impressed. He had come to argue with Janki j\Ieah, and, if chance favored, to make love to the old man's beautiful young wife. This was Kundoo's grievance, and he spoke in the name of all the five men who, with Janki jMeah, composed the gang in Xo. /gallery of Twenty-two. Janki Meah had been blind for the thirty years during which he had served the Jimahari Collier- ies with pick and crowbar. All through those thirty years he had regularly, every morning before going down, drawn from the overseer his allowance of lamp-oil — just as if he had been an eyed miner. What Kundoo*s gang resented, as hundreds 70 At Twenty-Two 71 of gangs had resented before, was Janki Meah's selfishness. He would not add the oil to the common stock of his gang, but would save and sell it. " I knew these workings before you were born," Janki Meah used to reply: '' I don't want the light to get my coal out by, and I am not going to help you. The oil is mine, and I intend to keep it." A strange man in many ways was Janki Meah, the white-haired, hot-tempered, sightless weaver v;ho had turned pitman. All day long — except on Sundays and Mondays, when he was usually drunk — he worked in the Twenty-two shaft of the jimahari Colliery as cleverly as a man vv'ith all the senses. At evening he went up in the great steam-hauled cage to the pit-bank, and there called for his pony — a rusty, coal-dusty beast, nearly as old as Janki Meah. The pony would come to his side, and Janki IMeah would clamber on to its back and be taken at once to the plot of land which he, like the other miners, re- ceived from the Jimahari company. The pony knew that place, and when, after six years, the company changed all the allot- ments to prevent the miners acquiring pro- prietary rights, Janki Meah represented, with tears in his eyes, that were his holding shifted he would never be able to find his way to the new one. '' My horse only 72 In Blark and White knows that place," pleaded Janki Meah, and so he was allowed to keep his land. On the strength of this concession and his accumulated oil-savings, Janki Meah took a second wife — a girl of the Jolaha main stock of the Meahs, and singularly beautiful. Janki Meah could not see her beauty; wherefore he took her on trust, and forbade her to go down the pit. He had not worked for thirty years in the dark without knowing that the pit was no place for pretty women. He loaded her with ornaments — not brass or pewter, but real silver ones — and she rewarded him by flirting outrageously with Kundoo of No. 7 gallery-gang. Kundoo was really the gang head, but Janki Meah insisted' upon all the work being entered in his own name, and chose the men that he worked with. Custom — stronger even than the Jima- hari company — dictated that Janki, by right of his years, should manage these things, and should also work despite his blindness. In Indian mines where they cut into the solid coal with the pick and clear it out from floor to ceiling, he could come to no great harm. At home, where they undercut the coal, and bring it dov/n in crashing avalanches from the roof, he would never have been allowed to set foot in a pit. He was not a popular man, be- cause of his oil-savings; but all the gangs At Twenty-Two 73 admitted that Janki knew all the hhads, or workings, that had ever been sunk or worked since the Jimahari company first started operations on the Tarachunda fields. Pretty little Unda only knew that her old husband was a fool who could be man- aged. She took no interest in the collieries except in so far as they swallowed up Kun- doo five days out of the seven, and covered him with coal-dust. Kundoo w^as a great workman, and did his best not to get drunk, because, when he had saved forty rupees, Unda was to steal everything that she could find in Janki's house and run with Kundoo '' over the hills and far away *' to countries where there were no mines, and every one kept three fat bul- locks and a milch-buffalo. While this scheme was maturing it was his amiable custom, to drop in upon Janki and worry him about the oil-savings. Unda sat in a corner and nodded approval. On the night when Kundoo had quoted that objec- tionable proverb about weavers, Janki grev/ angry. " Listen, you pig," said he, " blind i am., and old I am, but, before ever 3'ou were born, I was gray among the coal. Even in the days when the Twenty-two kliad was unsunk and there were not two thousand men here. I was known to have all knowl- 74 In Black and White edge of t]-je pits. What khad is there that 1 do not know, from the bottom of the shaft to the end of the last drive? Is it the Baromba khad, the oldest, or the Twenty- two where Tibu's gallery runs up to Number 5?" " Hear the old fool talk " said Kundoo, nodding to Unda. " No gallery of Twenty-two will cut into five before the end of the rains. We have a month's solid coal before us. The Babuji says so." ''Babuji! Pigji! Dogji ! What do these fat slugs from Calcutta know? He draws and draws and draws, and talks and talks and talks, and his maps are all wrong. I, Janki, know that this is so. When a man has been shut up in the dark foi thirty years, God gives him knowledge. The old gallery that Tibu's gang made is not six feet from Number 5." " \Vithout doubt God gives the blind knowledge," said Kundoo, with a look at Unda. " Let it be as you say. I, for my part, do not know where lies the gallery of Tibu's gang, but I am not a withered monkey who needs oil to grease his joints with." Kundoo swung out of the hut laughing, and Unda giggled. Janki turned his sight- less eyes toward his wife and swore. '* I have land, and I have sold a great deal of At Twenty-Two 75 lamp-oil," mused Janki; " but I was a fool to marry this child." A week later the rains set in with a ven- geance, and the gangs paddled about in coal-slush at the pit-banks. Then the big mine-pumps were made ready, and the man- ager of the colliery plowed through the wet toward the Tarachunda R.iver swelling be- tween its soppy banks. " Lord, send that this beastly beck doesn't mdsbehave," said the manager, piously, and he went and took counsel wiih his assistant about the pumps. But the Tarachunda misbehaved very m.uch indeed. After a fall of three inches of rain in an hdnr it was obliged to do something. It topped its bank and joined the flood-water that was hemmed between two low^ hills just where the embankment of the colliery main line crossed. When a good part of a rain-fed river, and a fev\^ acres of flood-water, make a dead set for a nine-foot culvert, the culvert may spout its finest, but the water can not all get out. The manager pranced upon one leg with excitement, and his language was imipropen He had reason to swear, because ne knew that one inch of water on land meant a pressure of one hundred tons to the acre; and here were about five feet of water forming, behind the railway embankment, over the shallower workings of Twenty- two. You must understand that, in a coal- 76 In Black and White mine, the coal nearest the surface is worked first from the central shaft. That is to say, the. miners may clear out the stuff to within ten, twenty, or thirty feet, of the surface, and, when all is worked out, leave only a skin of earth upheld by some few pillars of coal. In a deep mine where they know that they have any amount of material at hand, men prefer to get all their mineral out at one shaft, rather than make a num- ber of little holes to tap the comparatively unimportant surface coal. And the manager watched the flood. The culvert spouted a nine-foot gush; but the water still formed, and word v/as sent to clear the men out of Twenty-two. The cages cam.e up crammed and crammed again with the men nearest the pit-eye, as they call the place where you can see day- light from the bottom of the main shaft. All away and away, up the long black gal- leries the flare-lamps were winking and dancing like so many flre-flies. and the men and the women v/aited for the clanking, rattling, thundering cages to come down and fly up again. But the out-workings were very far off, and the word could not be passed quickly, though the heads of the gangs and the assistant shouted and swore and tramped and stumbled. The manager kept one eye on the great troubled pool behind the embankment, and prayed that At Twenty-Two 77 th& culvert would give way and let the water through in time. With the other eye he watched the cages come up and saw the headmen counting the roll of the gangs. \\'ith all his heart and soul he sv/ore at the winder who controlled the iron drum that wound up the wire rope on vrhich hung tlie cages. In a little time there was a down-draw m the water behind the embankm.ent — a sucking whirlpool, all yellow and yeasty. TliQ vrater had smashed through the skin of the earth and was poring into the old shallow v/orkings of Twenty-two. Deep down below, a rush of black Vv^ater caught the last gang waiting for the cage, and as they clambered in, the whirl was about their waists. The cage reached the pit-bank, and the manager called the roll. The gangs were all safe except Gang Janki, Gang I\Iogul, and Gang Rahim, eighteen m.en, with perhaps ten basket-women who loaded the coal into the little iron carriages that ran on the tramways of the main gal- leries. These gangs were in the out-work- ings, three quarters of a mile away, on the extreme fringe of the mine. Once more the cage v/ent down, but with only two Englishmen in it, and dropped into a sv.'irling, roaring current that had almost touched the roof of some of the lower side- galleries. One of the wooden balks with 78 In Black and White which they had propped the old working shot past on the current, just missing the cage. '' If we don't wart our ribs knocked out, we'd better go," said the manager. *' We can't even save the company's props." The cage di-ew out of the water with a splash, and a few minutes later, it was offi- cially reported that there were at least ten feet of water in the pit's-eye. Now ten feet of water there meant that all other places in the mine were flooded except such gal- leries as were more than ten feet above the level of the bottom of the shaft. The deep workings would be full, the main galleries would be full, but in the high workings reached by inclines from the main roads, there wouid be a certain amount of air cut ofiF, so to speak, by the water and squeezed up by it. The little science-primers explain how water behaves vv'hen you pour it dov\Ti test-tubes. The flooding of Twenty-two was an illustration on a large scale. ** By the Holy Grove, what has happened to the air? It was a Sonthal gangman of Gang !Mogul in No. 9 gallery, and he was driving a six-foot way through the coal. Then there was a rush from the other gal- leries, p.nd Gang Janki and Gang Rahim Stumbled up with their basket-women. At Twenty-Two 79 " Water has come in the mine," they said, *' and there is no way of getting out." " I went down," said Janki — " down the slope of my gallery, and I felt the water." " There has been no water in the cutting in our time," clamored the women. " Why can not we go away? " " Be silent," said Janki; " long ago, when my father was here, v/ater came to Ten — no. Eleven — cutting, and there was great trouble. Let us get away to where the air is better." The three gangs and the basket-women left No. 9 gallery and went further up No, 16. At one turn of the road they could see the pitchy black water lapping on the coaL It had touched the roof of a gallery that they knew well — a gallery where they used to smoke their hnqas and conduct their flirtations. Seeing this, they called aloud upon their gods, and the ]\Ieahs, vvho are thrice bastard ^Mohammedans, strove to rec- ollect the name of the Prophet. ^ They came to a great open square whence nearly all the coal had been extracted. It was the end of the out-workings, and the end of the mine. Far away down the gallery a small pump- ing-engine, used for keeping dry a deep working and fed with steam from above, was faithfully throbbing. They heard it cease. 8o In Black and White " They have cut off the steam," said Kun» doo, hopefully. " They have given the or- der to use ail the steam for the pit-bank pumps. They will clear out the water." " If the water has reached the smoking- gallery," said Janki, " all the company's pumps can do nothing for three days." " It is very hot," moaned Jasoda, the •\Ieah basket-woman. "There is a very bad air here because of the lamps." " Put them out," said Janki ; " why do you want lamps?" The lamps were put out amid protests, and the company sat still in the utter dark. Somebody rose quietly and began walking over the coals. It was Janki, who was touching the walls with his hands. '* Where is the ledge?" he mur- mured to himself. " Sit, sit! " said Kundoo. " If we die, we die. The air is very bad." But Janki still stumbled and crept and tapped with his pick upon the walls. The women rose to their feet. " Stay air where you are. Without the tamps you can not see, and I — I am always seeing," said Janki. Then he paused, and called out: " Oh, you who have been in the cutting m.ore than ten years, what is the name of this open place? I am an old man and I have forgotten." ** BuUia's Room," answered the Sonthal At Twenty-Two 8 i who had complained of the vileness of the air. "Again," said Janki. " BulHa's Room." " Then I have found it/* said Janki, " The name only had slipped my m-emory.. Tibu's gang's gallery is here." " A lie," said Kundoo. " There have been no galleries in this place since my day." " Three paces was the depth of the ledge.'' muttered Janki without heeding — " and — oh, my poor bones! — I have found it! It is here, up this ledge. Come all you, one by one, to the place of my voice, and I will count you." There was a rush in the dark, and Janki felt the first man's face hit his knees as the Sonthal scrambled up the ledge. *'Who?" cried Jaki. " I, Sunua I\ianji." " Sit you down,'* said Janki. " Who next?" One by one the women and the men crawled up the ledge which ran along one side of " Bullia's Room." Degraded Yio hammedan, pig-eating Musahr and wild Sonthal, Janki ran his hand over them all, " Xow follow after," said he, " catching hold of mv heel, and the women catching the men's clothes." He did not ask whether the men had brought their picks 82 In Black and White with them. A miner, black or white, does not drop his pick. One by one, Janki lead- ing, they crept into the old gallery — a six- foot way with a scant four feet from thill to roof. *' The air is better here," said Jasoda. They could hear her heart beating in thick, sick bumps. " Slowly, slowly," said Janki. " I am an old man, and I forget many things. This is Tibu's gallery, but where are the four bricks where they used to put their huqa fire on when the sahibs never saw? Slowly, slowly, oh, you people behind." They heard his hands disturbing the small coal on the fioor of the gallery and then a dull sound. '* This is one unbaked brick, and this is another and another. Kundoo is a young man — let him come forward. Put a knee upon this brick and strike here. When Tibu's gang were at dinner on the last day before the good coal ended, they heard the men of Five on the other side, and Five worked their gallery two Sundays later — or it m.ay have been one. Strike there, Kundoo, but give me room to go back." Kundoo, doubting, drove the pick, but the first soft crush of the coal was a call to him. He was fighting for his life and for Unda — pretty little Unda with the rings on all her toes — for Unda and the forty At Twenty-Two 83 rupees. The woman sung the " Song of the Pick " — the terrible, slow, swinging melody with the muttered chorus that re- peats the sliding of the loosened coal, and, to each cadence, Kundoo smote in the blacl: dark. When he could do no more, Sunua jManji took the pick, and struck for his life and his wife, and his village beyond the blue hills over the Tarachunda River. An hour the men w^orked, and then the women cleared away the coal. " It is further than I thought," said Janki. "The air is very bad; but strike, Kundoo, strike hard." For the fifth time Kundoo took up the pick as the Sonthal crawled back. The song had scarcely recommenced when it was broken by a yell from Kundoo that echoed down the gallery: ''Par hita! Par hita! We are through, we are through! " The imprisoned air in the mine shot through the opening, and the women at the far end of the gallery heard the water rush through the pillars of " Bullia's Room " and roar against the ledge. Hav- ing fulfilled the law under which it worked, it rose no further. The women screamed and pressed forward. " The water has come — we shall be killed! Let us go." Kundoo crawled through the gap and found liimself in a propped gallery by the 84 In Black and White simple process of hitting his head against a beam. '' Do I know the pits or do I not? '* chuckled Janki. " This is the Number Five; go you out slowly, giving me your names. Ho! Rahim, count your gang! Now let us go forward, each catching hold of the other as before." They formed a line in the darkness and Janki led them — for a pitman in a strange pit is only one degree less liable to err than an ordinary mortal underground for the first time. At last they saw a flare-lamp, and Gangs Janki. Mogul and Rahim of Twenty-two stumbled dazed into the glare of the draught-furnace at the bottom of Five: Janki feeling his way and the rest behind. *' Water has come into Twenty-two. God knows where are the others. I have brought these men from Tibu's gallery in our cutting: making connection through the north side of the gallery. Take us to the cage,'* said Janki Meah. At the pit-bank of Twenty-two, some thousand people clamored and wept and shouted. One hundred men — one thou* sand men — had been drowned in the cut- ting. They would all go to their homes to-:v.orrow. Where were their men? Lit- At Twenty-Two 85 tie Unda, her scarf drenched with the rain, stood at the pit-mouth caUing down the shaft for Knndoo. They had swung the cages clear of the mouth, and her only answer was the murmur of the flood in the pit's-eye two hundred and sixty feet below. "Look after that woman! She'll chuck herself down the shaft in a minute," shouted the manager. But he need not have troubled; Unda was afraid of death. She vv^anted Kundoo. The assistant was watching the flood and seeing how^ far he could wade into it. There was a lull in the water, and the whirlpool had slackened. The mine was full, and the people at the pit-bank howled. " jNIy faith, we shall be lucky if w^e have five hundred hands in the place to-mor- row! *' said the manager. "There's some chance yet of running a temporary dam across that water. Shove in anything — tubs and bullock-carts if you haven't enough bricks. Make them work now if they never Vv^orked before. Hi! you gang- ers, make them vv'ork." Little by little the crowd was broken into detachments, and pushed toward the water with promises of overtime. The dam- making began, and when it was fairly un- der way, the manager thought that the hour had come for the pum.ps. There was no fresh inrush into the mine. The tall, 86 In Black i.nd White red, iron-clamped pump-beam rose and fell, and the pumps snored and guttered and shrieked as the first water poured out of the pipe. '* We must run her all to-night," said the manager, wearily, " but there's no hope for the poor devils down below. Look here, Gur Sahai, if you are proud of your en- gines, show me what they can do now." Gur Sahai grinned and nodded, with his right hand upon the lever and an oil-can in his left. He could do no more than he was doing, but he could keep that up till the dawn. Were the company's pumps to be beaten by the vagaries of that trouble- some Tarachunda River? Never, never! And the pumps sobbed and panted: " Never, never! " The nianager sat in the shelter of the pit-bank roofing, trying to dry himself by the pump-boiler fire, and, in the dreary dusk, he saw the crowds on the dam scatter and fly. " That's the end," he groaned. " 'Twill take us six weeks to persuade 'em that we haven't tried to drown their mates on pur- pose. Oh, for a decent, rational Geordie! " But the flight had no panic in it. Men had run over from Five with astounding news, and the foremen could not hold their gangs together. Presently, surrounded by a clamorous crew, Gangs Rahim, Mogul, and Janki, and ten basket-women, walked At Twenty-Two 87 up to report themselves, and pretty little Unda stole away to Janki's hut to prepare his evening meal. "Alone I found the way," explained Janki Meah, " and now will the company give me pension? " The simple pit-folk shouted and leaped and went back to the dam, reassured in their old belief that, whatever happened, so great was the power of the company whose salt they eat, none of them could be killed. But Gur Sahai only bared his white teeth and kept his hand upon the lever and proved his pumps to the uttermost. " I say," said the assistant to the man- ager, a week later, " do you recollect 'Germ.inar?" " Yes. Queer thing. I thought of it in the cage when that balk went by. Why? " " Oh, this business seems to be * Ger- minal ' upside down. Janki was in my veranda all this mxorning, telling me that Kundoo had eloped vv-ith his wife — Unda or Anda, I think her name was." "Halloo! And those were the cattle that you risked your life to clear out of Twenty-tvv'o ! " " "No — I was thinking of the company's props, not the company's men." "Sounds better to say so now; but I don't believe you, old fellow." IN FLOOD TIME Tweed said tae Till: — •• "What gars ye rin sae still?* Till said tae Tweed: — ** Though ye rin wi' speed And I rin slaw — Yet where ye droon ae man I droon twa." There is no getting over the river to- night, sahib. They say that a bullock-cart has been washed down already, and the ekka that Vv'ent over half an hour before you came has not yet reached the far side. Is the sahib in haste? I will drive the ford- elephant in to show him. Ohe, mahout there in the shed! Bring out Ram. Per- shad, and if he will face the current, good. An elephant never lies, sahib, and Ram Pershad is separated from his friend Kala Nag. He, too, wishes to cross to the far side. Well done! Well done! my king! Go half-way across, inahotttji and see what the river says. Well done. Ram Pershad! Pearl among elephants, go Into the river! Hit him on the head, fool 1 Was the goad 88 In Flood Time 89 made only to scratch thy own fat back with, bastard? Strike! Strike! What are the bowlders to thee, Ram Pershad, my Rus- tum, my mountain of strength? Go in! Go in! No, sahib! It is useless. You can hear him trumpet. lie is telHng Kala Nag that he can not com.e over. See! He has swung round and is shaking his head. He 15 no fooL He knovv-s what the Barh',\i means when it is angry. Aha! Indeed, thou art no fool, my child! Salam.. Ram Pershad, Bahadur! Take him under the trees, mahout, and see that he gets his spices. Well done, thou chiefest among tuskers. Salam to the sirkar and go to sleep. What is to be done? The sahib m.ust wait till the river goes dov»'n. It will shrink to-morrow morning, if God pleases, or the day after at the latest. Now v/hy does the sahib get so angry? I am his servant. Before God, I did not create this stream! What can I do? My hut and all that is therein is at the service of the sahib, and it is beginning to rain. Come away, my lord. How will the river go down for your throwing abuse at it? In the old days the English people were not thus. The hre-carriage has made them soft. In the old days, when they drove behind horses by day or by night, they said naught go In Black and White if a river barred the way or a carriage sat down in the mud. It was the will of God — not like a lire-carriage which goes and goes and goes, and would go though all the devils in the land hung on to its tail. The fire-carriage hath spoiled the English peo- ple. After all, vv^hat is a day lost, or, for that matter, what are two days? Is the sahib going to his own wedding, that he is so m.ad with haste? Ho! Ho! Ho! I am an old man and see few sahibs. For- give me if I have forgotten the respect that is due to them. The sahib is not angry? His own wedding! Ho! Ho! Ho! The mind of an old man is like the numah- tree. Fruit, bud, blossom, and the dead leaves of all the years of the past flourish together. Old and new and that which is gone out of remembrance, all three are there! Sit on the bedstead, sahib, and drink milk. Or — would the s?hib in truth care to drink miy tobacco? it is good. It is the tobacco of Nuklao. My son, who is in service there, sent it to me. Drink, then, sahib, if you knovr how to handle the tube. The sahib takes it like a Mussulman. Wah! Wah! Where did he learn that? His own wedding! Ho! Ho! Ho! The sahib says that there is no wedding in the matter at all? Now is it likely that the sahib would speak true talk to me who am onlv a black man? In Flood Time 91 Small wonder, then, that he is in haste. Thirty years have I beaten the gong at this ford, but never have I seen a sahib in such haste. Thirty years, sahib ! That is a very long time. Thirty years ago this ford was on the track of the bttnjaras, and I have seen two thousand pack-bullocks cross in one night. Now the rail has come, and the fire-carriage says '' buz-buz-buz," and a hundred lakhs of maunds slide across that big bridge. It is very wonderful; but the ford is lonely now that there are no bunjaras to camp under the trees. Nay, do not trouble to look at the sky without. It will rain till the dawn. Lis- ten! The bowlders are talking to-night in the bed of the river. Hear them! They would be husking your bones, sahib, had you tried to cross. See, I will shut the door and no rain can enter. Wahi! Ahil Ugh! Thirty years on the banks of the ford! An old man am I and — where is the oil for the lamp? Your pardon, but, because of my years, I sleep no sounder than a dog; and you moved to the door. Look then, sahib. Look and listen. A full half kos from bank to bank is the stream now — you can see it under the stars — and there are ten feet of water therein. It will not shrink be- 92 In Black and White cause of the anger in your eyes, and it will not be quiet on account of your curses. Wiiich is louder, sahib — your voice or the voice of the river? Call to it — perhaps it will be ashamed. Lie down and sleep afresh, sahib. I know the anger of the Barhwi when there has fallen rain in ihe foot-hills. I swam the flood once, on a night tenfold worse than this, and by the favor of God I was released from death when I had come to the very gates thereof. May I tell the tale? Very good talk. I will fill the pipe anew. Thirty years ago it was, when I was a young man and had but newly come to the ford. I Vv'as strong then, and the bnnjaras had no doubt when I said " this ford is clear." I have toiled all night up to my shoulder-blades in running water amid a hundred bullocks mad with fear, and have brought them across losing not a hoof. When all was done I fetched the shivering men, and they gave me for reward the pick of their cattle — the bell-bullock of the drove. So great was the honor in which I was held! But to-day when the rain falls and the river rises I creep into my hut and whimper like a dog. The strength Is gone from me. I am an old man and the fire-carriage has made the ford desolate, They were wont to call me the Strong One of the Barhwi. In Flood Time 93 Behold my face, sahib. It is the face oi a monkey. And my arm. It is the arm of an old v/oman. I swear to you, sahib, that a woman has loved this face and has rested in the hollow of this arm. Twenty years ago, sahib. Believe me, this was true talk — twenty years ago. Come to the door and look across. Can you see a thin fire very far away down the stream? That is the temple-fire, in the shrine of Hanuman, of the village of Pateera. North, under the big star, is the village itself, but it is hidden by a bend of the river. Is that far to swim, sahib? Would you take ofi" your clothes and ad- venture? Yet I swam to Pateera — not once but many times; and there are mug- gers in the river too. Love knows no caste; else why should I, a Mussulman and the son of a Mussul- man, have sought a Hindoo woman — a widow of the Hindoos — the sister of the headman of Pateera? But it was even so. They of the headman's household cam^e on a pilgrimage to Muttra when she was but newdy a bride. Silver tires were upon the wheels of the bullock-cart, and silken cur- tains hid the woman. Sahib, I made no haste in their conveyance, for the wind parted the curtains and I saw her. When they returned froni pilgrimage the boy that was her husband had died, and I saw her 94 In Black and White again in the bullock-cart. By God, these Hindoos are fools! What was it to me whether she was Hindoo or Jain — scav- enger, leper or whole? I would have mar- ried her and made her a home by the ford. The seventh of the nine bars says that a man may not marry one of the idolaters. Is that truth? Both Shiahs and Sunnis say that a Mussulman may not marry one of the idolaters? Is the sahib a priest, then, that he knows so much? I will tell him something that he does not know. There is neither Shiah nor Sunni, forbidden nor idolater, in love; and the nine bars are but nine little fagots that the flame of love utterly burns away. In truth, I would have taken her; but what could I do? The headman would have sent his men to break my head with staves. I am not — I was not — afraid of any five men ; but against half a village who can prevail? Therefore It was my custom, these things having been arranged between us twain, to go by night to the village of Pateera, and there we met among the crops; no man knowing aught of the mat- ter. Behold, now! I was wont to cross here, skirting the jungle to the river bend where the railway bridge is, and thence across the elbow of land to Pateera. The light of the shrine was my guide when the nights were dark. That jungle near the In Flood Time 95 river is very full of snakes — little karaifs that sleep on the sand — and moreover, her brothers would have slain me had they found m.e in the crops. But none knew — none knew save she and I; and the blown sand of the river bed covered the track of my feet. In the hot months it was an easy thing to pass from the ford to Pateera, and in the first rains, when the river rose slowly, it was an easy thing also. I set the strength of my body against the strength of the stream, and nightly I eat ha my hut here and drank at Pateera yon- der. She had said that one Hirnam Singh, a scamp, had sought her, and he was of a -•iilage up the river but on the same bank- All Sikhs are dogs, and they have refused in their folly that good gift of God — tobacco. I was ready to destroy Hirnam Singh that ever he had come nigh her; and the more because he had sworn to her that she had a lover, and that he would lie in wait and give the name to the headmian imless she went away with him. What curs are these Sikhs ! After that news I swam always with a little sharp knife in my belt, and evil would it have been for a man had he stayed me. I knew not the face of Hirnam Singh, but I would have killed any who came between me and her. Upon a night in the beginning of the 96 In Black and White rains I was minded to go across to Pateera, albeit the river was angry. Now the na- ture of the Barhwi is this, sahib. In twenty- breaths it comes down from the hills, a wall three feet high, and I have seen it, between the lighting of a fire and the cooking of a flapjack, grow from the runnel to a sister of the Jumna. When I left this bank there was a shoal a half mile down, and I made shift to fetch it and draw breath there ere going forward; for I felt the hands of the river heavy upon my heels. Yet what will a young man not do for Love's sake? There was but little light from the stars, and midway to the shoal a branch of the stinking deodar-tree brushed my mouth as I swam. That was a sign of heavy rain in the foot-hills and beyond, for the deodar is a strong tree, not easily shaken from the hill-sides. I made haste, the river aiding me, but ere I had touched the shoal, the pulse of the stream beat, as it were, within me and around, and, behold, the shoal was gone and I rode high on the crest of a wave that ran from bank to bank. Has the sahib ever been cast into much water that fights and will not let a man use his limbs? To me, my head up on the water, it seemed as though there were naught but water to the world's end, and the river drove me with its drift-wood. A man is a very little thing in the belly of In Flood Time 97 a flood. And this flood, though I knew it not, was the Great Flood about which men talk still. My liver was dissolved and I lay like a log upon my back in the fear of death. There were living things in the water, cry- ing and hovv^ling grievously — beasts of the forest and cattle, and once the voice of a rnan asking for help. But the rain came and lashed the water white, and I heard no more save the roar of the bowlders be- iovv' and the roar of the rain above. Thus I was whirled down-stream, wrestling for the breath in me. It is very hard to die when one is young. Can the sahib, stand- ing here, see the ail way bridge? Look, there are the lights of the mail-train going to Peshawur! The bridge is now twenty feet above the river, but upon that night the water was roaring against the lattice- work and against the lattice came I feet first. But much driftwood was piled there and upon the piers, and I took no great hurt. Only the river pressed me as a strong man presses a weaker. Scarcely could I take hold of the lattice-work and crawl to the upper boom. Sahib, the water was foaming across the rails a foot deep! Judge therefore what manner of flood it must have been. I could not hear. I could not see. I could but lie on the boom and pant for breath. After awhile the rain ceased and tliere 98 In Bkck and White came out in ^le sky certain new washed stars, and by tneir light I saw that there v/as no end to the black water as far as the eye could travel, and the water had risen upon the rails. There were dead beasts in the driftwood on the piers, and others caught by the neck in the lattice-work, and others not yet drowned who strove to find a foothold on the lattice-work — buffaloes and kine, and wild pig, and deer one or two, and snakes and jackals past all counting. Their bodies were black upon the left side of the bridge, but the smaller of them vrere forced through the lattice-work and whirled down-stream. Thereafter the stars died and the rain came down afresh and the river rose yet more, and I felt the bridge begin to stir under me as a m.an stirs in his sleep ere he wakes. But I was not afraid, sahib. I svs-ear to you that I was not afraid, though I had no power in my limbs. I knew that 1 should not die till I had seen her once more. But I was very cold, and I felt that the bridge must go. There was a trembling in the water, such a trembling as goes before the coming of a great wave, and the bridge lifted its flank to the rush of that coming so that the right lattice dipped under water and the left rose clear. On m.y beard, sahib, I am speaking God's truth! As a Mirzapore stone-boat In Flood Time 99 careens to the wind, so the Barhwi Bridge turned. Just thus and in no other manner, I sUd from the boom into deep water, and behind me came tlie wave of wrath of the river. I heard its voice and the scream of the middle part of the bridge as it moved from the piers and sunk, and I knevv^ no more till I rose in the mJddle of the great flood. I put forth m.y hand to swim, and lo! it fell upon the knotted hair of the head of a man. He was dead, for no one but I, the Strong One of Barhwi, could have lived in that race. He had been dead full two days, for he rode high, wal- lowing, and was an aid to me. I laughed then, knov/ing for a surety that I should yet see her and take no harm; and I twisted my fingers in the hair of the man, for I was far spent, and together we went down the stream — he the dead and I the living. Lacking that help I should have sunk; the cold was in my marrow, and my flesh was ribbed and sodden on my bones. But he had no fear who had known the utiermost of the power of the river; and I let him go where he chose. At last we came into the power of a side-current that set to the right bank, and I strove with my feet to draw with it. But the dead man swung heavily in the whirl, and I feared that some branch had struck him and that he would sink. The tops of the tamarisk brushed loo In Black and White my knees, so I knew we were come into flood-water above the crops, and, after, I let down my legs and felt bottom — the ridge of a field — and, after, the dead man stayed upon a knoil under a fig-tree, and I drew my body from the water rejoicing. Does the sahib know whither the back- wash of the flood had borne me? To the knoll which is the eastern boundary mark of the village of Pateera! No other place. I drew the dead man up on the grass for the service that he had done me, and also because I knew not whether I should need l:im again. Then I went, crying thrice like a jackal, to the appointed place which was near the byre of the herdman's house. But my love was already there, weeping upon her knees. She feared that the flood had swept my hut at the Barhv/i Ford. When I came softly through the ankle-deep water, she thought it was a ghost and would have fled, but I put my arms around her, and . . . I was no ghost in those days, though I am an old man now. Ho! Ho! Dried corn, in truth. Maize without juice. Ho! Ho!^ I told her the story of the breaking of the Barhwi Bridge, and she said that I was greater than mortal man, for none may * I erieve to say that the Warden of the Barhwi Forrl is responsible here for two very bad puns in the vernacular. — R. K. In Flood Time loi cross the Barhvvi in full flood, and I had seen what never man had seen before. Hand in hand we went to the knoll where the dead lay, and I showed her by what liclp I had made the ford. She looked also upon the body under the stars, for the lat- ter end of the night was clear, and hid her face in her hands, crying: ''It is the body of Hirnam Singh! " I said: '' The swine is of more use dead than living, my beloved," and she said: " Surely, for he has saved the dearest life in the world to my love. None the less, he can not stay here, for that would bring shame upon me." The body was not a gunshot from her door. Then said I, rolling the body with my hands: " God hath judged between us, Hir- nam Singh, that thy blood might not be upon my head. Now, whether I have done thee a wrong in keeping thee from the burning-ghat, do thou and the crows settle together." So I cast him adrift into the flood-water, and he was drav/n out to the open, ever wagging his thick black beard like a priest under the pulpit-board. And I sav/ no more of Hirnam Singh. Before the breaking of the day we two parted, and I moved toward such of the jungle as was not flooded. With the full light I saw what I had done in the dark- ness, and the bones of my body were loosened in my flesh, for there ran two kos I02 In Black and White of raging water between the village of Pa- teera and the trees of the far bank, and, in the middle, the piers of the Barhwi Bridge showed like broken teeth in the jaw of an old man. Nor was there any life upon the waters — neither birds nor JDoats, but only an army of drowned things — bul- locks and horses and men — and the river was redder than blood from the clay of the foot-hills. Never had I seen such a flood — never since that year have I seen the like — and, oh, sahib, no man living had done v/hat I had done. There was no re- turn for me that day. Not for all the lands of the headman would I venture a second time without the shield of darkness that cloaks danger. I went a kos up the river to the house of a blacksmith, saying that the flood had swept me from my hut, and they gave me food. Seven days I stayed with the blacksmith, till a boat came and I returned to my house. There was no trace of wall, or roof, or floor — naught but a patch of slimy mud. Judge, therefore, sa- hib, how far the river m.ust have risen. It was wTitten that I should not die either in my house, or in the heart of the Barhwi, or under the wreck of the Barhwi Bridge, for God sent down Hirnam Singh two days dead, though I know not how the man died, to be my buoy and support. Hirnam Singh has been in hell these twenty years, and the In Flood Time 103 thought of that night must be the flower of his torment. Listen, sahib! The river has changed tts voice. It is going to sleep before the dawn, to which there is yet one hour. With the hght it will come down afresh. How do I know? Have I been here thirty years witliout knowing the voice of the river as a father knows the voice of his son? Every moment it is talking less angrily. I swear that there will be no danger for one hour or, perhaps, two. I can not answer for the morning. Be quick, sahib! I will call Ram Pershad,and he will not turn back this time. Is the 'paulin tightly corded upon all the baggage? Ohe, mahout with a m.ud head, the elephant for the sahib, and tell them on the far side that there will be no crossing after daylight. Money? Nay, sahib. I am not of that kind. No not even to give sweetmeats to the baby-folk. My house, look you, is emptv, and I am an old man. Duit, Ram Pershad! Dntt! Duff! Dutt} Good luck go with you, sahib. THE SENDING OF DANA DA When the Devil rides on your chest remember the cha7nar. — Native Proverb. Once upon a time, some people in India made a new heaven and a new earth out of broken tea-cups, a missing brooch or two, and a hair-brush. These were hidden under bushes, or stuffed into holes in the hill-side, and an entire civil service of sub- ordinate gods used to find or mend thern again ; and every one said : " There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy." Several other things happened also, but the religion never seemed to get much beyond its first manifestations; though it added an air-line postal dak, and orchestral eiifects in order to keep abreast of the times, and stall Oiif competition. This religion was too elastic for ordinary use. It stretched itself and embraced pieces of everything that medicine-men of all ages have manufactured. It approved of and stole from Freemasonry; looted the Latter- 104 The Sending of Dana Da 1 05 day Rosicrucians of half their pet words; took any fragments of Egyptian philosophy that it found in the Encyclopaedia Britan- nica; annexed as many of the Vedas as had been translated into French or English, and talked of all the rest; built in the Ger- man versions of what is left of the Zend Avesta; encouraged white, gray and black magic, including Spiritualism, palmistry, fortune-telling by cards, hot chestnuts, double-kerneled nuts and tallow droppings; would have adopted Voodoo and Oboe had it known anything about them, and showed itself, m every way, one of the most ac- commodating arrangements that had ever been invented since the birth of the sea. When it was in thorough working order, with all the machinery down to the sub- scriptions complete, Dana Da came from nowhere, with nothing in his hands, and wrote a chapter in its history which has hitherto been unpublished. He said that his first name was Dana, and his second was Da. Now, setting aside Dana of the New York " Sun," Dana is a Bhil name, and Da fits no native of India unless you accept the Bengali De as the original spell- ing. Da is Lap or Finnish; and Dana Da was neither Finn, Chin, Bhil, Bengali, Lap, Nair, Gond, Rom.aney, ?,[agh, Bokhariotj Kurd, Armenian, Levantine, Jew, Persian, Punjabi, Madrasi, Parsee, nor anything els<= io6 In Black and White known to ethnologists. Ke was simply Dana Da, and declined tc give further in- formation. For the sake of brevity, and as roughly indicating his origin, he was called '■ The Native." He might have been the original Old Man of the Mountains, who is said to be the only authorized head of the Tea-cup Creed. Some people said that he was; but Dana Da used to smile and deny any connection with the cult; explaining that he was an " independent experi- mxCnter." As I have said, he came from nowhere, with his hands behind his back, and studied the creed for three weeks; sitting at the feet of those best competent to explain its mysteries. Then he laughed aloud and went away, but the laugh might have been either of devotion or derision. When he returned he was without money, but his pride was unabated. He declared that he knew more about the things in heaven and earth than those who taught him, and for this contumacy was abandoned altogether. His next appearance In public life was at a big cantonment in Upper India, and he was then telling fortunes wuth the help of three leaden dice, a very dirty old cloth, and a little tin box of opium pills. He told better fortunes when he was allowed half a bottle of whisky; but the things which he The Sending of Dana Da 107 invented on the opium were quite worth the money. He was in reduced circum- stances. Among other people's he told the fortune of an Englishman who had once been interested in the Simla creed, bui who, later on, had married and forgotten all his old knowledge in the study of babies and Exchange. The Englishman allowed Dana Da to tell a fortune for charity's sake, and gave him five rupees, a dinner, and some old clothes. When he had eaten, Dana Da professed gratitude, and asked if there were anything he could do for his host — in the esoteric line. "Is there any one that you love?" said Dana Da. The Englishm.an loved his wife, but had no desire to drag her name into the conversation. He therefore shook his head. "Is there any one that you hate?" said Dana Da. The Englishman said that there were several men whom he hated deeply. " Very good," said Dana Da, upon whom the whisky and the opium were beginning to tell. " Only give me their names, and I will dispatch a Sending to them and kill them." Now a Sending is a horrible arrange- ment, first invented, they say, in Iceland. It is a thing sent by a wizard, and may take any form, but, most generally wanders about the land in the shape of a little purple To3 In Black and White cloud till it finds the sendee, and him it kills by changing into the form of a horse, or a cat, or a man without a face. It is not strictly a native patent, though chamars can, if irritated, dispatch a Sending which sits on the breast of their enemy by night and nearly kills him. Very few natives care to irritate chamars for this reason. '* Let me dispatch a Sending," said Dana Da; " I am nearly dead now with want, and drink, and opium; but I should Hke to kill a man before I die. I can send a Sending anywhere you choose, and in any form ex- cept in the shape of a man." The Englishman had no friends that he wished to kill, but partly to soothe Dana Da, whose eyes were rolling, and partly to see what would be done, he asked whether a modified Sending could not be arranged for — such a Sending as should make a man's life a burden to him, and yet do him no harm. If this were possible, he notified his willingness to give Dana Da ten rupees for the job. '' I am not what I was once." said Dana Da, " and I must take the money because I am poor. To what Englishman shall I send it? " '* Send a Sending to Lone Sahib," said the Englishman, naming a man who had been most bitter in rebuking him for his The Sending of Dana Da 109 apostasy from the Tea-cup Creed. Dana Da laughed and nodded. " I could have chosen no better man myself," said he. " I will see that he finds the Sending about his path and about his bed." He lay down on the hearth-rug, turned up the whites of his eyes, shivered all over and began to snort. This was magic, or opium, or the Sending, or all three. When he opened his eyes he vowed that the Sending had started upon the warpath, and was at that moment flying up to the town where Lone Sahib lives. " Give me my ten rupees," said Dana Da, wearily, " and write a letter to Lone Sahib, telHng him, and all who believe v;ith him, that you and a friend are using a power greater than theirs. They will see that you are speaking the truth." He departed unsteadily, with the promise of some more rupees if anything came of the Sending. The Englishman sent a letter to Lone Sahib, couched in what he remembered of the terminology of the creed. He wrote: " I also, in the days of what you held to be my backsliding, have obtained enlight- enment, and with enlightenment has come power." Then he grew so deeply mys- terious that the recipient of the letter would make neither head nor tail of it, and was no In Black and White proportionately impressed; for he fancied that his friend had become a " fifth- rounder.'' When a man is a " fifth- rounder " he can do more than Slade and Houdin combined. Lone Sahib read the letter in five dififer- ent fashions, and was beginning a sixth interpretation when his bearer dashed in with the news that there was a cat on the bed. Now, if there was one thing that Lone Sahib hated more than another it was a cat. He rated the bearer for not turning it out of the house. The bearer said that he was afraid. All the doors of the bed- room had been shut throughout the morn- ing, and no real cat could possibly have entered the room. He would prefer not to meddle with the creature. Lone Sahib entered the room gingerly, and there, on the pillow of his bed, sprawled and whimpered a wee white kit- ten, not a jumpsonie, frisky little beast, but a slug-like crawler with his eyes barely opened and its paws lacking strength or direction — a kitten that ought to have been in a basket with its mamma. Lone Sahib caught it by the scruff of its neck, handed it over to the sweeper to be drowned, and fined the bearer four annas. That evening, as he was reading in his room, he fancied that he sav/ something moving about on the hearth-rug, outside The Sending of Dana Da 1 1 1 the circle of light from his reading-lamp. When the thing began to myowl, he re- alized that it was a kitten — a wee white kitten, nearly blind and very miserable. He was seriously angry, and spoke bitterly to his bearer, who said that there was no kitten in the room when he brought in the lamp, and real kittens of tender age gen- erally had mother-cats in attendance. " If the Presence will go out into the veranda and listen," said the bearer, '' he will hear no cats. How, therefore, can the kitten on the bed and the kitten on the hearth-rug be real kittens?" Lone Sahib went out to listen, and the bearer followed him, but there w^as no sound of Rachel mewing for her children. He returned to his room, having hurled the kitten down the hill-side, and wrote out the incidents of the day for the benefit of his coreligionists. Those people were so absolutely free from superstition that they ascribed anything a little out of the common to agencies. As it was their bu'~i- ness to know all about the agencies, they were on terms of almost indecent familiar- ity with manifestations of every kind. Their letters dropped from the ceiling — unstamiped — and spirits used to squatter up and down their staircases all night. But they had never come into contact with kittens. {12 In Black and White noting the hour and the minute, as every psychical observer is bound to do, and ap- pending the Englishman's letter because it was the most mysterious document and might have had a bearing upon anything in this world or the next. An outsider would have translated all the tangle thus: " Look out! You laughed at me once, and now I am going to make you sit up."' Lone Sahib's coreligionists found that meaning in it; but their translation was refined and full of four-syllable words. They held a sederunt, and were filled with tremulous joy, for, in spite of their famil- iarity with all the other worlds and cycles, they had a very human awe of things sent from ghost-land. They met in Lone Sahib's room in shrouded and sepulchral gloom, and their conclave was broken up by a clinking among the photo-frames on the mantel-piece. A wee white kitten, nearly blind, was looping and writhing itself betv:een the clock and the candle- sticks. That stopped all investigations or doubtings. Here was the manifestation in the flesh. It was, so far as could be seen, devoid of purpose, but it was a manifesta- tion of undoubted authenticity. They drafted a round robin to the Eng- lishman, the backslider of old days, adjur- ing him in the interests of the creed to explain whether there was any connection The Sending of Dana Da 113 between the embodiment of some Egyptian god or other (I have forgotten the name) and his commAmication. They called the kitten Ra, or Toth, or Shem,, or Noah, or something; ^nd when Lone Sahib con- fessed that the first one had, at his most misguided instance, been drowned by the sweeper, they said consolingly that in his next life he would be a '' bounder,'' and not even a " rounder " of the lowest grade. These words rnay not be quite correct, but ihey express the sense of the house accurately. When the Englishman received the round robin — it came by post — he was startled and bewildered. He sent into the bazaar for Dana Da, who read the letter and laughed. " That is my Sending," s?.:d he. " I told you I would work well. No .v give me another ten rupees." " But what in the world is this gibberish about Egyptian gods?" asked the Eng- lishman. " Cats," said Dana Da, with a hiccough, for he had discovered the Englishman's whisky bottle. " Cats and cats and cats ! Never was such a Sending. A hundred of cats. Now give m.e ten more rupees and write as I dictate." Dana Da's letter was a curiosity. It bore the Englishman's signature, and hinted at cats — a Sending of cats. The 114 In Black and White mere words on paper were creepy and un- canny to behold. ''What have you done, though?" said the EngHshman; " I am as much in the dark as ever. Do you mean to say that you can actually send this absurd Sending you talk about? " " Judge for yourself," said Dana Da. "What does that letter mean? In a little time they will be all at my feet and yours. and I, oh, glory! will be drugged or drunk all day long." Dana Da knew his people. When a man who hates cats wakes up m the morning and finds a little squirming kitten on his breast, or puts his hand into his ulster-pocket and finds a little half- dead kitten where his gloves should be, or opens his trunk and finds a vile kitcen among his dress-shirts, or goes for a long ride with his mackintosh strapped on his saddle-bow and shakes a little squav*iing kitten from its folds when he opens it, or goes out to dinner and finds a little blind kitten under his chair, or stays at home and finds a writhing kitten under the quilt, or wriggling among his boots, or hanging, head downward, in his tobacco-jar, or being mangled by his terrier in the veranda — when such a m.an finds one kitten, neither more nor less, once a day in a place where no kitten rightly could or should be, he is The Sending of Dana Da 115 naturally upset. When he dare not mur- der his daily trove because he believes it to be a manifestation, an emissary, an em- bodiment, and half a dozen other things all out of the regular course of nature, he is more than upset. He is actually distressed. Some of Lone Sahib's coreligionists thought that he was a highly favored indi- vidual; but many said that if he had treated the first kitten with proper respect — as suited a Toth-Ra-Tum-Sennacherib Em- bodiment — all this trouble would have been averted. They compared him to the Ancient ]\Iariner, but none the less the^' were proud of him. and proud of the Eng- lishman who had sent the manifestation. Tliey did not call it a Sending because Ice- landic magic was not in their programme. After sixteen kittens — that is to say, after one fortnight, for there were three kittens on the first day to impress the fact of the Sending, the whole camp was up- lifted by a letter — it cam.e flying through a Vv'indow — from the Old Man of the Mountains — the head of all the creed — explaining the manifestation in the most beautiful language and soaking up all the credit of it for himself. The Englishman, said the letter, was not there at all. He was a backslider v.ithout power or asceti- cism, who couldn't even raise a table by force of volition, much less project an army n 6 In Black and White of kittens through space. The entire ar- rangement, said the letter, was strictly or- thodox, worked and sanctioned by the highest authorities within the pale of the creed. There was great joy at this, for some of the weaker brethren seeing that an outsider who had been working on in- dependent lines could create kittens, whereas their own rules had never gone be- yond crockery — and broken at that — were showing a desire to break line on their own trail. In fact, there was the promise of a schism. A second round robin was drafted to the Englishman, beginning: " Oh, Scoffer," and ending with a selection of curses from the rites of Mizraim and Memphis and the Commination of Jugana who was a " fifth-rounder," upon whose name an upstart " third-rounder " once traded. A papal excommunication is a hillct-doiLv compared to the Commination of Jugana. The Englishman had been proved under the hand and seal of the Old ^^lan of the }^Iountains to have appropriated vir- tue and pretended to have pov/er which, in reality, belonged only to the supreme head. Naturally the round robin did not spare him.. He handed the letter to Dana Da to translate into decent English. The effect on Dana Da was curious. At first he was The Sending of Dana Da 117 furiously angry, and then he laughed for five minutes, " I had thought," he said, " that they would have come to me. In another week I would have shown that I sent the Send- ing, and they would have discrowned the Old ]\lan of the ^Mountains w'ho has sent this Sending of mine. Do you do nothing? The time has come for me to act. Write as I dictate, and I will put them to shame. But give me ten more rupees." At Dana Da's dictation the Englishman wrote nothing less than a formal challenge to the Old Man of the 3.Iountains. It wound up: "And if this manifestation be from your hand, then let it go forward: but if it be from my hand, I will that the Send- ing shall cease in tvro days' time. On that day there shall be twelve kittens and thence- forward none at all. The people shall judge between us." This was signed by Dana Da, who added pentacles and pentagrams, and a cruA' ojisafa, and half a dozen szi'astikas, and a Triple Tau to his name, just to show that he was all he laid claim to be. The challenge was read out to the gentle- men and ladies, and they remembered then that Dana Da had laughed at them some years ago. It was officially announced that the Old yidLU of the ^Mountains would treat the matter with contem^pt: Dana Da being an independent investigator without a sin- 1 1 8 In Black and White gle " round " at the back of him. But this did not soothe his people. They wanted to see a fight. They were very human for all their spirituality. Lone Sahib, who was really being worn out with kittens, submit- ted meekly to his fate. He felt that he was being " kittened to prove the pov/er of Dana Da," as the poet says. When the stated day dawned, the shower of kittens began. Some were white and some were tabby, and all were about the sam.e loathsome age. Three w^ere on his hearth-rug, three in his bath-room, and the other six turned up at intervals among the visitors who came to see the prophecy break down. Never was a more satisfac- tory Sending. On the next day there were no kittens, and the next day and all the other days were kittenless and quiet. The people murmured and looked to the Old Man of the Mountains for an explanation. A letter, written on a palm-leaf, dropped from the ceiling, but every one except Lone Sahib felt that letters were not what the occasion demanded. There should have been cats, there should have been cats — full-grown ones. The letter proved con- clusively that there had been a hitch in the psychic current which, colliding with a dual identity, had interfered with the per- cipient activity all along the main line. The kittens were still going on, but owing to The Sending of Dana Da 1 1 9 some failure in the developing fluid, they were not materialized. The air was thick with letters for a few days afterward. Un- seen hands played Gliick and Beethoven on finger-bowls and clock-shades; but all men felt that psychic life was a mockery without materialized kittens. Even Lone Sahib shouted with the majority on this head. Dana Da's letters were very insulting, and if he had then offered to lead a new depart- ure, there is no knowing what might not have happened. But Dana Da was dying of whisky and opium in the Englishman's godown, and had small heart for new creeds. '' They have been put to shame," said he. " Never was such a Sending. It has killed me." " Nonsense," said the Englishman, " you are going to die, Dana Da, and that sort of stuff must be left behind. I'll admit that you have made some queer things come about. Tell me honestly, now, how was it done?" " Give me ten more rupees," said Dana Da, faintly, " and if I die before I spend them, bury them with me." The silver was counted out while Dana Da was fighting with death. His hand closed upon the money and he smiled a grim smile. " Bend low," he whispered. The Eng- lishman bent. 1 io In Black and White " Bunnia — mission-school — expelled — box-wallah (peddler) — Ceylon pearl-mer- chant — all mine English education — out- casted, and made up name Dana Da — England with American thought-reading man and — and — you gave me ten rupees several times — I gave the Sahib's bearer two-eight a month for cats — little, little cats. I wrote, and he put them about — very clever man. Very few kittens now' in the bazaar. Ask Lone Sahib's sweeoer's wife." So saying, Dana Da gasped and passed away into a land where, if all be true, there are no materializations and the making of new creeds is discouraged. But consider the gorgeous simplicity of it all! ON THE CITY WALL Then she let them down by a cord through the window; for her house was upon the town wall, and she dwtk upon the wall. — Joshua ii 15. Lalun is a member of the most ancient profession in the world. Lilith was her very-great-grandmamma, and that was be- fore the days of Eve as every one knows. In the West, people say rude things about Lalun's profession, and write lectures about it, and distribute the lectures to young persons in order that morality may be preserved. In the East, where the pro- fession is hereditary, descending from mother to daughter, nobody writes lectures or takes any notice, and that is a distinct proof of the inability of the East to manage its own affairs. Lalun's real husband, for even ladies of Lalun's profession in the East must have husbands, was a great, big jujube-tree. Her mamma, who had married a fig, spent ten thousand rupees on Lalun's wedding, which was blessed by forty-seven clergy- men of mamma's church, and distributed 122 In Black and White five thousand rupees in charity to the poon And that was the custom of the land. The advantages of having a jujube-tree for a husband are obvious. You can not hurt his feehngs, and he looks imposing. Lalun's husband stood on the plain out- side the city vralls, and Lalun's house was upon the east wall facing the river. If you fell from the broad window-seat you dropped thirty feet sheer into the city ditch. But if you stayed where you should and looked forth, you saw all the cattle of the city being driven down to water, the students of the government college playing cricket, the hieh grass and trees that fringed the river -bank, the great sand-bars that ribbed the river, the red tombs of dead emperors beyond the river, and very far away through the blue heat-haze, a glint of the snows of the Him.alayas. Wali Dad used to lie in the window-seat for hours at a time v/atching this view. He w^as a young Mohammedan who was suf- fering acutely from education of the Eng- lish variety and knew it. His father had sent him to a m.ission-school to get wis- dom, and AVali Dad had absorbed more than ever his father or the missionaries intended he should. When his father died, \A'ali Dad was independent and spent two 3'ears experimenting with the creeds of the On the City Wall 123 earth and reading books that are of no use to anybody. After he had made an unsuccessful at- tempt to enter the Roman CathoHc Church and the Presbyterian fold at the same time (the missionaries found him out and called himx names, but they didn't understand iiis trouble), he discovered Lalun on the city wall and became the m.ost constant of her few admirers. Pie possessed a head that English artists at home would rave over and paint amid imxposslble surroundings — a face that female novelists would use v/ith delight through nine hundred pages. In reality he was only a clean-bred young ?^iohammedan, with penciled eyebrows, small-cut nostrils, little feet and hands, and a very tired look in his eyes. By virtue of his tvv'enty-two years he had grown a neat black beard which he stroked v/ith pride and kept delicately scented. His life seemed to be divided between borrowing books from me and making love to Lalun in the v/indow-seat. He composed songs about her, and some of the songs are sung to this day in the city from the s<-reet of the mutton-butchers to the copper-smith's ward. One song, the prettiest of all, says that the beauty of Lalun was so great that it troubled the hearts of the British govern- ment and caused them to lose their peace of 124 in Black and White mind. That is the way the song is sung in the streets: but, if you examine it care- fully and know the key to the explana- tion, you will find that there are three puns in it — on " beauty," '' heart," and " peace of mind" — so that it runs: *' By the subtlety of Lalun the administration of the government was troubled and it lost such and such a man." \\'hen Wali Dad sings that song his eyes glow like hot coals and Lalun leans back among the cushions and throws bunches of jasmine buds at Wali Dad. But first it is necessary to explain some- thing about the supreme government v/hich is above all and below all and behind all. Gentlemen come from England, spend a few v.-eeks in India, walk round this great Sphinx of the Plains, and write books upon its ways and its works, denouncing or praising it as their own ignorance prompts. Consequently all the world knows how the supreme government con- ducts itself. But no one, not even the supreme government, knows everything about the administration of the empire. Year by year England sends out fresh drafts for the first hghting-line, v.-hich is officially called the Indian Civil Service. These die, or kill themselves by overwork, or are worried to death or broken in health and hope in order that the land may be On the City Wall 125 protected from death and sickness, famine and war, and may eventually become capa- ble of standing alone. It will never stand alone, but the idea is a pretty one, and men are willing to die for it, and yearly the work of pushing and coaxing and scolding and petting the country into good living goes forward. If an advance be made all credit is given to the native, while the Englishmen stand back and wipe their fore- heads. If a failure occurs the English- men step forward and take the blame. Overmuch tenderness of this kind has bred a strong belief among many natives that the native is capable of administering the country, and many devout Englishmen believe this also, because the theory is stated in beautiful English with all the latest political garnish. There be other men who, though unedu- cated, see visions and dream dreams, and they, too, hope to administer the country in their own way — that is to say, with a garnish of red sauce. Such men must exist among two hundred million people, and, if they are not attended to, may cause trouble and even break the great idol called " Pax Britannic," which, as the newspapers say, lives between Peshawur and Cape Comorin. Were the day of doom to dawn to-morrow, you would find the supreme government " taking measures to allay 126 In Black and White popular excitement " and putting guards upon the grave-yards that the dead might troop forth orderly. The youngest civilian would arrest Gabriel on his own responsi- bility if the archangel could not produce a deputy commissioner's permission to '' make music or other noises," as the form says. Whence it is easy to see that mere men of the flesh who would create a tumult must fare badly at the hands of the supreirie government. And they do. There is no outward sign of excitement; there is no confusion; there is no knowledge. When due and sufficient reasons have been given, weighed and approved, the machinery m.oves forward, and the dreamer of dreams and the seer of visions is gone from his friends and foUovving. He enjoys the hos- pitality of governm.ent; there is no restric- tion upon his movements w^ithin certain limits; but he must not confer any m.ore with his brother dreamers. Once in every six months the supreme government as- sures itself that he is well and takes form.al acknowledgm.ent of his existence. No one protests against his detention, because the few people who know about it are in deadly fear of seernins: to know him; and never a single newspaper " takes up his case " or organizes demonstrations on his behalf, because the newspapers of India have got On the City Wall 127 behind that lyings proverb which says the pen is mightier than the sword, and can walk deHcately and with circumspection. So now you know as much as you ought about Wali Dad, the educational mixture, and the supreme government. Lalun has not yet been described. She would need, so W'ali Dad says, a thousand pens of gold and ink scented with musk. She has been variously compared to the moon, the Dil Sagar Lake, a spotted ciuail, a gazelle, the sun on the Desert of Kutch, the dawn, the stars, and the young bamboo. These comparisons imply that she is beauti- ful exceedingly according to the native standards, which are practically the same as those of the West. Her eyes are black and her hair is black, and her eyebrows are black as leeches; her mouth is tiny and says witty things; her hands are tiny and have saved much money; her feet are tiny and have trodden on the naked hearts of many men. But, as Wali Dad sings: '' Lalun is Lalun, and when you have said that, you have only come to the beginnings of knowledge." The little house on the city wall was just big enough to hold Lalun, and her maid, and a pussy-cat with a silver collar. A big pink and blue cut-glass chandelier hung from the ceiling of the reception-room. A petty Xawab had given Lalun the horror. 128 In Black and White and she kept it for politeness' sake. The floor of the room was of polished chunam, white as curds. A latticed window of carved wood was set in one wall : there was a profusion of squabby pluffy cushions and fat carpets everywhere, and Lalun's silver hiiqa, studded with turquoises, had a special little carpet all to its shining self. Wali Dad was nearly as permanent a fixture as the chandelier. As I have said, he lay in the window-seat and meditated on life and death and Lalun — 'specially Lalun. The feet of the young men of the city tended to her door- ways and then — retired, for La- lun v/as a particular maiden, slow of speech, reserved of m.ind, and not in the least in- clined to orgies which were nearly certain to end in strife. '' If I am of no value, I am unworthy of this honor," said Lalun. " If I am of value, they are unworthy of me." And that was a crooked sentence. In the long hot nights of latter April and r^Iay all the city seemed to assemble in La- lun's little white room to smoke and to talk. Shiahs of the grimmest and most uncom- promising persuasion; Sufis who had lost all belief in the Prophet and retained but little in God; wandering Hindoo priests passing southward on their way to the Cen- tral India fairs and other affairs; pundits in black gowns, with spectacles on their noses and undigested wisdom in their in- On the City Wall 1 29 sides; bearded headmen of the wards; Sikhs with all the details of the latest ecclesiastical scandal in the Golden Temple; red-eyed priests from beyond the border, looking like trapped wolves and talking like ravens; 'M. A.'s of the university, very superior and very voluble — all these people and more also you might find in the white room. Wali Dad lay in the window-seat and listened to the talk, '' It is Lalun's salon," said Wali Dad to me, '"and it is eclectic — is not that the word? Outside of a Freemason's lodge I have never seen such gatherings. There I dined once with a Jew — a Yahoudi!" He spat into the city ditch with apologies for allowing national feelings to overcome him. " Though I have lost every belief in the world," said he, " and try to be proud of my losing, I can not help hating a Jew. Lalun admits no Jews here." " But what in the world do all these men do?" I asked. "The curse of our country," said Wall Dad. "They talk. It is like the Atheni- ans — always hearing and telling some new thing. Ask the Pearl and she will show you how much she knows of the news of the city and the province. Lalun knows everything." "Lalun," I said at random — she was talking to a gentleman of the Kurd per- 130 in Black and White suasion who had come in from God knows where — "when does the 175th Regiment go to Agra? " " It does not go at all," said Lalun, with- out turning her head. " They have ordered the 118th to go in its stead. That regiment goes to Lucknow in three months unless they give a fresh order." "That is so," said Wali Dad, without a shade of doubt. " Can you, with your tele- grams and your newspapers, do better? Always hearing and telling some new thing," he went on. " My friend, has your God ever smitten a European nation for gossiping in the bazaars? India has gos- siped for centuries — always standing in the bazaars until the soldiers go by. Therefore . . . you are here to-day in- stead of starving in your own country, and I am not a Mohammedan — I am a product — a * demnition ' product. That also I owe to you and yours; that I can not make an end to any sentence without quoting from your authors." He pulled at the huqa and mourned, half feelingly, half in earnest, for the shattered hopes of his youth. Wali Dad was always mourning over something or other — the country of which he de- spaired, or the creed in which he had lost faith, or the life of the English which he could by no means understand. Lalun never mourned. She played little On the City Wall 1 3 1 songs on the sitar, and to hear her sing, '* Oh, Peacock, Cry Again," was always a fresh pleasure. She knew all the songs that have ever been sung, from the war- songs of the south that make the old men angry with the young men and the young men angry with the state, to the love songs of the north where the swords whinny- Vvhicker like angry kites in the pauses be- tween the kisses, and the passes fill with armed men, and the lover is torn from his beloved and cries Ai! Ai! Ai! evermore. She knew how to make up tobacco for the huqa so that it smelled like the gates of paradise and wafted you gently through them. She could embroider strange things in gold and silver, and dance softly with the moonlight when it came in at the window. Also she knew the hearts of men, and the heart of the city, and whose wives were faithful and whose untrue, and more of the secrets of the government offices than are good to be set down in this place. Nasi- ban, her maid, said that her jewelry was worth ten thousand pounds, and that, some night, a thief would enter and murder her for its possession; but Lalun said that all the city would tear that thief limb from limb, and that he, whoever he was, knew it. So she took her sifar and sat in the win- dow-seat and sung a song of old days that had been sung by a girl of her profession in 132 In Black and White an armed camp on the eve of a great battle — the day before the fords of the Jumna ran red and Sivaji fled fifty miles to Delhi with a Toorkh stahion at his horse's tail and another Lalun on his saddle-bovv. It was what men call a ]\Iahratta laoncc, and it said: Their warrior forces Chimnajee Before the Peishwa led, The Children of the Sun and Fire Behind him turned and fled. And the chorus said: With them there fought who rides so free With sword and turban red, The warrior-youth who earns his fee At peril of his head. *' At peril of his head," said Wali Dad in Englisli to me. " Thanks to your govern- ment,, all our heads are protected, and with the educational facilities at my command " — his eyes twinkled wickedly — " I m.ight be a distinguished member of the local ad- ministration. Perhaps, in time, I might even be a mem.ber of a legislative council." ** Don't speak English," said Lalun, bend- ing over her sitar afresh. The chorus went out from the city wall to the blackened wall of Fort Amara vdiich dominates the city. No man knows the precise extent of Fort Amara. Three kings built it hundreds of years ?k%o, and they say that there are miles On the City Wall 133 of underground rooms beneath its walls. It is peopled with many ghosts, a detach- ment of garrison artillery and a company of infantry. In its prime it held ten thou- sand men and filled its ditches with corpses. '■ At peril of his head," sung Lalun again and again. A head moved on one of the ramparts — the gray head of an old man — and a voice, rough as shark-skin on a sword-hilt, sent back the last line of the chorus and broke into a song that I could not understand, though Lalun and Wali Dad Hstened intently. "What is it?" I asked. "Who is it?'* *' A consistent man," said Wali Dad. " He fought you in '46, when he was a warrior-youth; refought you in '57, and he tried to fight you in '71, but you had learned the trick of blowing men from guns too well. Now he is old; but he would still fight if he could." " Is he a Wahabi, then? Why should he answer to a ^Nlahratta laonee if he be Wahabi — or Sihk? " said I. " I do not know," said Wali Dad. " He has lost, perhaps, his religion. Perhaps he wishes to be a king. Perhaps he is a king. I do not know his name." " That is a lie, Wali Dad. If you know his career you must know his name." " That is quite true. I belong to a na- 134 In Black and White tion of liars. I would rather not tell you his name. Think for yourself." Lalun finished her song, pointed to the fort and said simply : '' Khem Singh." " H'm,'' said Wali Dad. " If the Pearl chooses to tell you die Pearl is a fool." I translated to Lalun, who laughed. '' I choose to tell what I choose to tell. They kept Khem Singh in Burmah," said she. *' They kept him there for many years until his mind was changed in him. So great was the kindness of the government. Finding this, they sent him back to his own country that he might look upon it before he died. He is an old man, but when he looks upon this his country his memory will come. INIoreover, there be many who remember him." ' He is an interesting survival," said Wali Dad, pulling at the hiiqa. " He re- turns to a country now full of educational and political reform, but, as the Pearl says, there are many who remember him. He was once a great man. There will never be any more great men in India. They will ail when they are boys, go whoring after strange gods, and they will become citizens — ' fellow-citizens ' — ' illustrious fellow-citizens.' What is it that the native papers call them? " \A>di Dad seemed to be in a very bad temper. Lalun looked out of the window On the City Wall 135 and smiled into the dust-haze. I went away thinking about Khem Singh who had once made history with a thousand follow- ers, and would have been a princeling but for the power of the supreme government aforesaid. The senior captain commanding Fort Amara was away on leave, but the subal- tern, his deputy, had drifted down to the club, where I found him and inquired of him whether it was really true that a politi- cal prisoner had been added to the attrac- tions of the fort. The subaltern explained at great length, for this was the first time that he had held command of the fort and Iiis glory lay heavy upon him. " Yes," said he, " a man was sent in to me about a week ago from down the line — a thorough gentleman whoever he is. Of course I did all I could for him. He had his two servants and some silver cook- ing-pots, and he looked for all the world like a native officer. I called him Subadar Sahib; just as well to be on the safe side, y'know. ' Look here, Subadar Sahib,' I said, ' you're handed over to my authority^ and I'm supposed to guard you. Now I don't want to make your life hard, but you must make things easy for me. All the fort is at your disposal, from the flagstaff to the dry ditch, and I shall be happy to entertain you in any way I can, but you 136 In Black and White mustn't take advantage of it. Give me your word that you won't try to escape, Subadar Sahib, and I'll give you my word that you shall have no heavy guard put over you/ I thought the best way of get- ting at him was by going at him straight, y'know; and it was, by Jove! The old man gave me his word, and moved about the fort as contented as a sick crow. He's a rummy chap — always asking to be told where he is and what the buildings about him are. I had to sign a slip of blue paper when he turned up. acknowledging receipt of his body and all that, and I'm responsi- ble, y'know, that he doesn't get away. Queer thing, though, looking after a John- nie old enough to be your grandfather, isn't it? Come to the fort one of these days and see him?" For reasons which will appear, I never went to the fort while Khem Singh was then within its walls. I knew him only as a gray head seen from Lalun's window — a gray head and a harsh voice. But na- tives told me that, day by day, as he looked upon the fair lands round Amara, his mem- ory came back to him and, with it, the old hatred against the government that had been nearly effaced in far-off Burmah. So he raged up and down the west face of the fort from morning till noon and from evening till the night, devising vain things On the City Wall 137 in his heart and croaking war-songs when Lalun sung on the city walls. As he grew more acquainted with the subaltern he un- burdened his old heart of some of the passions that had withered it. " Sahib,'* he used to say, tapping his stick against the parapet, *' when I was a young man I was one of twenty thousand horsemen who came out of the city and rode round the plain here. Sahib, I was the leader of a hundred, then of a thousand, then of five thousand, and now!" — he pointed to his two servants. ** But from the beginning to to-day I would cut the throats of all the sahibs in the land if I could. Hold me fast, sahib, lest I get away and return to those who would follow me. I forgot them when I was in Burmah, but nov/ that I am in my own country again, I remem- ber everything." '' Do you remember that you have given me your honor not to m.ake your tendance a hard matter? " said the subaltern. " Yes, to you, only to you, sahib," said Khem Singh. " To you because you are of a pleasant countenance. If my turn comes again, sahib, I will not hang you nor cut your throat." '* Thank you," said the subaltern, gravely, as he looked along the line of guns that could pound the city to powder in half an hour. " Let us go into our own 138 In Black and White quarters, Khem Singh. Come and talk with me after dinner." Kheni Singh would sit on his own cush- ion at the subahern's feet, drinking heavy, scented anise-seed brandy in great gulps, and telHng strange stories of Fort Amara, which had been a palace, in the old days, of begums and ranees tortured to death — ay, in the very vaulted chamber that now served as a mess-room; would tell stories of Sobraon that made the subaltern's cheeks flush and tingle with pride of race, and of the Kuka rising from which so much was expected and the foreknowledge of which was shared by a hundred thou- sand souls. But he never told tales of '57 because, as he said, he was the subaltern's guest, and '57 is a year that no man, black or white, cares to speak of. Once only, when the anise-seed brandy had slightly affected his head, he said: " Sahib, speak- ing now of a matter which lay between Sobraon and the affair of the Kukas, it was ever a wonder to us that you stayed your hand at all, and that, having stayed it, you did not make the land one prison. Now I hear from without that you do great honor to all men of our country and by your own hands are destroying the terror of your nam.e which is your strong rock and defense. This is a foolish thing. Will oil and water mix? Now in '57 — " On the City Wall 1 39 " I was not born then, Subadar Sahib/' said the siibahern, and Khem Singh reeled to his quarters. The subaltern would tell me of these con- versations at the club, and my desire to see Khem Singh increased. But Wali Bad, sitting in the window-seat of the house on the city wall, said that it would be a cruel thing to do, and Lalun pretended that I preferred the society of a grizzled old Sikh to hers. " Here is tobacco, here is talk, here are many friends and all the nev/s of the city, and, above all, here is myself. I will tell you stories and sing you songs, and Wali Dad will talk his English nonsense in your ears. Is that worse than watching the caged animal yonder? Go to-morrow then, if you must, but to-day such and such a one will be here, and he will speak of wonderful things." It happened that to-morrow never came, and the warm, heat of the latter rains gave place to the chill of early October almost iDefore I was aware of the flight of the year. The captain commanding the fort returned from leave and took charge of Khem Singh according to the laws of seniority. The captain was not a nice man. He called all natives " niggers," which, besides being extreme bad form, shows gross ignorancCa 140 In Black and White ** What's the use of telhng off two Tom- mies to watch that old nigger? " said he. " I fancy it soothes his vanity," said the subaltern. '* The men are ordered to keep well out of his way, but he takes them as a tribute to his importance, poor old beast/' '* I won't have line men taken off regu- lar guards in this way. Put on a couple of native infantry." "Sikhs?" said the subaltern, lifting his eyebrows. ** Sikhs, Pathans, Dogras — they're all alike, these black vermin," and the captain talked to Khem Singh in a manner which hurt that old gentleman's feelings. Fifteen years before, when he had been caught for the second tim.e, every one looked upon him as a sort of tiger. He liked being re- garded in this light. But he forgot that the world goes forward in fifteen years, and many subalterns are promoted to cap- taincies. "' The captain-pig is in charge of the fort ? " said Khem Singh to his native guard every morning. And the native guard said: "Yes, Subadar Sahib." in deference to his age and his air of distinc- tion; but they did not know who he was. In those days the gathering in Lalun's little white room was always large and talked more mightilv than before. " The Greeks," said Wali Dad who had On the City Wall 141 been borrowing my books, " the inhabit- ants of the city of Athens, where they were always hearing and telHng some new thing, rigorously secluded their women — = who were mostly fools. Hence the glori- ous institution of the heterodox women — is it not? — who were amusing and not fools. All the Greek philosophers de- lighted in their company. Tell me, my friend, how it goes now in Greece and the other places upon the Continent cf Europe, Are your women-folk also fools?" '* \\'ali Dad," I said, " you never speak to us about your women-folk and we never speak about ours to you. That is the bar between us." '' Yes," said Wali Dad, " it is curious to think that our common meeting-place should be here, in the house of a common - — how do you call her?" He pointed with the pipe-mouth to Lalun. " Lalun is nothing else but Lalun," 1 said, and that was perfectly true. '' But if you took your place in the world, Wali Dad, and gave up dreaming dreams — " " I might wear an English coat and trousers. I might be a leading jMoham- medan pleader. I might even be received at the commissioner's tennis-parties v/here the English stand on one side and the na- tives on the other, in order to promote social intercourse throughout the empire., 142 In Black and White Heart's heart," said he to Lalun, quickly ** the sahib says that I ought to quit you.'* " The sahib is always talking stupid talk," returned Lalun with a laugh. " In this house I am a queen and thou art a king. The sahib " — she put her arms above her head and thought for a mo- ment — " the sahib shall be our vizier — thine and mine, Wali Dad, because he hh.s said that thou shouldst leave me." Wali Dad laughed immoderately, and 1 laughed too. *' Be it so," said he. " My friend, are you willing to take this lucra- tive government appointment? Lalun. what shall his pay be? " But Lalun began to sing, and for the rest of the time there was no hope of get- ting a sensible answer from her or Wali Dad. When the one stopped, the other began to quote Persian poetry v/ith a triple pun in every other line. Some of it was not strictly proper, but it was all very funny, and it only came to an end when a fat person in black, with gold pince-ne.-^, sent up his name to Lalun, and Wali Dad dragged me into the twinkling night to walk in a big rose garden and talk here- sies about religion and governments and a man's career in life. The Moliurrum, the great mourning fes' tival of the Mohammedans, was close "t hand, and the things that Wali Dad said On the City Wall 143 about religious fanaticism would have se- cured his expulsion from the loosest-think- ing Moslem sect. There were the rose bushes round us, the stars above us, and from every quarter of the city came the boom of the big Mohurrum drums. You must know that the city is divided in fairly equal proportions between the Hindoos and the Mussulmans, and Vv^hen both creeds belong to the fighting races, a big reHgious festival gives ample chance for trouble. When the}^ can — that is to say when the authorities are weak enough to allow it — the Hindoos do their best to arrange some minor feast-day of their own in time to clash with the period of general mourning for the mart}rs Hasan and Hr?- sain, the heroes of the Mohurrum. Gilt and painted paper presentations of their tombs are borne with shouting and wail- ing, music, torches and yells, through the principal thoroughfares of the city; which fakements are called tazias. Their passage is rigorously laid down beforehand by the police, and detachments of police accom- pany each tazia, lest the Hindoos should throw bricks at it and the peace of the queen and the heads of her loyal subjects should thereby be broken. i\iohurrum time in a " fighting " town means anxiety to all the officials, because, if a riot breaks out, the officials and not the rioters are 144 I^ Black and White held responsible. The former must fore- see everything, and while not making their precautions ridiculously elaborate, must see that they are at least adequate. '' Listen to the drums " ! said Wali Dad. " That is the heart of the people — empty and making much noise. How, think you, will the Mohurrum go this year? I think that there will be trouble." He turned down a side-street and left me alone with the stars and a sleepy police patrol. Then I went to bed and dreamed that Wali Dad had sacked the city and I was made vizier, with Lalun's silver hnqa for mark of office. All day the Mohurrum drums beat in the city, and all day deputations of tearful Hindoo gentlemen besieged the deputy commissioner with assurances that they would be murdered ere next dawning by the Mohammedans. ** Which," said the deputy commissioner, in confidence to the head of police, *' is a pretty fair indication that the Hindoos are going to make 'em- selves unpleasant. I think we can arrange a little surprise for them. I have given the heads of both creeds fair warning. If they choose to disregard it, so much the worse for them." There was a large gathering in Lalun's house that night, but of men that I iiad never seen before, if I except the fat gentle- On the City Wall 145 man in black with the gold pince-nez. Wali Dad lay in the window-seat, more bit- terly scornful of his faith and its manifesta- tions than I had ever known him. Lalun's maid was very busy cutting up and mixing lobacco for the guests. We could hear the thunder of the drums as the proces- sions accompanying each tazia marched to the central gathering place in the plain outside the city, preparatory to their tri- umphant re-entry and circuit within the walls. All the streets seemed ablaze wi.h torches, and only Fort Amara was black and silent. When the noise of the drums ceased, no one in the white room spoke for a time. '' The first tazia has moved oft," said Wali Dad, looking to the plain. " That is very early," said the man with the pince-nez. " It is only half past eight." The company rose and departed. *' Some of them were men from Ladakh," said Lalun, when the last had gone. '' Thev brought me brick-tea such as the Russians sell, and a tea-urn from Peshawur. Show me, now, how the English memsahibs make tea." The brick-tea was abominable. When it was finished Wali Dad suggested a descent into the streets. '' I am nearly sure that there will be trouble to-night." he Sciid. " All the city thinks so, and Vox Popiili is 146 In Black and White Vox Dei, as the Babus say. Now I tell you that at the corner of the Padshahi Gate you will find my horse all this night if you want to go about and to see things. It is a most disgraceful exhibition. Where is the pleasure of saying ' Ya Hasan, Ya Hus- sai7i' twenty thousand times in a night?'* All the professions — there were two- and-twenty of them — were now well within the city walls. The drums were beating afresh, the crowd were howling " Ya Hasan! Ya Hussain!" and beating their breasts, the brass bands were playing their loudest, and at every corner where space allowed }Iohammedan preachers were telling the lamentable story of the death of the martyrs. It was impossible to move except with the crowd, for the streets were not more than twenty feet wide. In the Hindoo quarters the shutters of all the shops were up and cross-barred. As the first fasia, a gorgeous erection ten feet high, w^as borne aloft on the shoulders of a score of stout men into the semi-darkness of the gully of the horsemen, a brickbat crashed through its talc and tinsel sides. " Into Thy hands, oh, Lord! " murmured Wali Dad, profanely, as a yell w^ent up from behind, and a native officer of police jammed his horse through the crowd. An- other brickbat followed, and the ta:3ia stag- g^ered and swayed where it had stopped. On the City Wall 147 " Go on I In the name of the Sirkar, go forward! " shouted the policeman, but there was an ugly cracking and spHntering of shutters, and the crowd halted, with oaths and growlings, before the house whence the brickbat had been thrown. Then, without any warning, broke the storm — not only in the gully of the horse* men, but in half a dozen other places. The tazias rocked like ships at sea, the long pole-torches dipped and rose round them while the men shouted : " The Hindoos are dishonoring the tazias! Strike! Strike! Into their temples for the faith! " The six or eight policemen with each tazia drew their batons, and struck as long as they could in the hope of forcing the mob for- ward, but they were overpowered, and as contingents of Hindoos poured into the streets, the fight became general. Half a mile away w^here the tazias were yet un- touched the drums and the shrieks of " Ya Hasan! Ya Httssain!" continued, but not for long. The priests at the corners of the streets knocked the legs from the bedsteads that supported their pulpits and sm.ote for the faith, while stones fell from the silent houses upon friend and foe, and the packed streets bellowed: "Din! Din! Din!" A tazia caught nre, and was dropped for a flaming barrier between Hindoo and Mus- sulman at the corner of the gully. Then 148 In Blai k and White the crowd surged forward, and Wali Dad drew me close to the stone pillar of a welh ■'It was intended from the beginning!" he shouted in my ear, v/ith more heat than blank unbelief should be guilty of. " The bricks were carried up to the houses before- hand. These swine of Hindoos! We shall be gutting kine in their temples to-night! " Tasia after tasia, some burning, others torn to pieces, liurried past us and the mob with them, howling, shrieking, and striking at the house doors in their flight. At last we saw the reason of the rush. Hugonin, the assistant district superintendent of po- lice, a boy of twenty, had got together thirty constables and was forcing the crowd through the streets. His old gray police- horse showed no sign of uneasiness as it was spurred breast-on into the crowd, and the long dog-whip with which he had armed himself was never still. *' They know we haven't enough police to hold 'em," he cried as he passed me, mopping a cut on his face. "They know we haven't! Aren't any of the men from the club coming down to help? Get on, you sons of burned fathers!" The dog- w^hip cracked afresh across the writhing backs, and the constables smote afresh with baton and gun-butt. With these passed the lights and the shouting, and Wali Dad be- ofan to swear under his breath. From Fort On the City Wall 149 Amara shot up a single rocket; then two side by side. It was the signal for troops. Pettit, the deputy commissioner, covered with dust and sweat, but calm and gently smiling, cantered up the clean-swept street in the rear of the main body of the rioters. " Xo one killed yet," he shouted. " Tl] keep 'em on the run till dawn! Don't let 'em halt, Hugonin! Trot 'em about till the troops come." The science of the defense lay solely in keeping the mob on the move. If they had breathing-space they would halt and fire a house, and then the work of restoring order would be more difficult, to say the least of it. Flames have the same effect on a crowd as blood has on a wild beast. Word had reached the club and men in evening-dress were beginning to show themselves and lend a hand in heading off and breaking up the shouting masses with stirrup-leathers, whips, or chance-found staves. They wxre not very often attacked, for the rioters had sense enough to knov\r that the death of a European would not mean one hanging but many, and possibly the appearance of the thrice-dreaded artil- lery. The clamor in the city redoubled. The Hindoos had descended into the streets m real earnest and ere long the mob re- turned. It was a strange sight. There were no tazias — only their riven platforms 150 In Black and White — and there were no police. Here and there a city dignitary, Hindoo or Aloham- medan, was vainly imploring his coreligion- ists to keep quiet and behave themselves — advice for which his white beard was pulled with contumely. Then a native officer of police, unhorsed but still using his spurs with effect, would be seen borne along in the throng, warning all the world of the danger of insulting the government. Everywhere were men striking aimlessly with sticks, grasping each other by the throat, howling and foaming with rage, or beating with their bare hands on the doors of the houses. " It is a lucky thing that they are fighting with natural weapons," I said to Wali Dad, ■' else we should have half the city killed." I turned as I spoke and looked at his face. His nostrils were distended, his eyes were fixed, and he was smiting himself softly on the breast. The crowd poured by with renev/ed riot — a gang of Mussulmans hard-pressed by some hundred Hindoo fan- atics. Wali Dad left my side with an oath, and shouting: " Ya Hasan! Ya Hussaiii!" plunged into the thick of the fight where I lost sight of him. I fled by a side alley to the Padshahi Gate where I found Wali Dad's house, and thence rode to the fort. Once outside the city wall, the tumult sunk to a dull roar. On the City Wall 151 very impressive under the stars and reflect- ing great credit on the fifty thousand able- bodied men who were making it. The troops who, at the dsputy commissioners instance, had been ordered to rendezvous quietly near the fort, showed no signs of being impressed. Two companies of na- tive infantry and a squadron of na- tive cavalry and a company of British infantry were kicking their heels in the shadow of the east face, waiting for orders to march in. I am sorry to say that they were all pleased, unholily pleased, at the chance of what they called " a little fun." The senior ofhcers, to be sure, grumxbled at having been kept out of bed, and the English troops pretended to be sulky, but there was joy in the hearts of all the sub- alterns, and whispers ran up and down the line: "No ball cartridge — what a beastly shame!" " D'you think the beggars will really stand up to us?" "Hope I s^:all m^eet my money-lender there. I owe him m.ore than I can afford." " Oh, they won't let us even unsheath swords." "Hurrah! Up goes the fourth rocket. Fall in, there! " The garrison artillery, v.'ho to the last cherished a wild hope that they mnght be allowed to bombard the city at a hundred yards' range, lined the parapet above the east gateway and cheered themselves hoarse as the British infantrv doubled 152 In Black and White along the road to the main gate of the city. The cavalry cantered on to the Padshahi Gate, and the native infantry marched slowly to the Gate of the Butchers. The surprise was intended to be of a distinctly unpleasant nature, and to come on top o: the defeat of the police who had been just able to keep the Mohammedans from firing the houses of a few leading Hindoos. The bulk of the riot lay in the north and north-west wards. The east and south- east were by this time dark and silent, and I rode hastily to Lalun's house, for I wished to tell her to send some one in search of Wali Dad. The house was un- lighted, but the door v/as open, and I climbed upstairs in the darkness. One small lamp in the white room showed Lalun and her maid leaning half out of the window, breathing heavily and evidently pulling at something that refused to come. ''Thou art late — very late," gasped Lalun without turning her head. " Help us now, oh, fool, if thou hast not spent t\v: strength howling among the tazias. Pull! Nasiban and I can do no more! Oh, sahib, is it you? The Hindoos have been hunting an old Mohammedan round the ditch with clubs. If they find him again thev will kill him. Help us to pull him up." I laid my hands to the long red silk waist- On the City Wall 153 cloth that was hanging out of the win- dow, and we three pulled and pulled with all the strength at our command. There was something very heavy at the end, and it was swearing in an unknown tongue as it kicked against the city wall. " Pull, oh, pull! " said Lalun at the last. A pair of brown hands grasped the win- dow-sill and a venerable Mohammedan tumbled upon the floor, very much out of breath. His jaws v»'ere tied up, and his turban had fallen over one eye. He was dusty and angry. Lalun hid her face in her hands for an instant and said som.ething about Wall Dad that I could not catch. Then, to my extreme gratification, she threw her arms round my neck and m.ur- mured pretty things. I was in no haste to stop her; and Nasiban, being a hand- maiden of tact, turned to the big jewel- chest that stands in the corner of the white room and rummaged among the contents. The ]\Iohammedan sat on the floor and glared. " One service more, sahib, since thou hast come so opportunely," said Lalun. " Wilt thou " — it is very nice to be thou-ed by Lalun — " take this old man across the city — the troops are everywhere, and they might hurt him, for he is old — to the Kumharsen Gate? There I think he may 154 I^ Black and White find a carriage to take him to his house. He is a friend of mine, and thou art — more than a friend . . . therefore I ask this." Nasiban bent over the old man, tucked something- into his beh, and I raised him up, and led him into the streets. In cross- ing from the east to the west of the city there was no chance of avoiding the troops and the crowds. Long before I reached the gully of horsemen I heard the shouts of the British infantry crying cheerily: " Hutt, ye beggars! Hutt, ye devils! Get along! Go forward, there!'' Then fol- lowed the ringing of rilie-butts and shrieks of pain. The troops were banging at the bare toes of the mob with their butts — not a bayonet had been fixed. My companion mAimbled and jabbered as we walked on un- til we were carried back by the crowd and had to force our way to the troops. I caught him by the wrist and felt a bangle thereon — the iron bangle of the Sikhs — but I had no suspicions, for Lalun had only ten minutes before put her arms around me. Thrice we were carried back by the crowd, and when we won our way past the British infantry it was to meet the Sikh cavalry driving another mob before them with the butts of their lances. "What are these dogs?" said the old man. On the City Wall 155 " Sikhs of the cavalry, father," I said, and we edged our way up the line of horses two abreast and found the deputy com- missioner, his helmet smashed on his head, surrounded by a knot of men who had come down from the club as am.ateur con- stables and had helped the police mightily. " We'll keep 'em on the run till dawn," said Petitt. " Who's your villainous friend?" 1 had only time to say, " The protection cf the Sirkar! " when a fresh crowd flying before the native infantry carried us a hun- dr. d yards nearer to the Kum.harsen Gate, and P titt was swept away like a shadow. " I do not know — I can not see — it is all new to me!" moaned my companion. ** How many troops are there in the city? " " Perhaps five hundred," I said. " A lakh of mien beaten by five hundred — and Sikhs among them! Surely, surely, I am an old man, but — the Kumharsen Gate is new. Who pulled down the stone lions? Where is the conduit? Sahib, I am a very old man, and, alas, I — I can not stand." He dropped in the shadow of the Kumharsen Gate where there was no disturbance. A fat gentleman wearing gold pince-nez came out of the darkness. " You are most kind to bring my old friend," he said, suavely. " He is a land- holder of Akala. He should not be in a 156 In Black and White big city when there is religious excitement But I have a carriage here. You are quite truly kind. Will you help me to put him into the carriage? It is very late." We bundled the old man into a hired victoria that stood close to the gate, and I turned back to the house on the city wall. The troops were driving the people to and fro, while the police shouted, " To your houses ! Get to your houses ! " and the dog-whip of the assistant district superin- tendent cracked remorselessly. Terror- stricken bunnias clung to the stirrups of the cavalry, crying that their houses had been robbed (which was a lie), and the burly Sikh horsemen patted them on the shoul- der and bade them return to those houses lest a worse thing should happen. Par- ties of five or six British soldiers, joining arms, swept down the side-gullies, their rifles on their backs, stamping, with shout- ing and song, upon the toes of Hindoo and Mussulman. Never was religious enthu- siasm more systematically squashed; and never were poor breakers of the peace more utterly weary and foot-sore. They were routed out of holes and corners, from be- hind well-pillars and byres, and bidden to go to their houses. If they had no houses to go to, so m.uch the worse for their toes. On returning to Lalun's door I stumbled over a m^an at the threshold. He was sob- On the City Wall 157 bing hysterically and his arms flapped like the wings of a goose. It was A\'ali Dad, agnostic and unbeliever, shoeless, turban- less, and frothing at the mouth, the flesh on his chest bruised and bleeding from the vehemence with which he had smitten him- self. A broken torch-handle lay by his side, and his quivering lips murmured, *' Ya Hasan! Ya Hiissain!" as I stooped over him. I pushed him a few steps up the staircase, threw a pebble at Lalun's city Vv'indow, and hurried home. Most of the streets were very still, and the cold wind that comes before the dawn whistled down them. In the center of the square of the mosque a man was bending over a corpse. The skull had been smashed in by gun butt or bamboo stave. " It is expedient that one man should die for the people," said Petitt, grimly, raising the shapeless head. '' These brutes were beginning to show their teeth too much." And from afar we could hear the soldiers singing: " Two Lovely Black Eyes," as they drove the remnant of the rioters within doors. Of course you can guess what hap- pened? I was not so clever. When the news v;ent abroad that Khem Singh had 158 In Black and White escaped from the fort, I did not, since I was then Uving the story, not writing it, connect myself, or Lalun, or the fat gentle- man of the gold pince-nez, with his disap- pearance. Nor did it strike me that Wall Dad was the man who should have steered him across the city, or that Lalun's arms round my neck were put there to hide the money that Xasiban gave to him, and that Lalun had used me and my white face as even a better safeguard than Wali Dad, who proved himself so untrustworthy. All that 1 knew at that time v/as thai, vv^hen Fort Amara was taken up with the riots, Khem Singh profited by the confusion to get away, and that his two Sikh guards also escaped. But later on I received full enlighten- m.ent; and so did Khem Singh. He fled to those who knev\^ him in the old days, but many of them were dead and more were changed, and all knew something of the wrath of the government. He went to the young men, but the glamour of his name had passed away, and they were entering native regiments or government offices, and Khem Singh could give them neither pension, decorations, nor infl.uence — ■ nothing but a glorious death with their backs to the mouth of a gun. He v/rote letters and made promises, and the letters fell into bad hands, and a wholly insignifi- On the City Wall 159 cant subordinate officer of police tracked them down and gained promotion thereby. Moreover, Khem Singh was old, and anise- seed brandy was scarce, and he had left his silver cooking-pots in Fort Amara with his liice warm bedding, and the gentleman with the gold pince-nez was told by those \v'ho had employed him that Khem Singh as a popular leader was not worth the money paid. '' Great is the mercy of these fools of English," said Khem Singh when the situ- ation was explained. " 1 will go back to Fort Amara of my own free will and gain honor. Give me good clothes to re c urn in." So, upon a day, Khem Singh knocked at the wicket gate of the fort and walked to the captain and the subaltern who were nearly gray-headed on account of corre- spondence that daily arrived from Simla marked " Private." " I have come back, Captain Sahib," said Khem Singh. '' Put no more guards over me. It is no good out yonder." A week later I saw him for the first time to my knowledge, and he made as though there were an understanding between us. " It was well done, sahib," said he, " and greatly I adm.ire your astuteness in thus boldly facing the troops when I, whom i6o In Black and White they would have doubtless torn to pieces^ was with you. Now there is a man in Fort Ooltagarh whom a bold man could with ease help to escape. This is the position of the fort as I draw it on the sand . . ." But I was thinking how I had become Lalun's vizier after all. CONTENTS PAGE The Education of Otis Yeere » . . . . 3 At the Pit's Mouth , 40 A Wayside Comedy ,'..,,.., 51 The Hill of Illusion. .,,.»,=,, 71 A Second-Rate Woman ..»..., 87 THE EDUCATION OF OTIS YEERE SHOWING HOW THE GREAT IDEA WAS BORNx In the pleasant orchard-closes " God bless all our gains,'' say we ; But '* May God bless all our losses," Better suits with our degree. — 7 Vie Lost Bower This is the history of a Failure; but the woman who failed said it might be an in- structive tale to put into print for the bene- lit of the younger generation. The younger generation does not want instruction. It IS perfectly v/illing to instruct if any one will listen to it. None the less, here begins the story where every right-minded story should begin, that is to say, at Simla, where all things begin and many come to an evil end. The mistake was due to a very clever woman making a blunder and not retriev* ing it. Men are licensed to stumble, but a 4 Under the Deodars clever woman's mistake is outside the regu- lar course of Nature and Providence; since all good people know that a woman is the only infallible thing in this world, except Government paper of the '79 issue, bearing interest at four and a half per cent. Yet, we have to remember that six consecutive days of rehearsing the star-part of " The Fallen Angel," at the New Gaiety Theater, where the plaster is not yet properly dry, might have brought about an unhingement of spirits which, again, might have led to eccentricities. Mrs. Hauksbee came to " The Foundry " to tififin with Mrs. ]\Iallowe, her one bosom friend, for she was in no sense " a woman's woman." And it was a woman's tifhn, the door shut to all the world; and they both talked chiffons, which is French for Liysteries. " Fve enjoyed an interval of sanity," Mrs. Hauksbee announced, after tiffin was over and the two were comfortably settled in the little writing-room that opened out of Mrs. !Mallowe.'s bedroom. " My dear girl, what has he done?" said Mrs. Mallowe, sweetly. It is noticeable that ladies of a certain age call each other " dear girl," just as com.missioners of twenty-eight years' standing address their e<^uals in the Civil List as " my boy." " There's no he in the case. Who am J The Education of Otis Yeere j that an imaginary man should be always credited to me? Am I an Apache?" " No, dear; but somebody's scalp is gen- erally dr}ing at your wigwam door. Soak- ing, rather." This was an allusion to the Hawley Boy, who was in the habit of riding all across Simla in the Rains, to call on Mrs. Hauks- bee. That lady laughed. " For my sins, the Aide at Tyrconnel last night told me off to The Mussuck. Hush! Don't laugh. One of my most devoted ad- mirers. When duff came in — some one really ought to teach them to make pud- dings at Tyrconnel — The Mussuck was at liberty to attend me." " Sweet soul ! I know his appetite,'' 5.aid Mrs. Mallowe. " Did he, oh, dia ht, begin his wooing?" " By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained his importance as a Pillar of the Empire. I didn't laugn. ' " Lucy, I don't believe you." "Ask Captain Sangar; he was on the other side. Well, as I was saying, The Mussuck dilated." " I think I can see him doing it," said Mrs. Mallowe, pensively, scratching her fox-terrier's ears. " I was properly impressed. Most prop- erly. I yawned openly. * Strict supervis* ion, and play them off one against the 6 Under the Deodars other/ said The ]\Iussuck, shoveling down his ice by tureenfuls, I assure you. * Tltai, Mrs. Hauksbee, is the secret of our Gov- ernment.' " JNIrs. Mallowe laughed long and merrily^ '■'And what did you say.'' " " Did you ever know me at loss for an answer yet? I said: 'So I have observed in my dealings with you.* The Mussuck swelled with pride. He is coming to call on me to-morrow. The Hawley Boy is coming too.'' " ' Strict supervision, and play them ofi one against the other. That, Mrs. Hauks- bee, is the secret of our Government' And I dare say if we could get to The Mussuck's heart, we should find that he considers him- self a man of the world." '* As he is on the other two things. I like The iVlussuck, and I won't have you call him names. He amuses me." " He has reformed you, too, bv what aj)- pears. Explain the interval of sanity, and hit Tim on the nose with the paper-cutter, please. That dog is i-oo fond of sugar. Do you take milk in yours?*' " No, thanks. Polly, Fm wearied of this life. It's hollow." "Turn religious, then, T always said that Rome would be your fate." " Only exchanging half a dozen attaches in red for one in black, and if I fasted, the The Education of Otis Yeere 7 wrinkles would come, and never, never go. Has it struck 3'ou, dear, that I'm getting old?" " Thanks for vour courtesy. I'll return it. Ye-es, we are both not exactly — how shall I put it?" " What we have been. * I feel it in my bones,' as ]\Irs. Crossley says. Polly, I've wasted my life." "As how?" "Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a Power before I die." " Be a Power then. You've wits enough for anything . , . and beauty?" Mrs. Hauksbee pointed a tea-spoon straight at her hostess. *' Polly, if you heap compllm.ents on m.e like this, I shall cease to believe that you're a woman. Tell me how I am to be a Power." " Inform The ]\Iussuck that he is the most fascinating and slimimest man in Asia. and he'll tell you anything and everything you please." "Bother The Mussuck! I mean an infcUectiial Power — not a gas-'^o\Ntv. Pollv, I'm going to start a salon." Mrs. ]\Iallowe turned lazily on the sofa and rested her head on her hand. " Hear the words of the Preacher, the son of Baruch.'* ''Will you talk sensibly?" 8 Under the Deodars " I will, dear, for I see that you are g^oing to make a mistake." " I never made a mistake in my life — at least, never one that I couldn't explain away afterward." " Going to make a mistake," went on Mrs. Mailowe, composedly. " It is im- possible to start a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more to the point." ** Perhaps; but why? It seems so easy." " Just Vv^hat makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there in Simla? " " Myself and yourself," said Mrs. Hauks- bee, without a moment's hesitation. "Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how many clever men? " " Oh — er — hundreds," said ^Irs. Hauks- bee, vaguelv. '* What ?. fatal blunder! Not one. They are all bespoke by the Government. Take my husband, for instance. Jack was a clever man, though I say so who shouldn't. Government has eaten him up. Ail his ideas and powers of conversation — he really used to be a good talker, even to his wife, in the old days — are taken from him by this — this kitchen-sink of a Govern- ment. That's the case with every man up here who is at work. I don't suppose a Russian convict under the knout is able to The Education of Oiis Y^ere 9 amuse the rest of his gang; and all oui men-folk here are gilded convicts," '* But there are scores — " " I know what you're going to say. Scores of idle men up on leave. I admit it, but they are all of two objectionable sets. The Civilian who'd be delightful if he had the military man's knowledge of the world and style, and the military man who'd be adorable if he had the Civilian's culture." " Detestable word ! Have Civilians cul- chaw? I never studied the breed deeply." " Don't make fun of Jack's service. Yes They're like the teapoys in the Lakka Ba- zaar — good material, but not polished. They can't help themselves, poor dears. A Civilian only begins to be tolerable after he has knocked about the world for fifteen years." " And a military m.an? " " When he has had the same amount of service. The young of both species are horrible. Y'ou would have scores of them in your salon." ** I would not! " said Mrs. Hauksbee, fiercely. " I would tell the bearer to dar- waza band them. IVl put their own col- onels and commissioners at the door to turn them away. I'd give them to the Topsham girl to play with." " The Topsham girl would be gratefu) for the gift. But to go back to the salon lo Under the Deodars Allowing that you had gathered all yotir men and women together, what would you do with them? Make them talk? They would all with one accord begin to flirt. Your salon would become a glorified Peliti's — a * Scandal Point ' by lamplight/' ** There's a certain amount of wisdom in that view." '* There's all the wisdom, in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla seasons ought to have taught you that you can't focus any- thing in India; and a salon, to be any good at all, must be permanent. In two seasons your roomful would be scattered all over Asia. V/e are only little bits of dirt on the hill-sides — here one day and blown down the khud the next. \\'e have lost the art of talking — at least our men have. We have no cohesion — " " George Eliot in the flesh," interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee, wickedly. '* And collectively, my dear scoffer, we. men and wom.en alike, have 710 influence. Com.e into the veranda and look at the Mall." The two looked dovrn on the now rap- idly filling road, for all Simla was abroad to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog. , " Hov/ do you propose to fix that river? Look! There's The Mussuck — head of g^oodness knows what. He is a power in Tha Evju cation of Otis Yeere xi the land, though he does eat like a coster- monger. There's Colonel Blone, and Gen- eral Grucher, and Sir Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of Departments, and all powerful" " And all my fervent admirers," said Mrs. Hauksbee, piously. " Sir Henry Haughton raves about me. But go on.'^ ** One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they're just a mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your salon won't weld the Departments together and make you mistress of India, dear. And these creatures won't talk administrative * shop * in a crowd — your salon — be- cause they are so afraid of the men in the lower ranks overhearing it. They have forgotten what of Literature and Art they ever knew, and the women — " " Can't talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of their last dhai. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning." " You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views admirably, if you respected the re- ligious prejudices of the country and pro- vided plenty of kaia juggahs." "*' Plenty of kala juggahs. Ch, my poor 12 Under the Deodars little idea! Kala juggahs in a salon! But who made you so awfully clever? " "Perhaps I've tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has, I have preached and expounded the whole matter, and the conclusion thereof — " " You needn't go on. * Is Vanity/ Polly, I thank you. These vermin " — ]\Irs. Hauksbee waved her hand from the veranda to two men in the crowd below who had raised their hats to her — " these vermin shall not rejoice in a new Scandal Point or an extra Peliti's. I will abandon the notion of a salon. It did seem so tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must do something." ''Whv? Are not Abana and Phar- phar— "' *' Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself! I want to, of course. I'm tired of everything and everybody, from a moon- light picnic at Seepee, to the blandishments of The Alussuck." '' Yes — that comes, too, sooner or later. Have vou nerve enough to make vour bow yet?"' Mrs. Hauksbee's mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. " I think I see myself doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall: ' Mrs. Hauksbee ! Positively her last ap- pearance on a77y stage ! This is to give no- tice ! ' No more dances ; no more rides 'or The Education of Otis Yeere i 3 luncheons; no more theatricals with sup- per to follow; no more sparring with one's dearest, dearest friend; no more fencing with an inconvenient man who hasn't wit enough to clothe what he's pleased to call his sentiments in passable speech; no more parading of The 5.1ussuck while I\Irs. Tar- kass calls all round Sim.la, spreading lior- ribie stoiies about me! Xo more of anything that is thoroughly wearying, abominable and detestable, but, all the same, makes life worth the having. Yes! I see it alU Don't interrupt, Polly, I'm in- spired. A. mauve and white striped ' cloud ' ror .d I'ny venerable shoulders, a seat in the tiitAx . _»w of the Gaiety, and both horses sold. jJelightful vision! A comfortable arm-Lhai*- situated in three different draugrt.^ at every ball-room; and nice, large, sensible shoes for all the couples to stum.ble over as they go into the veranda! Then bt supper. Can't you imagine the scenrj^ T,ie greedy mob gone away. Re- hic'pni ^'.xai^ern, pink all over like a newly p'"wdered b^by — they really ought to tan subalierns before they are exported — Polly — sent back by the hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the room, tugging at a glove two sizes too large for him — I hate a man who wears gloves like overcoats — and trying to look as if he'd thought of it from the first. ' May I ah- 14 Under the Deodars have the pleasure 'f takin' you 'nt' supper?* Then 1 get up with a hungry smile. Just like this." "Lucy, how can you be so absurd?" " x\nd sweep out on his arm. So! After supper I shall go away early, you know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will look for my 'rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always with that mauve and vrhite ' cloud * over my head, w^hile the w^et soaks into my dear, old, venerable feet and Tom swears and shouts for the memsahib's gharri. Then home to bed at naif past eleven! Truly excellent life - — helped out by the visits of the Padri, just fresh from burying somebod}' down below there." She pointed through the pines, toward the cemetery, and continued with vigorous dramatic gesture: " Listen ! I see it all — down, down even to the stays! Such stays! Six-eight a pair, Polly, with red flannel — -or list, is it? — that they put into the top of those fearful things. I can draw you a picture of them." " Lucy, for Heaven's sake, don't go wav- ing your arms about in that idiotic manner! Recollect, every one can see vou from the Mall." " Let them see ! They'll think I am re- hearsing for * The Fallen Angel.* Look! The Education of Otis Yeere 1 5 Tliere's The ^lussuck. How badly he rides. There! " She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite grace. " Now," she continued, " he'll be chaired about that at the Club in the delicate man- ner those brutes of men afreet, and the Hawley Boy will tell me all about it — - softening the details for fear of shocking me. That boy is too good to live, Polly. I've serious thoughts of recommending him to throv/ up his commission and go into the Church. In his present fram.e of mind he would obey me. Happy, happy child! " " Never again," said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affectation of indignation, " shall you tifBn here! ' Lucindy, your behavior is scand'lus.' " "All your fault," retorted Mrs. Hauks- bee, " for suggesting such a thing as my abdication. No! /amau-Nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, frivol, talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate captives of any woman I choose, until I d-r-r-rop, or a better Vv-oman than I puts me to shame before all Simla . . . and it's dust and ashes in my m.outh while I'm doing it! " She dashed into the drawing-room. Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm round her waist. "I'm not!'* said Mrs. Hauksbee, de° fiantly, rummaging in the bosom of her i6 Under the Deodars dress for her handkerchief. " IVe been dining out for the last ten nights, and re- hearsing in the afternoon. You'd be tired yourseh*. It's only because I'm tired." Mrs. Mallowe did not at once overwhelm Mrs. Hauksbee with spoken pity or ask her to lie down. She knew her friend too well. Handing her another cup of tea, she went on with the conversation. " I've been through that too, dear,'' she said. " I remember," said }^Irs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. " In '84, wasn't it? You went out a great deal less next season." Mrs. IVIallowe smiled in a superior and sphinx-like fashion. " I became an Influence," said she. " Good gracious, child, you didn't join the Theosophists and kiss Buddha's big toe, did you? I tried to get mto their set once, but they cast me out for a skeptic — without a chance of improving my poor little mind, too." " No, I didn't Theosophilander. Tack says " " Never mind Jack. What a husband says is not of the least importance. What did you do? " " I made a lasting impression." " So have I — for four months. But that didn't console me in the leapt. I hated The Education of Oth Yeere 17 the man. JVill you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and tell me what you mean? '' Uts. :Mallowe told. ****** "And — you — mean — to — say that it is absolutely Platonic on both sides?" " Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up."' " And his last promotion was due to you ? " r\Irs. Mallowe nodded. *' And you warned him against the Top sham girl?" Another nod. " And told him of Sir Dugald Delane's private :\Iemo. about him?'' A third nod. " Whyf " **What a question to ask a woman! Because it amused me at first. I am proud of my property now. If I live, he shall continue to be successful. Yes, I will put him upon the straight road to Knighthood, and everything else that a m.an values. The rest depends upon himself." " Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman." " Xot in the least. I'm concentrated, that's all. You diffuse yourself, dear; and though all Simla knows your skill in man- aging a Team — " 1 8 Under the Deodars "Can't you choose a prettier v/ord?** ** Team, of half a dozen, from The Mus- suck to the Kawley Boy, you gain nothing by it. Noi even amusement." '' And you? " " Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy, mind, bat an ahiiost mature, unat- tached /nan, and be his guide, philosopher, and friend, You'il lind it the most inter- esting occupaiicn that you ever embarked on. It can be done — you needn't look like that — because I've done it." " There's an element of danger about ir that makes the notion attractive. I'll get such a man and say to him: * Now tiiere must be no flirtation. Do exactly what 1 tell you, profit by my instruction and coun- sels, and all vnW vet be well,' as Toole says. Is that the idea?" " More or less," said Mrs, Mallowe, with an unfathomable smile. " But be sure he understands that there must be na flirtation." The Education of Otis Yeere 19 II SHOWING WHAT WAS BORN OF THE GREAT IDEA. Dribble-dribble — trickle-trickle ~ What a lot of raw dust! My doUie's had an accident And out came all the sawdust! — Nursery Rhyme. So Mrs. Hauksbee, in "The Foundry* which overlooks Simla Mall, sat at the feet of Mrs. Mallowe and gathered wisdom. The end of the Conference was the Great Idea upon which Mrs. Hauksbee so plumed herself. " I warn you/' said Mrs. Mallowe, be- ginning to repent of her suggestion, " that the matter is not half so easy as ii looks. Any woman — even the Topsham girl — can catch a m.an, but very, very few know how to manage him when captured." *• My child," was the answer, '" I've been a female St. Simon Stylites looking down upon men for these — these years past. Ask The Mussuck whether I can manage them." Mrs. Hauksbee departed humming; Til g-o to himj and sav to him in m.annei 20 Under the Becdars most ironical." Mrs. Mallowe laughed to herself. Then she grew suddenly sober. " I wonder whether I've done well in ad- vising that amusement? Lucy's a clever woman, but a thought too mischievous where a man is concerned." A week later, the two met at a Monday Pop. ''Well?" said Mrs. IMallowe. " Tve caught him ! " said Mrs. Hauksbee. Her eyes w'ere dancing with merriment. "Who is it, you mad wom^an? I'm sorry I ever spoke to you about it." " Look between the pillars. In the third row; fourth from the end. You can see his face now. Look! " "Otis Yeere! Of all the improbable people! I don't believe you." "Hush! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murdering Milton Wellings, and I'll tell you all about it. S-s-ss! There we are. That woman's voice always reminds me ot an Underground train coming into Earl's Court with the brakes down. Now listen. It is really Otis Yeere." " So I see, but it doesn't follow that he is your property." " He is! By right of trove, as the bar- risters say. I found him, lonely and unbe- friended, the very next night after our talk, at the Dugald Delane's burra-khana. I liked his eyes, and I talked to him. Next day he called. Next day we went for a The Education of Otis Yeere 21 ride together, and to-day he's tied to my 'rickshaw- wheels hand and foot. You'll see when the concert's over. He doesn't know I'm here yet." '' Thank goodness you haven't chosen a boy. What are you going to do with him, assuming that you've got him? " "Assuming, indeed! Does a woman — do / — ever make a mistake in that sort cf thing? First " — Mrs. Hauksbee ticked oft the items ostentatiously on her daintily gloved fingers — " First, my dear, I shall dress him properly. At present his rai- ment is a disgrace, and he wears a dress- shirt like a crumpled sheet of the ' Pioneer/ Secondly, after I have made him present- able, I shall form his manners — his morals are above reproach." " You seem to have discovered a great deal about him considering the shortness of your acquaintance." " Surely ymi ought to know that the first proof a man gives of his interest in a woman is by talking to her about his own sweet self. If the woman listens without yawning, he begins to like her. If she flat- ters the animal's vanity, he ends by adoring her." " In some cases." " Never mind the exceptions. I know which one you are thinking of. Thirdly, and lastly, after he is polished and made 22 Under the Deodars pretty, I shall, as you said, be his guide, philosopher, and friend, and he shall be- come a success — as great a success as your friend. I always wondered how that man got on. Did The Mussuck come to you with the Civil List, and, dropping on one knee — no, two knees, a la Gibbon — hand it to you and say : ' Adorable angel, choose your friend's appointment?'" " Lucy, your long experiences of the Military Department have demoralized you. One doesn't do that sort of thing on the Civil Side." " No disrespect meant to * Jack's Ser- vice,' my dear. I only asked for informa- tion. Give me three m.onths, and see what changes I shall work in my prey." " Go your own way since you must But I'm sorry that I was weak enough to suggest the amusement." " ' I am all discretion, and may be trusted to an in-finite extent,' " quoted Mrs= Hauks- bee from the " The Fallen Angel; " and the conversation ceased w4th ]\Irs. Tarkass's last long-drawn war-whoop. Her bitterest enemies — and she had many — could hardly accuse Mrs. Hauks- bee of wasting her time. Otis Yeere was one of those v/andering "dumb " characters, foredoomed through life to be " nobody's property." Ten years in Her ]\Iajesty's Bengal Civil Service, spent, for the most The Education of Otis Yeere 23 part, in undesirable Districts, had dowered hiin vvitli little to be proud of, and nothing ro give confidence. Old enough to have lost the " first fine careless rapture " that showers on the immature 'Stunt imaginary Commissionerships and Stars, and sends him into the cellar with coltish earnestness and abandon; too young to be yet able to look back upon the progress he had made, and thank Providence that under the con- f'itions of to-day he had com.e even so far, he stood upon the " dead-center " of his career. And when a man stands still, he feels the slightest impulse from v;ithoat. Fortune had ruled that Otis Yeere should be, for the first part of his service, one of the rank and file who are ground up in the wheels of the Administration, losing heart and soul, and mind and strength, in the process. Until steam replaces maniial pov\/er in the working of the Empire, there must always be this percentage — must al- ways be the men v/ho are used up, ex- pended, in the mere mechanical routine. For these promotion is far ofiF, and the m.ill- grind of every day very near and instant. The Secretariats know them only by name; tliey are not the picked men of the Districts with the Divisions and Collectorates await- ing them. They are simply the rank and file — the food for fever — sharing with the ryot and the plow-bullock the honor of be- 24 Under the Deodars ing the plinth on which the State rests. The older ones have lost their aspirations; the younger are putting theirs aside with a sigh. Both learn to endure patiently un til the end of the day. Twelve years in the rank and hie, men say, will sap the hearts of the bravest and dull the wits of the most keen. Out of this life Otis Yeere had tied for a fevv months, drifting, for the sake of a little masculine society, into Simla. When his leave was over he would return to his swampy, sour-green, undermanned district, the native Assistant, the native Doctor, the native Magistrate, the steaming, sweltering Station, the ill-kempt City, and the undis- guised insolence of the Municipality that babbled away the lives of men. Life was cheap, however. The soil spawned human- ity, as it bred frogs in the Rains, and the gap of the sickness of one season v/as filled to overflowmg by the fecundity of the next. Otis was unfeignedly thankful to lay down his work for a little while and escape from the seething, whining, weakly hive, impo- tent to help itself, but strong in its power to cripple, thwart, and annoy the weary- eyed man who, by official irony, was said to be '' in charge " of it. ****** " I knew there were women-dowdies in Bengal. They come up here sometimes. The Education of Otis Yeere 25 But I didn't know that there were men- dowdies, too." Then, for the first time, it occurred to Otis Yeere that his clothes were rather an- cestral in appearance. It will be seen from the above that his friendship with Mrs, Hauksbee had made great strides. As that lady truthfully says, a man is never so happy as v/hen he is talking about himself. From Otis Yeere's lips Mrs. Hauksbee, before long, learned everything that she wished to know about the subject of her experiment; learned what manner of life he had led in what she vaguely called '"those awful cholera districts;" learned, too, but this knowledge came later, v/hat manner of life he had purposed to lead, and vrhat dreams he had dreamed in the year of grace 'jy, before the reality had knocked 'he heart out of him. Very pleasant are the ?hady bridle-paths round Prospect Hill for :he telling of confidences. "Not yet," said }Jrs. Hauksbee to }Jrs. Mallowe. " Xot yet, I must wait until the man is properly dressed, at least. Great heavens, is it possible that he doesn't know what an honor it is to be taken up by Me^ " Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false mod- esty as one of her failings. ''Always with ^.Irs, Hauksbee!" mur- mured ^Irs. ]\Iallowe, with her sweetest smiile, to Otis, " Oh, you men. you men! z6 Under the Deodars Here are our Punjabis growling because you've monopolized the nicest woman in Simla. The3''ll tear you to pieces on the Mali, some day, Mr. Yeere." ]\irs. Mallowe rattled down-hil!, having satisfied herself, by a glance through the fringe of her sunshade, of the effect of her words. The shot went home. Of ?. surety Otis Yeere was somebody in this bewildering whirl of Simla. Had monopolized the nicest Vv'oman in it, and the Punjabis were growling. The notion justified a mild glow of vanity. He had nevex- reg?»rCi.ed his ac- quaintance vv^ith Mrs. Kaukzbee as a mat- ter for general interest. The knowledge of envy v/as a pleasant feeling to the man of no account. It 'ves intensified later in the day when a luncher at the Club said spitefuliy '' VVdl, for a de- bilitated Ditcher, ^e^re, y^'X are going it. Hasn't any kind friend told you that shes the most dangerous v/om'^n in Sim'c?" Yeere chuckled and p-tsce:- out. When, oh, when, would his new cic^he? be ready? He descended into tne Mai! to inquire; and Mrs. Kauksbe-^, corn'ng over the Church Ridge in her rickshaw, looked down upon nim. approvingly. '* He's leL^ning to carry himself as if ne weie a man, instead of a oiece of furniture, and "'-— she screwed up I;er eves to see the better through the sun- The Education of Otis Yeere 27 nght — " he is a man when he holds himself like that. Oh, blessed Conceit, what should we be without you?" With the new clothes came a new stock of self-confidence. Otis Yeere discovered that he could enter a room without break- ing into a gentle perspiration, and could cross one, even to talk to Mrs. Hauksbee, as though rooms were meant to be crossed. He was, for the first time in nine years, proud of himself, and contented with his xife, saiisfied with his new clothes, and re- joicing in the coveted friendship of Mrs. Hauksbee. " Conceit is what the poor fellow wants/' she said in confidence to Mrs. Mallowe. " I believe they m.ust use the Civilians to plow the fields with in Lower Bengal. You see, I have to begin from the very beginning — haven't I? But you'll admit, won't you, dear, that he is immensely im- proved since I took him in hand? Only give me a little more time and he v/on't know him self. '* Indeed, Yeere was rapidly beginning to forget what he had been. One of his own rank and file put the mxatter in a nutshell when he asked Yeere, in reference to noth- mg: " And who has been making you a Member of Council, lately? You carry the side of half a dozen of 'em." 28 Under the Deodars " I — I'm awf'ly sorry. I didn't mean it, you know," said Yeere, apologetically. " There'll be no holding you," continued the old stager, grimly. *' Climb down, Otis — climb down, and get all that beastly affectation knocked out of you with fever! Three thousand a month wouldn't support it." Yeere repeated the incident to Mrs. Hauksbee. He had insensibly come to look upon her as his Fran Confessorin. " And you apologized! " she said. " Oh, shame! I hate a man who apologizes. Never apologize for what your friend called ' side.' Never! It's a man's business to be insolent and overbearing until he meets with a stronger. Now, you bad boy, listen to me." Simply and straightforwardly, as the 'rickshaw loitered round Jakko, Mrs. Hauksbee preached to Otis Yeere the Great Gospel of Conceit, illustrating it with living subjects encountered during their Sunday afternoon stroll. "Good gracious!" she concluded with the personal argument, " you'll apologize next for being my attache f " "Never!" said Otis Yeere. "That's another thing altogether. I shall always be—" " V\'hat's coming? " thought Mrs Hauksbee. The Education of Otis Yeere 29 " Proud of that," said Otis. " Safe for the present," she said to herseh'. ' But I'm afraid I have grown conceited. Like Jeshurun, you know. When he waxed fat, then he kicked. It's the having no worry on one's mind and the Hill air, I suppose." "Hill air, indeed!" said Mrs. Hauks- bee to herseh*. *' He'd have been hiding in the Club till the last day of his leave, if I hadn't discovered him." Then aloud: " Why shouldn't you be? You have every right to." "I! Why?" " Oh, hundreds of things. I'm not go* ing to waste this lovely afternoon by ex- plaining; but I know you have. What was that heap of manuscript you showed me about the grammar of the aboriginal — what's their names?" " Gullals. A piece of nonsense. I've far too much work to do to bother over Gullals now. You should see my District. Come down with your husband some c]rv and I'll show you round. Such a lovely place in the Rains! A sheet of water with the railway embankment and the snakes sticking out, and, in the summer, green flies and green squash. The people would die of fear if you shook a dog-vrhip at 'em. But they knov/ you're forbidden to do JO Under the Deodars that, so they conspire to make your life a burden to you. My District's worked by some man at Darjiling, on the strength of a pleader's false reports. Oh, it's a heav- enly place! " Otis Yeere laughed bitterly. " There's not the least necessity that you should stay in it. Why do you? " " Because I must. How'm. I to get out of it?" "How! In a hundred and fifty ways. If there weren't so many people on the road, Id like to box your ears. Ask, my dear sir, ask! Look! There is young Hexarly with six years' service and half your talents. He asked for what he wanted, and he got it. See, down b^/ the Convent! There's McArthurson who has come to his present position by asking — sheer, downright asking — after he had pushed himself out of the rank and file. One man is as good as another in ycur ser- vice — believe me. I've seen Simla for more seasons than I care to think about. Do you suppose men are chosen for ap- pointm.ents because of their special fitness beforchandf You have all passed a high test — what do you call it? — in the begin- ning, and, excepting the three or four who have gone altogether to the bad, you can all work. Asking does the rest. Call it clieek. call it insolence, call it anything you The Education of Otis Yeere 3 1 like, but ask! Men argue — yes, I know what men say — that a man, by the mere au- dacity of his request, must have some good in him. A weak man doesn't say: ' Give me this and that.' He whines : ' Why haven't I been given this and that? ' If you were in the Army, I should say learn to spin plates or play a tambourine with your toes. As it is — ask! You be- long to a Service that ought to be able to command the Channel fleet, or set a leg at twenty minutes' notice, and yet you hesi- tate over asking to escape from the squashy green district where you admit you are not master. Drop the Bengal Govern- ment altogether. Even Darjiling is a little out-of-the-way hole. I was there once, and the rents were extortionate. Assert yourself. Get the Government of India to take you over. Try to get on the Fron- tier, where every man has a grand chance if he can trust himself. Go somewhere! Do something! You have twice the wits and three times the presence of the men up here, and — and " — ]\Irs. Hauksbee paused for breath ; then continued — '' and in any way you look at it, you ought to. Yon who could go so far ! " " I don't know," said Yeere, rather taken aback by the unexpected eloquence. " I haven't such a good opinion of myself." It was not strictly Platonic, but it was 32 Under the Deodars Policy. Mrs. Hauksbee laid her hand lightly upon the ungloved paw that rested on the turned-back 'rickshaw hood, and, \r king the man full in the face, said ten- derly, almost too tenderly: "/ believe in you if you mistrust yourself. Is that enough, my friend? " '' It is enough," answered Otis, very solemnly. He was silent for a long time, redream- ing the dreams that he had dreamed eight years ago, but through them all ran, as sheet-lightning through a golden cloud, the light of Mrs. Hauksbee's violet eyes. Curious and impenetrable are the mazes of Simla life — the only existence in this desolate land worth the living. Gradually it went abroad among men and women, in the pauses between dance, play, and Gym- khana, that Otis Yeere, the man with the newly lit light of self-confidence in his eyes, had '* done something decent " in the wilds whence he came. He had brought an err- ing Municipality to reason, appropriated the funds on his own lesponsibility, and saved the lives of hundreds. He knew more about the Gullals than any living man. Had a vast knowledge of the aboriginal tribes; was, in spite of his juniority, the greatest authority on the aboriginal Gullals. No one quite knew who or what the Gullals were till The Mussuck, who had been call* The Education of Otis Yeere 33 ing on Mrs. Hauksbee, and prided himself upon picking people's brains, explained they were a tribe of ferocious hill-men, somewhere near Sikkim, whose friendship even the Great Indian Empire would find it worth her while to secure. Now we know that Otis Yeere had showed Mrs. Hauks- bee his M. S. notes of six years' standing on these same Gullals. 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 op- pression " won him a Reprimand Royal from the Bengal Government; but in the anecdote as amended for Northern con- sumption, we find no record of this. Hence ive are forced to conclude that Mrs. Hauks- bee " edited " his reminiscences before sow- ing them in idle ears, ready, as she well knew, to exaggerate good or evil. And Otis Yeere bore himself as befitted the hero of many tales. " You can talk to me when you don't fall into a brown study. Talk now, and talk your brightest and best," said Mrs. Hauksbee. Otis needed no spur. Look to a m.an who has the counsel of a woman of or 34 Under the Deodars above the world to back him. So long as he keeps his head, he can meet both sexes on equal ground — an advantage never in- tended by Providence, 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 withdravv^n, col- lapses suddenly while his world seeks the reason. Generaled by ^Irs. Hauksbee, who, again, had all I\Irs. Mallowe's wisdom at her disposal, 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- bee that she would spend the next season in Darjiling. " Are you certain of that? " said Otis Yeere. " Quite. W^eVe writing about a house now." Otis Yeere "stopped dead/* as Mrs. The Education of Otis Yeere 35 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 Gym- khana. Planted his forefeet and refused to go on another step. Polly, my man's go- ing to disappoint me. What shall I do^" As a rule, Mrs. Mallowe does not ap- prove 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 them- selves 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." ]\Irs. Mallowe waited through the even- ing, looking long and earnestly into the fire, and sometimes smiling to herself. " Oh ! oh ! oh ! The man's an idiot ! A raving, positive idiot! Pm sorry I ever saw him ! " Mrs. Hauksbee burst into Mrs. Mai* 36 Under the Deodars lowe's house, at midnight, almost in tears. "What in the world has happened?*^ said ]\Irs. ]\lallowe, 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 square, and I sat it out with him and wanted an explanation, and he said — Oh! I ha\'en't patience with such idiots! You know what I said about going to Darjiling next year? It doesn't matter to me where I go. I'd have changed the Station and lost the rent to have saved this. He said, in so many words, that he wasn't going to try to work up any more, because — be- cause he would be shifted into a province away from Darjiling, and his own District, where these creatures are, is within a day's journey " Ah — hh! " said Mrs. Mallowe, in a tone of one who has successfully tracked an ob- scure 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 ayiything! Anything in the wide world. He could have gone to the vv'orld's end. I would have helped him. I made him, didn't I, Polly? Didn't I The Education of Otis Yeere 37 create that man? Doesn't he owe every- thing to me? And to reward me, just when everything was nicely arranged, by this lunacy that spoiled everything! " " Very few men understand devotion thoroughly." " Oh, Polly, don't 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 Avas so angry. Oh, but such a funny thing happened! I can't help laugh- ing 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 juggah. 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 be- lieve 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 my head back, and it was a sort of slidy, pecking dab, just on the end of the 38 Under the Deodars chin — here." Mrs. Hauksbee tapped hei rather mascuHne chin \vith her fan. " Then, of course, I was furiously angry, and told him that he was no gentleman, and I was sorry I'd ever met him, and so on. He was crushed so easily that I couldn't be very angry. Then I came away straight to you." " Was this before or after supper? " " Oh ! 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- doiix in the center?" Mrs. Hauksbee opened the neatly folded note — another accomplishment that she had taught Otis — read it, and groaned tragically. " Last wreck of a feeble intellect! Poetry! Is it his own, do you think? Oh, that I ever built my hopes on such a m.audlin idiot! " " No. It's a quotation from Mrs. Browning, and, in view of the facts of the case, as Jack says, uncomm.only well chosen. Listen: The Education of Otis Yeere 39 •*• 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? " «I 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 compli- ment," said Mrs. Mallowe. " He clears you com.pletely, and — ahem ! — I should think by this, that he has cleared com- pletely, too. My experience of men is that when they begin to quote poetry, they are going to flit. Like swans singing before they die, you know." " Polly, you take my sorrows in a most unfeeling way." "Do I? Is it so terrible? If he's hurt your vanity, I should say that you've done a certain amount of damage to his heart." " Oh, you can never tell about a man! " said Mrs. Hauksbee, with deep scorn. Reviewing the matter as an impartial outsider, it strikes me that I'm about the only person who has profited by the edu- cation 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 \\'ife, who should have avoided the Tertium Quid, who, again, should have married a wife of his own, after clean and open flirtations, to which nobody can 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 an hour to meet a girl who will be properly surprised to meet him, you naturally approve of that young man, and wish him StafT appoint- ments, and take an interest in his welfare, 40 At the Pit's Mouth 41 and, as the proper time comes, give him sugar-tongs or side-saddles, acording to your means and generosity. The Tertium Quid flew down-hill on horseback, but it was to meet the Man's Wife; and when he flew up-hill it was for the same end. The Man was in the Plains, earning money for his Wife to spend on dresses and four-hundred-rupee bracelets, and inexpensive luxuries of that kind. He worked very hard, and sent her a letter or 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 qualified to pass judgment on circum- stantial evidence, which is the most un- trustworthy in the Courts. For these reason?, 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 W^ife and the Tertium Quid. If there was, and hereon you must form your own opin- ion, it was the Man's Wife's fault. She was kittenish in her manners, wearing generally an air of soft and flufTy Inno- 42 Under the Deodars cence. But she was deadly learned and evil-instructed ; and, now and again, when the mask dropped, men saw this, shud- dered, and — almost drew back. Men are occasionally particular, and the least par- ticular men are always the most exacting. Simla is eccentric in its fashion of treat- ing friendships. Certain attachments which have set and cry'stallized 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 vener- able, never seem to win any recognized official status; while a chance-sprung ac- quaintance, 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 hus- bands. 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 un- der her eyebrows at you as she said this thing, you felt that she had been infam- ously misjudged, and that all the other women's instincts were all wrong; which At the Pit's Mouth 43 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 common- place actions. 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 hus- band out of her saddle-pocket and gave it to the Tertium Quid. It was an honest letter, written by an honest man, then stewing in the Plains on two hundred rupees a month (for he allowed his wife eight hundred and fifty), and in a silk banian and cotton trousers. It is said that, perhaps, she had not thought of the unwisdomi of allowing her name to be so generally coupled with the Tertium 44 Under the Deodars Quid's; that she was too much of a child to understand the dangers of that sort of thing; that he, her husband, was the last man in the world to interfere jealously with her little amusements and interests, but that it would be better were she to drop the Tertium Quid quietly and for her husband's sake. The letter was sweetened with many pretty little pet names, and it amused the Tertium Quid considerably. He and She laughed over it, so that you, fifty yards away, could see their shoulders shaking while the horses slouched along side by side. Their conversation was not worth report- ing. The upshot of it was that, next day, no one saw the Man's Wife and the Ter- tium Quid together. They had both gone down To the Cemetery, which, as a rule, is only visited officially by the inhabitants of Simla. A Simla funeral with the clergyman riding, the mourners riding, and the coffin creaking as it swings between the bearers, is one of the most depressing things on this earth, particularly when the procession passes under the wet, dank dip beneath the Rockclifife Hotel, where the sun is shut out, and all the hill streams are wailing and weeping together as they go down the valleys. Occasionally, folk tend the graves; but At the Pit's Mouth 45 we in India shift and are transferred so often that, at the end of the second year, the Dead have no friends — only acquaint- ances who are far too busy amusing them- selves up the hill to attend to old partners. The idea of using a Cemetery as a rendez- vous is distinctly a feminine one. A man would have said simply: '* Let people talk. We'll go down the Mall." A woman is made differently, 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 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 suc- cumb 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, 46 Under the Deodars these arrangements varying with the cli- mate and population. One day when the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid had just arrived in the Cemetery, they saw some cooUes breaking ground. They had marked out a full-sized grave, and the Tertium Quid asked them whether any Sahib was sick. They said that they did not know ; but it was an order that they should dig a 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 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 had 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: hor- ribly cold. I don't think I shall come to At the Pit's Mouth 47 the Cemetery any more. I don't think grave-digging is cheerful." The two talked and agreed that the Cemetery was depressing. They also arranged for a ride next day out from the Cemetery through the Mashobra Tunnel up to Fagoo and back, because all the world was going to a garden-party at Vice- regal Lodge, and all the people of Mash- obra 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 man- aged to strain a back sinew. " I shall have to take the mare to-mor- row," 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 trysting-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 ofif 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 4? Under the Deodars below Mashobra to Fagoo is officially styled the Himalayan-Thibet Road; but in spite of its name it is not much more than six feet wide in most places, and the drop into the valley below may be any- thing between one and two thousand feet. " Now we're going to Thibet," said the Man's Wife, merrily, as the horses drew near to Fagoo. She was riding on the cliff-side. *' Into Thibet," said the Tertium Quid, " ever so far from people who say horrid things, and hubbys who write stupid let- ters. 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 hunches 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 sinking 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 Himalavan-Thibet Road, and it v/as At the Pit's Mouth 49 giving way under her. ** What are you doing? " said the Man's Wife. The Ter- tium 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 Alan's Wife heard the tinkle- tinkle of little stones and loose earth fall- ing ofif the road-way, and the sliding roar of the man 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 under- neath the mare, nine hundred feet below, spoiling a patch of Indian corn. As the revelers came back from Vice- regal Lodge in the mists of the evening, they met a temporarily insane woman, on a temporarily 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 5© Under the Deodars risk of his life, and taken out of the saddle, a limp heap, and put on the bank to ex- plain herself. This wasted twenty minutes, and then she was sent home in a lady's Vickshaw, 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 judg- ment; therefore the misery of man is great upon him. — Eccl. viii. 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 European 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 jhils cover the place as with water, and in Winter the frosts nip every- thing young and tender to earth level. There is but one view in Kashima — that of a stretch of perfectly flat pasture and plow-land, running up to the gray-blue scrub of the Dosehri hills. 52 Under the Deodars There are no amusements except snipe and tiger shooting; but the tigers have long since been 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 Narkarra, 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. Vansu}-- then, who is the most important of all. You must remember, though you will not 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 Headman 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 A Wayside Comedy 53 every addition to the population up to twelve — the Jury number. After that, fear and consequent restraint begin, and liuman action becomes less grotesquely jerky. There was deep peace in Kashima till Mrs. Vansuythen arrived. She was a charming woman, every one said so every- where; 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 ]\Iajor Vansuythen. Had she been plain or stupid, this matter would have been intelligible to Kashima. But she was a fair woman, with very still gray eyes, the 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 spoiled 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 worshiped. She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to Kashima; but Major Vansuythen can not understand why ]\Irs. Boulte does not drop in to afternoon tea at 54 Under the Deodars 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, Kur- rell had discovered that Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world for him, and — you dare not blame them. Kashima was as out of the world as Heaven or the other place, and the Dosehri hills kept their secret well. Boulte had no concern in the matter. He was in camp for a fortnight at a time. He was a hard, heavy man, and neither ]\Irs. 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 w^ould dine together. Kashima was happy then, when the judgment of God seemed almost as distant as Narkarra or the rail- way that ran down to the sea. But the Government sent Major Vansuythen to Kashima, and with him came his wife. The etiquette of Kashima is much the same as that of a desert island. When a stranger is cast away there, all hands go down to the shore to make him welcome. A Wayside Comedy 55 Kashima assembled at the masonry plat- form close to the Narkarra Road, and spread tea for the \^ansuythens. 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 Kashim^a; 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 w^ashed 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 toward his wife changed and became demonstratively affectionate. They had been married twelve years, and the change startled Mrs. Boulte, who hated her hus- band with the hate of a woman who has met with nothing but kindness from her mate, and, in the teeth of this kindness, has done him a great wrong. Moreover, she had her own trouble to fight with — her watch to keep over her own property, Kurrell. For two months the Rains had hidden the Dosehri hills and many other things beside; but, when they lifted, they showed ]\Irs. Boulte that her man among 56 Under the Deodars 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 alle- giance. " The Vansuythen Woman has taken him," Mrs. Boulte said to herself; and when Boulte was away, wept over her belief, in the face of the over-vehement blandish- ments of Ted. Sorrow in Kashima 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-post of the drawing-room, chewing his mustache. Mrs. Boulte was putting some flowers into a vase. There is a pretense of civilization 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? " I\Irs. Boulte dropped the flowers, and turned round quickly. " Do you want an honest answer? " " Ye-es; I've asked for it." A Wayside Comedy 57 Mrs. Boulte spoke in a low, even voice for five minutes, very distinctly, that there might be no misunderstanding her mean- ing. 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 at Boulte's heart, because her own was sick with suspi- cion of Kurrell, and worn out with the long strain of watching alone through the Rains. There was no plan or purpose in her speak- ing. The sentences made themselves; and Boulte listened, leaning against the door- post with his hands in his pockets. When all was over, and Mrs. Boulte began to breathe through her nose before 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 : " I'll tell you what you can do. You can ask Kurrell to dinner to-morrow — no, on Thursday; that will allow you 58 Under the Deodars time to pack — and you can bolt with him. I give you my word, I won't follow." He took up his helmet and went out of the room, and Mrs. Boulte sat till the moonlight streaked the floor, thinking and thinking and thinking. She had done her best upon the spur of the moment to pull the house down; but it would not fall. Moreover, she could not understand her husband, and she was afraid. Then the folly of her useless truthfulness struck her^ and she was ashamed to write to Kurrell, saying: " I have gone mad and told every- thing. My husband 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 expression of sorrow, something approach- ing tc> contrition. Boulte came out of a brown study, and said: "Oh, that! I wasn't 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 sentence ended in a gulp. A Wryside Comedy 59 The next day brought no comfort to Mrs. Bouhe, for Kurrell did not appear, and the new hfe that she, in the five min- utes' madness of the previous evening, had hoped to build out of the ruins of the old, seemed to be no nearer. Boulte eat 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 Vansuythen 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. In Kashima 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 Vansuythens' 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 6o Under the Deodars 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 ^Irs. 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- thing. Things can't be as wrong as vou say." Mrs. Vansuythen had shifted her defense to avoid the man's pleading, and was desperately trying to keep him to a side- issue. " There must be some mistake," she insisted, '* and it can be all put right again." Boulte laughed grimly. "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, Jo listen! He said he had not. He svrore he had not," said Mrs. \^an- suythen. The purdah rustled, and the speech was cut short by the entry of a little, thin woman, with big rings round her eyes. Mrs. Vansuythen stood up with a gasp. "What was that you said?" asked Mrs. Boulte. " Never mind that man. What A Wayside Comedy 61 did Ted say to you? What did he say to you? What did he say to you?" yirs. \^ansuythen sat down helplessly on the sofa, overborne by the trouble of her questioner. ''He said — I can't remember exactly what he said — but I understood him to say — that is . . . But, really, ^Ivs, Boulte, isn't it rather a strange question?" " Will you tell me what he said ? " re- peated Mrs. Boulte. Even a tiger will fly before a bear robbed of her whelps, and I\Irs. Vansuythen 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 ]\Irs. 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 un- broken. " 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? " But Mrs. \'ansuythen, with no heart for 62 Under the Deodars 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, zi'ill 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! " Bouite carried his wife into i\Irs. Van- suythen's bedroom, and departed before the storm of that lady's wrath and disgust, impenitent and burning with jealousy. Kurrell had been making love to ]\Irs. Van- suythen — would do Vansuythen as great a wrong as he had done Boulte, who caught himself considering whether ]\Irs. Vansuy- then would faint if she discovered that the man she loved had foresworn her. In the middle of these meditations, Kurrell came cantering along the road and pulled up with a cheery: " Good-mornin'. 'Been mashing ^Irs. Vansuythen as usual, eh? Bad thing for a sober, married man, that. What will yivs. Boulte 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 two are free to go ofif whenever you please? She has been good enough to explain the situation A Wayside Comedy 63 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 womian 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 v.as saddled with . . . Boulte's voice recalled him. *' I don't think I should get any satisfac- tion from killing you, and I'm pretty sure you'd get none from killing me." Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously dis- proportioned to his wrongs, Boulte added: " 'Seems rather a pity that you haven't the decency to keep to the woman, now youVe 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 teUing ^Irs. \'ansuythen that you'd never cared for Emma. I sup- pose you lied, as usual. What had Mrs. Vansuythen to do with you, or you with 64 Under the Deodars 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 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. Vansuythen say after you had laid your disengaged heart at her feet? " Kurrell felt almost virtuous as he put the question. " I don't think that matters," Boulte replied ; " and it doesn't concern you." " But it does! I tell you it does," began Kurrell, shamelessly. The sentence was cut by a roar of laugh- A Wayside Comedy 65 ter from Boulte's lips. Kurrell was silent for an instant, and then he, too, laughed — laughed 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 strangers in Kashima, or they might have thought that captivity within the Dosehri hills had driven half the Euro- pean 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." He walked forward, and left Kurrell gazing blankly after him. Kurrell did not ride on either to see Mrs. Boulte or Mrs. Yansuythen. He sat in his saddle and 66 Under the Deodars thought, while his pony grazed by the road-side. The whirr 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." i\Irs. 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!" She bent forward and wept bitterly, while the sais, decorously impassive, went for- ward 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 A Wayside Comedy 67 Kurrell. I don't know what I can call you. I think you've — you've behaved abomi- nably, 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 }'ou don't care for him. Oh, Ted, won't you believe her?" " Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were — that you were fond of her once upon a time," went on ]\Irs. Vansuy- then. "Well!" said Kurrell, brutally. "It seems to me that ^.Irs. Boulte had better be fond of her own husband first." "Stop!" said 'Sirs. Vansuythen. "Hear me first. I don't care — I don't want to know anything about you and ]\Irs. Boulte; but I want yoic 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, }ou . . . man ! Sais, gorah ko jane do.'' " I want to speak to Ted." moaned Mrs. Boulte; but the dog-cart rattled on, and Kurrell was left on the road, shamed, and boiling with wrath against ]\irs. Boulte. He waited till ]\Irs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own house, and, she, being freed from the embarrassment of -Mrs. Boulte's presence, learned for the 68 Under the Deodars second time a truthful opinion of himself and his actions. In the evenings, it was the wont of all Kashima to meet at the platform on the Narkarra Road, to drink tea, and discuss the trivialities of the day. ^^lajor Vansuy- then and his wife found themselves alone at the gathering-place for almost the first time in their remembrance; and the cheery !Major, in the teeth of his wife's remark- ably reasonable suggestion that the rest of the Station might be sick, insisted upon driving round to the two bungalows and unearthing the population. " Sitting in the twilight ! " said he, with great indignation, to the Boultes. " That'll never do! Hang it all, we're one family here! You must come out, and so must Kurrell. I'll make him bring his banjo." So great is the power of honest simplicity and a good digestion over guilty con- sciences 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. A Wayside Comedy 69 " You're singing villainously out of tune, Kurrell," said the ]\Iajor, truthfully. ** Pass me that banjo." And he sung in excruciating-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. ^drs. Vansuythen has never told the Major; and since he insists upon the main- tenance of a burdensome geniality, she has been compelled to break her vow of not speaking to Kurrell. This speech, which must of necessity 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 curi- ous fashion, hates her because Mrs. Vansuy- then — and here the wife's eyes see far more clearly than the husband's — detests Ted. And Ted — that gallant captain and honor- able man — knows now that it is possible to hate a woman once loved, even to the verge of wishing to silence her forever with blows. Above all, is he shocked that 70 Under the Deodars Mrs. Boultc can not see the error of her ways. Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together in amity and all good-friendship. Boulte has put their relationship on a most satisfactory footing. " You're a blackguard," he says to Kurrell, " and I've lost any self-respect I may ever have had; but when you're with me, I can feel certain that you are not with Airs. Vansuvthen, or making Emma miser- able." Kurrell endures anything that Boulte may say to him. Sometimes they are away ior three days together, and then the Alajor insists upon his wife going over to sit with Mrs. Boulte; although Mrs. Vansuythen has repeatedly avowed that she prefers her husband'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 Alajor 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. Thev 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 jt * * * all these months. 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 tim.e? 71 72 Under the Deodars She. — I? Oh! I don't know. IVe had long enough to think, too. He. — And you've changed your mind? She. — No. You ought to know that I am a miracle of constancy. What are your — arrangements? He. — Ours, Sweetheart, please. She. — Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has marked your forehead! 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 Conti- nent and Sweden — a ten-week honey- moon. She. — Ssh! Don't talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy, how long have we two been insane? He. — Seven months and fourteen days; I forget the odd hours exactlv, but I'll think. She. — I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two on the Blessington Road? He. — Eabrey and the Penner woman. What do they matter to usf Tell me The Hill of Illusion 73 everything that you've been doing and saying and thinking. She. — Doing Httle, saying less, and thinking 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 won- der that Tm disinclined for amusement? He. — Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty? She. — In this only. The more people I know and the more I'm known here, the wider spread will be the news of the crash when it comes. I don't like that. He. — Nonsense. We shall be out of it. She. — You think so? He. — I'm sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to carrv us awav. Ha! ha! She. — And the fun 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 74 Under the Deodars 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 ruin to me, as the world reckons it — - outcasting, the loss of my appointment, the breaking off of my life's work. I pay my price. She, — And are you so much above the w^orld that vou 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 do you do, I\Irs. Middleditch? Your hus- band? I think he's riding down to Annan- dale 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 Scotch woman! 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. — \Vhat was it for? The Hill of Illucion j^ He. — Murder, of course. She. — Murder! Is that so great a sin after all? I wonder how he felt before the drop fell? He. — I don't think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman it is this evening! You're shivering. Put on your cape, dear. She. — I think I will. Oh! look at the mist coming over Sanjaoli; and I thought we should have sunshine on the Ladies' 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 aw^ay before we get to the Con- vent, 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 perfect. Where did you get it from? She. — He gave it me, on Wednes- day * * * Qyj- wedding-day, you know. He. — The deuce He did! He's grow- ing generous in his old age. D'you like all that frilly, bunchy stuff at the throat? I don't. 76 Under the Deodars 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 set- tled 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. 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 isl Let us get on quickly. He. — Better walk a little. Stop your jhampanis and get out. \\'hat's the mat- ter with you this evening, dear? The Hill of Illusion yj 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 of them later on. Good-night, Captain Congleton. Going to the singing-quadrilles already? What dances am I giving you next week? Xo! 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 objec- tion? Shall I stand under the chandelier in future? 78 Under the Deodars He. — What does he talk to you about? She. — What do men talk about when thev sit out? He.— Ugh! Don't! Well, now I'm up. You must dispense with the fascinating Ccngleton for awhile. I don't like him. She {after a pause). — Do you know what you have said? He. — Can't say that I do, exactly. I'm not in the best of tempers. She. — So I see * * * and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your " eternal constancy," " unalterable trust," and "reverent devotion?" I remember those phrases; you seem to have forgotten them. I mention a man's name — He. — A good deal more than that. She. — Well, speak to him about a dance — perhaps the last dance that I shall ever dance in my life before I * * * before I go away; and you at once distrust and insult me. He. — 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 The Hill of Illusion 79 years when I shall be unable to resent it. You want too much, my Lancelot, and * * * you know too much. He. — How do you mean? She. — That is a part of the punishment. There can not 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. — Somicthing 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? 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 8o Under the Deodars made even bearable. 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 overtired to-night, Sweetheart, and you're taking a stage view of the situation. After the necessary busi- ness in the Courts, the road is clear to — She. — '* The holy state of matrimony!" Ha! ha! ha! He. — Ssh! Don't laugh in that horrible way! She. — I — I c-c-c-can't help it! Isn't it 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 whisp of hair got loose from behind your right ear, and it's straggling over your cheek. So! The Hill of Illusion 8 1 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 opportuni- ties of comparing us — in this sort of work ? She. — Guy, what is mv name? He.— Eh! I don't follow. She. — Here's my card-case. Can you read? 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 jok- ing. 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? Szi'car I 82 Under the Deodars don't! Give me your word of honor, my Jwnorable friend, that I'm not Hke Mrs. Buz- gago. That's the way she stands, with her hands clasped at the back of her head. D'you Hke that? He. — Don't be affected. She. — I'm not. I'm Mrs. Buzgago. Listen! *' 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 ]e vit r'paraitre sur la place L'Colonel tou jours 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. Slie is both drawing-room and proper and in another month she'll shut her drawing- room to me, and, thank God, she isn't as improper as I am. Oh, Guy, Guy! I 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." The Hill of Illusion 83 He. — I am only a man of limited intelli- gence, and just now, very bewildered. 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. \Ve 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, ^^j,j ^fc He ^ J (^on'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. She (sIoiL'Iy). — I don't see the necessity — ^ He. — Hah! What do you m.ean? She. — Shall I speak the truth? He. — Under the circumstances, per- haps it zcould be as well. 84 Under the Deodars 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 busi- ness! 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 Buzgago? 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? She. — It's not pretense, 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 yourself will be the best reason for doubt- ing. And I — what shall /do? I shall be no better than !Mrs. Buzgago found out — no better than any one. And you'lJ kfiow that. Oh, Guy, can't you seef The Hill of Illusion 85 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 not. 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 horrible names later, if I don't do every- thing as you like. And if you were cruel to me, Guy, where should I go — where should I go? I can't 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 under- stand you — I won't — and I can't trust myself to talk this evening. May I call to-morrow? She. — Yes. A'o! Oh, give me time! The day after. I get into my 'rickshaw here and meet Him at Peliti's. You ride. 86 Under the Deodars He. — I'll go on to Peliti's, too. I think I want a drink. My world's knocked about my ears, and the stars are falling. Who are those brutes howling in the Old Library? She. — They're rehearsing the singing- quadrilles for the Fancy Ball. Can't you hear Mrs. Buzgago's voice? She has a solo. It's quite a new idea. Listen! Mrs. Buzgago (in the Old Library, con* tnolL 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 know I trust you absolutely. Good-night, and — God bless you! {Three seconds later. Solus.) H'ml I'd give something to discover whether there's another man at the back of all this. A SECOND-RATE WOMAN Estfuga, volvitur rota. On we drift: where looms the dim port? One Two Three Four Five contribute their quotas Something is gained if one caught but the im* port. Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha. — blaster 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 husbcind — 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 orgv. Who is she?" said ]\Irs. Hauksbee. "Don't!" said Mrs. Mallowe, feebly. " You make my head ache. I'm miserable to-day. Stay me with fondants, comfort me with chocolates, for I am . . . Did you bring anything from Peliti's? " " Questions to begin with. You shall have the sweets when you have answered them. Who and what is the creature.'' 87 88 Under the Deodars There were at least half a dozen men round her, and she appeared to be going to sleep in their midst. " Delville," said ^Irs. Mallowe, " ' Shady ' Delville, to distinguish her from Mrs. Jim of that ilk. She dances as untidily as she dresses, I believe, and her husband is somewhere in ^Madras. Go and call, if you are so interested." " What have I to do with Shigramitish women? She merely caught my attention for a minute, and I wondered at the attrac- tion 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. x\nd round this hayrick stood a crowd of men — a positive crowd! " " Perhaps they also expected — " " Polly, don't be Rabelaisian! " Mrs. Alarlowe 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. IVIrs. Hauksbee stepped into the veranda and looked down upon the Mall, her fore- head puckered with thought. A Second- Rate Woman 89 "Hah!" said Mrs. Hauksbee, shortlyc ** 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." " 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 davs ago. Ugh! Some men ought to be' killed." " W^hat happened then? " " He posed as the horror of horrors — a misunderstood man. Heaven knows the femme incomprise is sad enough and bad enough — but the other thing! " " And so fat, too ! / should have laughed 90 Under the Deodars in his face. Men seldom confide in me. How is it they come to you? " " For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past. Protect me from men with confidences! " " And yet you encourage them ? " "What can I do? They talk, I listen, and they vow that I am sympathetic. I know I always profess astonishment even when the plot is — of the most old possible." *' Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if they are once allowed to talk, whereas women's confidences are full of reserva- tions and fibs, except — " " When they go mad and babble of the Unutterabilities after a week's acquain- tance. Even then, they always paint themselves d la Mrs. Gummidge — throw- ing cold water on hiiii. 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 A Second-Rate Woman 91 more exercise and a more intelligent interest in your neighbors, you would — " " Be as universally loved as Mrs. Hauks- bee. You're a darling in many ways, and I like you — you are not a woman's woman — but zuhy 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, and earned the undying hatred of Mamma Holt, what will you do with me- 92 Under the Deodars Dispenser of the Destinies of the Uni- verse?" Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in front of the fire, and, chin in hand, gazed long and steadfastly at Airs. 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 prevent- ing 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? A^o! If you don't come with me, I shall spread your newest frock on my 'rickshaw-bow, 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. McNamara sees me. Put your things on, there's a good girl." Mrs. Mallowe groaned and obeyed, and the two went oft to the Library, where they found Airs. 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 Airs. A Second-Rate Woman 93 Hauksbee, with the air of one pointing out a slug in the road. " No," said Mrs. Mallowe. " The man is the creature. Ugh ! Good-evening, Mr. Bent. I thought you were coming to tea this evening." '' Surely it was for to-morrow, was it not?" answered The Dancing ■Master. " I understood ... I fancied . . . I'm so sorrv. . . . How very unfortu- nate! . '. ." But Mrs. Alallowe had passed on. " For the practiced equivocator you said he was," murmured Airs. Hauksbee, " he strikes me as a failure. Novv', wherefore should he have preferred a walk with The Dowd to tea w^ith us? Elective affinities, I suppose — both grubby. Polly, I'd never forgive that woman as long as the world rolls." '' I forgive every w^oman everything," said Mrs. Alallowe. " He will be a suffi- cient punishment for her. What a common voice she has! " Mrs. Delville's voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less lovely, and her rai- ment was strikingly neglected. All these facts Airs. Alallowe absorbed over the top of a magazine. " Now, zvhat is there in her? " said Mrs. Hauksbee. " Do you see what I meant about the clothes falling off? If I were a 94 Under the Deodars 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 ignor- ance never! The woman's a fool." "H'sh! She'll hear you." " All the women in Simla are fools. She'll think I mean some one else. Now she's going out. What a thoroughly objectionable couple she and The Dancing Master make! Which reminds me. Do you suppose they'll ever dance together? '* " Wait and see. I don't envy her 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 country, I think, and, being an honorable, chivalrous soul, told me that he repented his bargain, and sent her to her m.other 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 savs." "Babies?" " One only, but he talks of his wife in a A Second-Rate Woman 95 revolting way. I hated him for it. He thought he was being epigrammatic and brilHant." '' That is a vice pecuh'ar to men. I dis- Hke him because he is generally in the wake of some girl, to the disgust of the Eli- gibles. He will persecute May Holt no more, unless I am much mistaken." " No. I think Mrs. Delville may occupy his attention for awhile." " Do you suppose she know^s that he is the head of a family? " '' Not from his lips. He swore to me 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 vv^herewith 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." " Do you suppose that the Delville woman has humor? " " Her dress bewrays her. How can a Thing who wears her supplement under her 96 Under the Deodars 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. Otherwise — " " But are we not both assuming a great deal too much, dear? You saw the woman at Peliti's — half an hour later you saw her walking with The Dancing Mas- ter — an hour later you met her here at the Library." "Still with The Dancing Master, re- member." " Still with The Dancing Master, I ad- m.it, but why on the strength of that should you imagine — " " I imagine nothing. I have no imagina- tion. I am only convinced that The Dancing Master is attracted to The Dowd because he is objectionable in every wa}^ and she in every other. If I know the man as you 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 simply made for lies — he will be rewarded according to his merits." " I wonder what those really are," said Mrs. Mallowe. But Mrs. Hauksbee, her face close to the A Second-Rate Woman 97 shelf of the new books, was humming softly: " What shall he have who killed the Deer?" She was a lady of unfettered speech. One month later, she announced her intention of calling upon Mrs. Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee and Mrs. Mallowe were in morning wrappers, and there was great peace in the land. " I should go as I was/' said Mrs. Mal- lowe. " It would be a dehcate compliment to her style." Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass. " 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 innocence — 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 can not 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, 98 Under the Deodars and the rain had made the lace lie down. To complete the effect, she was wearing an unclean terai with the elastic under her chin. I felt almost too well content to take the trouble to despise her." " The Hawley Boy was riding with you. V/hat did he think?" " Does a boy ever notice these things? Should I like him if he did? He stared in the rudest way, and just when I thought he had seen the elastic, he said : ' There's something very taking about that face.' I rebuked him on the spot. I don't approve of boys being taken by faces." " Other than your own. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if the Hawley Boy immediately went to call." " I forbid 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 A Second-Rate Woman 99 tipped out of the dirty-clothes-basket. You know my way, dear, when I am at all put out. I was Superior, c-r-r-r-rushingly Superior! 'Lifted my eyes to Heaven, and had heard of nothing — 'dropped my eyes on the carpet, and ' really didn't know' — 'played with my card-case and ' supposed so.' The Hawley Boy 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 laziness, 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 surroundings were like, while she stuck out her tongue." "Lu — o'.'" " Well — ril withdraw the tongue, though Vm 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. too Under the Deodars I believe the grunts were meant for sen- tences, but she spoke so indistinctly that I can't swear to it." *' You are incorrigible, simply." " I am 7iot! 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 communi- cates her views on life and love to The Dancing Master in a set of modulated ^Grmphs'?" '' You attach to much importance to The Dancing IMaster." " He came as we went, and The Dowd grew almost cordial at the sight of him. He smiled greasily, and moved about that darkened dog-kennel in a suspiciously familiar way." " Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll 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 av/ay to- gether. 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." A Second-Rate Woman loi " 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 dis- parage 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 far blue hills like a distressed cherub. Am 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?" •' Tcte-fclee,'' suggested Mrs. Mallowe. "Exactly! And now let us have tiffin. The demands of Society are exhausting, and as Mrs. Delville says — '' Here Mrs. Hauksbee, to the horror of the khitmat- gars, lapsed into a series of grunts, while Mrs. Mallowe stared in lazy surprise. " ' God gie us a gude conceit of oor- selves,* " said Mrs. Hauksbee, piously, re- turning to her natural speech. " Now, in any other woman that would have been vuiear. I am consumed with curiositv to I02 Under the Deodars see Mrs. Bent. I expect complications." " Woman of one idea," said Mrs. Mal- lowe, shortly, " all complications are as old as the hills! I have lived through or near all — all — all! " " And yet do not understand that men and women never behave twice alike. I am old who was young — if ever I put my head in your lap, you dear, big skeptic, 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. Mal- lowe, 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, thoughtfully rubbing her nose. '' That is the last link of the chain, if we omit the husband of the Delville, vvhoever he may be. Let me consider. The Bents and the Delvilles inhabit the same hotel; and the Delville is detested by the Waddy — do you know the Waddy? — who is almost as big a dowd. The Waddy also abominates the male Bent, for which, if her other A Second-Rate Woman 103 sins do not weigh too heavih^, she will eventually be caught up to Heaven." " Don't be irreverent," said Mrs. Mal- lowe. " 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 lictions about The Dancing Master and The Dowd." " Lucy, I should like you better if you were not always looking into people's back bed-rooms." " Anybody can look into their front drawing-rooms; and remember whatever I do, and whatever I look, I never talk — as the Waddy will. Let us hope that The Dancing jMaster's greasy smile and m.an- ner of the pedagogue will ' soften the heart of that cow,' his wife. If mouths speak truth, I should think that little Mrs. Bent could get very angry on occasion." " But what reason has she for being angry? " "What reason! The Dancing Master in himself is a reason. How does it go? ' 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 C04 Under the Deodars Dancing ]\Iaster, 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 w^orst. It saves useless expenditure of sympathy. And you may be quite cer- tain that the Waddy believes with me." Mrs. IMallowe sighed and made no answer. The conversation was holden after din- ner while Mrs. Hauksbee was dressing for a dance. " I am too tired to go," pleaded Mrs. 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. ]\Ial- lowe, 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 A Second-Rate Woman 105 Dancing Master — I and the Hawley Boy — You know the North veranda? " " How can I do anything if you spin round Hke this?" protested Mrs. Mallowe, fumbHng with the knot of the lace. *' Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale without the aid of your eyes. Do you know you've lovely eyes, dear? Well, to begin with, I took the Hawley Boy to a kala juggah." " Did he want much taking? " " Lots ! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in kanats, and she was in the next one talking to him." "Which? How? Explain." " You know what I mean — The Dowd and The Dancing Master. We could hear every word, and we listened shamelessly — 'specially the Hawley Boy. Polly, I quite love that woman ! " "This is interesting. There! Now turn round. What happened?" "One moment. Ah — h! Blessed re- lief. 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 Danc- ing Master owned it was so in language io6 Under the Deodars that nearly made me ill. The Dowd re- flected for awhile. Then we heard her say, * Look he'ere, Mister Bent, why are yon such an aw-ful liar? ' I nearly exploded while The Dancing Master denied the charge. It seems 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 3^ou, and, look he'ere, you never told me a word about her, and I've been thinkin' about it a good deal, and I think you're a liar/ Wasn't that delicious? The Dancing Mas- ter maundered and raved till the Hawley Boy suggested that he should burst in and beat him. His voice runs up into an im- passioned squeak when he is afraid. The Dowd m.ust be an extraordinary woman. She explained that had he been a bachelor she might not have objected to his devo- tion; but since he was a married man and the father of a very nice baby, she consid- ered him a hypocrite, and this she repeated twice. She wound up her drawl with: *An' I'm tellin' you this because your wife is angry with me, an' I hate quarrelin' A Second-Rate Woman 107 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 hap- pened? " " The Dancing Master attempted blan- dishment, 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 sentence, and, in the end, he went away swearing to himself, quite like a man in a novel. He looked more objectionable than ever. I laughed. I love that v/oman ■ — 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 morn- ing," said Mrs. Mallowe, yawning. " Per- haps 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- io8 Under the Deodars self, Mrs. "Shady" Delville had turned upon Mr. Bent and rent him limb from limb, casting him away limp and discon- certed ere she withdrew the light of her eyes from him permanently. Being a m.an 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 ]\lrs. Delville, and he told the tale so often and with such eloquence that he ended in believing it, while his wife mar- veled at the manners and customs of "some women." When the situation showed signs of languishing, ^Irs. Waddy w^as always on hand to wake the smoldering 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 IMrs. Waddy's story were true, he was, argued his wife, untrustworthy to the last degree. If his own statement was true, his charms of manner and conversation were so great that he needed constant surveillance. And he received it, till he repented genuinely of his marriage and neglected his personal appearance. Mrs. Delville alone in the hotel was unchanged. She removed her chair some six paces toward the head of the table, and occasionally in the twilight A Second-Rate Woman 109 ventured on timid overtures of friendship to Mrs. Bent, which were repulsed. "She does it for my sake," hinted the virtuous Bent. "A dangerous and designing woman," purred Mrs. Waddy. Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full! "Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria?" " Of nothing in the world except small- pox. Diphtheria kills, but it doesn't dis- figure. 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 miserable little v/oman, 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 abusing the Bents, and the Bents are abus- ing the [Manager. They are a feckless couple." ' - /^ j:>^^ t- "Well. What's on your¥iiM?ri*)r; "This; and I know it^s' ^ig-mw^fit^Siing. to ask. Would you serio^^l/^^l^t t^m^f^ no Under the Deodars bringing the child over here, with its mother? " " 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. Therefore you risk your life for the sake of her brat. No, Loo, Pm 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. Alallowe's face. " I don't know," said Mrs. Hauksbee, simply. " You dear ! " ''Polly! — and for aught you knew you m.ight have taken my fringe ofif. 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 c. month." *'' And I also. Thank goodness I shall at last get all the sleep I want." Much' to MrSi; Bent's surprise, she and the baby were brought over to the house almost before she knew where she was* A Second-Rate Woman 1 1 1 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 explanation. 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 v/on't feel as though you were living in a hostile camp. Where is the dear Mrs. Waddy? She seemed to be a particular friend of yours." *' They've all left me," said Mrs. Bent, bitterly. '' Mrs. W^addy went first. She said I ought to be ashamed of myself for introducing diseases there, and I am sure it wasn't my fault that little Dora — " ''How nice!" cooed Mrs. Hauksbee. " The Waddy is an infectious disease her- self — ' 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 car- bolic. It smells comforting, 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." 1 1 2 Under the Deodars Dora Bent occupied her mother's un- profitable 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, chlo- rine water, and carbolic acid washes. Mrs. Mallowe kept to her own rooms — she considered that she had miade sufficient concessions in the cause of humanity — and Mrs. Hauksbee was more esteemed by the Doctor as a help in the sick-room than the half-distraught mother. " I know nothing of illness," said Mrs. Hauksbee to the Doctor. " Only tell me what to do, and I'll do it." '* Keep that crazy woman from kissing the child, and let her have as little to do with the nursing as you possibly can," said the Doctor; " 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 responsibil- ity, even though it painted olive hollows under her eyes and forced her into her old- est dresses. Mrs. Bent clung to her with more than child-like faith. " I knozv you'll make Dora well won't you? " she said at least tw^enty times a day; and twenty times a day Mrs. Hauksbee answered valiantly : " Of course I will." A Second-Rate Woman 1 1 3 But Dora did not improve, and the Doc- tor seemed to be always in the house. '* There's some danger of the thing tak- ing a bad turn," he said; " I'll come over between three and four in the morning to-morrow." "Good gracious!" said Mrs. Hauksbee. ** He never told me what the turn would be! My education has been horribly neglected; and I have only this foolish mother-woman to fall back upon." The night wore through slowly, and Mrs. Hauksbee 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 some- thing!" 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 I do? She won't stay still! I can't hold her. Why didn't the Doctor say this was com- ing? " screamed Mrs. Bent. " Wont you help me? She's dying! " "I — I've never seen a child die before! " stammered Mrs. Hauksbee, feebly, and 114 Under the Deodars 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!" Mrs. Delville made no reply for a min- ute, but busied herself with the child. " Now the caustic, and hold a lamp be- hind my shoulder. Will you do as you A Second-Rate Woman 1 1 5 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. Hanksbee, her face still hidden, sobbed and shivered. One of the ayahs staggered sleepily into the room, yawning: " Doctor Sahib hai." Mrs. Delville turned her head. " You're only just in time," she said. " It was chokin' her when I came, an' I've burnt it." " There was no sign of the membrane getting to the air-passages after the last steaming. It was the 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 without consultation." '' She was dyin'," said Mrs. Delville, un- der her breath. "Can you do anythin'? What a mercy it was I went to the dance! " Mrs. Hauksbee raised her head. " Is it all over? " she gasped. " I'm use- less. I'm worse than useless! What are 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, putting on a dirty long glove and smooth- ing a crumpled and ill-fitting ball-dress. " I was at the dance, an' the Doctor was 1 16 Under the Deodars 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 in- trudin' an' anythin' that has happened." ]\lrs. Bent was putting out the Doctor's eye with a lamp as he stooped over Dora. " Take it away," said the Doctor. '' I think the child will do, thanks to you, Mrs. Delville. / should have come too late, but, I assure you " — he was addressing himself to Mrs. Delville — " I had not the faintest reason to expect this. The membrane must have grown like a mushroom. Will one of you ladies help me, please?" He had reason for his concluding sen- tence. Mrs. Hauksbee had thrown herself into Mrs. Delville's arms, where she was weeping copiously, and Mrs. Bent was un- picturesquely mixed up with both, while from the triple tangle came the sound of many sobs and much promiscuous kissing. "Good gracious! I've spoiled all your beautiful roses!" said Mrs. Hauksbee, lift- ing her head from the lump of crushed gum and calico atrocities on Mrs. Delville's shoulder and hurrying to the Doctor. Airs. 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 A Second-Rate Woman 1 17 woman," sobbed Mrs. Hauksbee, hysteri- cally, "and that proves it!" ****** Six weeks later, Mrs. Bent and Dora had returned to the hotel. Mrs. Hauksbee had come out of the Valley of Humiliation, had ceased to reproach herself for her col- lapse in an hour of bitter need, and was even beginning to direct the afifairs of the world as before. '' So nobody died, and everything wxnt 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 under- stand that she came because of her undy- ing love for him — for him — to save his child, and all Simla naturally believes this." "But Mrs. Bent " " Mrs. Bent believes it more than any one else. She won't speak to The Dowd 1 1 8 Under the Deodars now. Isn't The Dancing Master an angel?" Sirs. Hauksbee lifted up her voice and raged till bedtime. The doors of the two rooms stood open. '' Polly," said a voice from the darkness, " what did that American-heiress-globe- trotter girl say last season when she was tipped out of her 'rickshaw turning a cor- ner? Some absurd adjective that made the man who picked her up explode." "'Paltry/" said Mrs. Mallowe. " Through her nose — Hke this — ' Ha-ow pahltry!'" " Exactly," said the voice. " Ha-ow pahltry it all is!" "Which?" " Everything. Babies, Diphtheria, Mrs. Bent and the Dancing ^Master, I whooping in a chair, and The Dowd dropping in from the clouds. I wonder what the motive was — all the motives." "Um!" "What do you think?" ** Don't ask me. She was a woman. Go to sleep." THE END. ^I>i515 S 000 008 269 iipiis 11 1'' 1 j5 i MM ■ aiiii 11! ill iii if ilk