by Barry Pain
* * * * *
After that nothing happened with reference to the tonic port, until oneday I noticed that our cat (who had recently lost her kittens) seemedin a poor state of health. I gave it a few spoonfuls of the tonic portin a little milk. It drank it with avidity, somewhat to my surprise. Ihad one or two little things to do in the garden after that, and when Icame back Eliza said that the cat had become so very strange in itsmanner that she had thought it best to lock it in the coal-cellar.
I went to look at it, and found it lying on its back, dead. It had asingularly happy expression on its face. Both Eliza and myself werevery sorry to lose it.
"_It had a singularly happy expression on its face._"]
I judged it best to say nothing about the port. But the bottle had gonefrom the sideboard. Eliza said that she had removed it, to preventfurther accidents.
I told the head clerk about it, but he only laughed in the silliestway. He is a most ill-bred man, in my opinion.
THE GENTLEMAN OF TITLE
One of our younger clerks, a man of the name of Perkins, is said to bevery well connected. He certainly spends more than his salary, andrarely wears the same trousers on two consecutive days. But I am not asnob, nor one who thinks much of these things, and I had nevercultivated young Perkins. Consequently it rather surprised me when heintroduced me to his friend, the Hon. Eugene Clerrimount. Then Iremembered what had been said about Perkins's connections.
* * * * *
The Hon. Eugene Clerrimount was a handsome young man, though apparentlytroubled with pimples. His manner had in it what I should call dash.There was not an ounce of affectation about him; but then high rankdoes not need affectations--I have always noticed that. He appeared totake rather a liking to me, and insisted that we must all three go outand have a drink together. This is a thing which I really never do, buton this occasion I allowed myself to be persuaded. Not liking tomention beer, I said that I would take a glass of sherry wine. Nothingcould have been more friendly and pleasing than his behaviour towardme; there was nothing at all stuck-up about him. It turned out that,after all, the Hon. Eugene Clerrimount had forgotten his purse, andPerkins happened to have no money on him; I therefore paid for thedrinks, and also lent the Hon. Eugene Clerrimount half a crown for hiscab; it was, indeed, quite a pleasure to do so. He thanked me warmly,and said that he should like to know me better. Might he call at myhouse on the following Saturday afternoon? As luck would have it, Ihappened to have a card on me, and presented it to him, saying that itwould indeed be an honour. "Thanks," he replied, "and then I can repayyou this half-sovereign, or whatever it is." "Only four shillings," Ireplied, "and pray do not mention it."
_The Gentleman of Title._]
* * * * *
Eliza was certainly less pleased than myself when she heard that theHon. Eugene Clerrimount was coming. She said that he might be allright, or he might not, and we did not know anything about him. Ireplied: "One does not know anything about anybody in that rank oflife. It is not necessary."
"Oh!" she said. "Isn't it? Well, I don't happen to be an earl myself."
And, really, on the Saturday morning I had the greatest difficulty toget Eliza to take a little trouble with the drawing-room, though Iasked for nothing more than a thorough dusting, chrysanthemums, and theblinds up. For the tea I offered to make myself entirely responsible.There was some doubt as to whether the girl should announce him as theHon. Mr. Clerrimount, or the Hon. Eugene Clerrimount, or Mr. Hon.Clerrimount. "She'd better do all three, one after the other," saidEliza, snappishly. I obviated the difficulty by telling the girl, asshe opened the drawing-room door, merely to say, "A gentleman to seeyou." I am rather one for thinking of these little ways out ofdifficulties.
Eliza wanted to know what time he was coming. I replied that he couldnot come before three or after six, because that would be againstetiquette.
"Suppose he came at five minutes to three by accident," said Eliza."Would he sit on our doorsteps until the clock struck, and then ringthe bell?" I was really beginning to lose patience with Eliza.
However, by three o'clock I had Eliza in the drawing-room, with amagazine and paper-knife by her side, as if she had been reading. Shewas really darning socks, but they could easily be concealed in anempty art flower-pot when the front bell rang.
* * * * *
We sat in the drawing-room until six, but, strangely enough, the Hon.Eugene Clerrimount never came. The trifle that I had spent on theMadeira cake and macaroons was nothing, but it did wound my feelingsthat he had not even thought it worth while to explain his inability tokeep his appointment.
And on the Monday I said to Perkins, rather sharply: "There was thatmatter of four shillings with your friend. I've not received the money,and I should thank you to see about it."
"What?" said Perkins. "You ask my friend and me to come and drink withyou, and then want me to dun him for the money to pay for it. Well, I_am_ blowed!"
Oh, the whole thing was most unsatisfactory and incomprehensible!
THE HAT
I had long believed that all was not right with my hat. I could provenothing, but I had no doubt in my own mind that the girl took libertieswith it. It is very easy to brush a silk hat the wrong way, forinstance, but silk hats do not brush themselves the wrong way; if it isdone, some one must have done it. Morning after morning I found markson my hat which I could not account for. Well, I said nothing, but Imade up my mind to keep my eyes open. It was not only the injury to thehat--it was the impertinence to myself that affected me.
One Saturday afternoon, while I was at home, a costermonger came to thedoor with walnuts. The girl answered the bell, and presently I saw thecoster and his cart go past the dining-room window. I don't know why itwas, or how it was, but a suspicion came over me. I stepped sharply tothe door, and looked out into the passage. There was no one there. Thefront door was open, and the kitchen door was open, and in a positionbetween the two, against the umbrella-stand, was--something worse thanever I had expected.
I picked that hat up just as it was, with the walnuts inside it, andplaced it on the dining-room table. Then I called to Eliza to comedown-stairs.
"What is it?" she asked, as she entered the dining-room.
I pointed to the hat. "This kind of thing," I said, "has been going onfor years!"
"Oh, do talk sense!" she said. "What do you mean?"
"Sense!" I said. "You ask me to talk sense, when I find my own hatstanding on the floor in the hall, and used as a--a receptacle forwalnuts!"
She smiled. "I can explain all that," she said.
"I've no doubt you can. I'm sick to death of explanations. I give tenor eleven shillings for a hat, and find it ruined. I know thoseexplanations. You told the girl to buy the walnuts, and she had gotnothing else to put them in, and the hat was handy; but if you think Itake that as an excuse, you make a mistake."
"I wasn't going to say that at all."
"Or else you'll tell me that you can paste in a piece of white paper,so that the stains on the lining won't show. Explanations, indeed!"
"And I wasn't going to say that, either."
"I don't care what you were going to say. I won't hear it. There's noexplanation possible. For once I mean to take a strong line. You seethat hat? I shall never wear it again!"
"I know that."
"No one shall wear it! I don't care for the expense! If you choose tolet that servant-girl ruin my hat, then that hat shall be ruined, andno mistake about it!"
I picked the hat up, and gave it one sound, savage kick. My foot wentthrough it, and the walnuts flew all over the room. At the same momentI heard from the drawing-room a faint tink-tink-tink on the piano.
"_I picked the hat up, and gave it one sound, savagekick._"]
"Yes," said Eliza. "That's the piano-tuner. He came at the same time asthe walnut-man, and bought those
walnuts. And he put them in his hat._His_ hat, mind you, not _your_ hat. Your hat's hanging up in theusual place. You might have seen it if you'd looked. Only you're----"
"Eliza," I said, "you need say no more. If that is so, the servant-girlis much less to blame than I had supposed. I have to go out now, butperhaps you'd drop into the drawing-room and explain to the tuner thatthere's been some slight misunderstanding with his hat. And, I say, aglass of beer and two shillings is as much as you need offer."
MY FORTUNE
The girl had just removed the supper things. We have supper ratherearly, because I like a long evening. "Now, Eliza," I said, "you takeyour work,--your sewing, or whatever it may be,--and I will take mywork. Yes, I've brought it with me, and it's to be paid as overtime. Idaresay it mayn't seem much to you,--a lot of trouble, and only a fewshillings to show for it, when all's said and done,--but that is theway fortunes are made, by sticking at it, by plugging into it, if I mayuse the term."
"The table's clear, if you want to start," said Eliza.
"Very well," I replied, and fetched my black bag from the passage toget the accounts on which I was working. I always hang the bag on thepeg in the passage, just under my hat. Then it is there in the morningwhen and where it is wanted. Method in little things has always beenrather a motto of mine.
"It has sometimes struck me, Eliza," I said, as I came back into thedining-room, with the bag in my hand, "that you do not read so much asI should like to see you read."
"Well, you asked me to take my work, and these socks are for you, and Inever know what you do want."
"I did not mean that I wanted you to read at this moment. But there isone book--I cannot say exactly what the title is, and the name of theauthor has slipped my memory, which I should like to see in your handsoccasionally, because it deals with the making of fortunes. Itpractically shows you how to do it."
"Did the man who wrote it make one?" asked Eliza.
"That--not knowing the name of the man--I cannot say for certain."
"Well, I should want to know that first. And aren't you going tostart?"
"I can hardly start until I have unlocked my bag, and I cannot unlockmy bag until I have the keys, and I cannot have the keys until I havefetched them from the bedroom. Try to be a little more reasonable."
I could not find the keys in the bedroom. Then Eliza went up, and shecould not find them, either. By a sort of oversight they were in mypocket all the time. I laughingly remarked that I knew I should findthem first. Eliza seemed rather pettish, the joke being againstherself.
"The reason why I mentioned that book," I said, as I unlocked the bag,"is because it points out that there are two ways of making a fortune.One is, if I may say so, my own way,--by method in little things,economy of time, doing all the work that one can get to do, and----"
"You won't get much done to-night, if you don't start soon," saidEliza.
"I do not like to be interrupted in the middle of a sentence. The otherway by which you may make a fortune--well, it's not making a fortune.It's that the fortune makes you, if you understand me."
"I don't," said Eliza.
"I mean that the fortune may come of itself by luck. Luck is a verycurious thing. We cannot understand it. It's of no use to talk aboutit, because it is quite impossible to understand it."
"Then don't let's talk about it, especially when you've got somethingelse to do."
"Temper, temper, Eliza! You must guard against that. I was not going totalk about luck. I was going to give you an instance of luck, whichhappened to come within my own personal experience. It is the case of aman of the name of Chumpleigh, in our office, and would probablyinterest and amuse you. I do not know if I have ever mentionedChumpleigh to you."
"Yes, you've told me all about him several times."
I might have mentioned Chumpleigh to Eliza, but I am sure that I havenever told her all about him. However, I was not going to sulk, and soI told her the story again. The story would not have been so long ifshe hadn't interrupted me so frequently.
When I had finished, she said that it was time to go to bed, and I hadwasted the evening.
I owned that possibly I had been chatting rather longer than I hadintended, but I would still get those accounts done, and sit up to dothem.
"And that means extra gas," she said. "That's the way money getswasted."
"There are many men in my place," I said, "who would refuse to sit downto work as late as this. I don't. Why? On principle. Because it'sthrough the cultivation of the sort of thing that I cultivate onearrives at fortune. Think what fortune would mean to us. Big house,large garden, servants, carriages. I should come in from a day with thehounds, and perhaps say I felt rather done up, and would like a glassof champagne. No question of expense--not a word about it--money noobject. You'd just get the bottle out of the sideboard, and I shouldhave my glass, and they'd finish it in the kitchen, and----"
"_Are_ you going to begin, or are you not?" asked Eliza.
"This minute," I replied, opening the black bag. I examined thecontents carefully.
"Well," I said, "this is a very strange occurrence indeed--mostunaccountable! I don't remember ever to have done anything of the kindbefore, but I seem to have forgotten to bring that work from the city.Dear me! I shall be forgetting my head next."
Eliza's reply that this would be no great loss did not seem to me to beeither funny, or polite, or even true. "You strangely forget yourself,"I replied, and turned the gas out sharply.
SHAKESPEARE
I led up to it, saying to Eliza, not at all in a complaining way, "Doesit not seem to you a pity to let these long winter evenings run towaste?"
"Yes, dear," she replied; "I think you ought to do something."
"And you, too. Is it not so, darling?"
"There's generally some sewing, or the accounts."
"Yes; but these things do not exercise the mind."
"Accounts do."
"Not in the way I mean." I had now reached my point. "How would it beif I were to read aloud to you? I don't think you have ever heard meread aloud. You are fond of the theatre, and we cannot often afford togo. This would make up for it. There are many men who would tell youthat they would sooner have a play read aloud to them than see it actedin the finest theatre in the world."
"Would they? Well--perhaps--if I were only sewing it wouldn't interruptme much."
I said, "That is not very graciously put, Eliza. There is a certain artin reading aloud. Some have it, and some have not. I do not know if Ihave ever told you, but when I was a boy of twelve I won a prize forrecitation, though several older boys were competing against me."
She said that I had told her before several times.
I continued: "And I suppose that I have developed since then. A man inour office once told me that he thought I should have done well on thestage. I don't know whether I ever mentioned it."
She said that I had mentioned it once or twice.
"I should have thought that you would have been glad of a littlepleasure--innocent, profitable, and entertaining. However, if you thinkI am not capable of----"
"What do you want to read?"
"What would you like me to read?"
"Miss Sakers lent me this." She handed me a paper-covered volume,entitled, "The Murglow Mystery; or, The Stain on the Staircase."
"Trash like this is not literature," I said. However, to please her, Iglanced at the first page. Half an hour later I said that I should bevery sorry to read a book of that stamp out loud.
"Then why do you go on reading it to yourself?"
"Strictly speaking, I am not reading it. I am glancing at it."
When Eliza got up to go to bed, an hour afterward, she asked me if Iwas still glancing. I kept my temper.
"Try not to be so infernally unreasonable," I said. "If Miss Sakerslends us a book, it is discourteous not to look at it."
On the following night Eliza said that she hoped I was not going to situp until three in the morning, wasting the gas
and ruining my health,over a book that I myself had said--
"And who pays for the gas?"
"Nobody's paid last quarter's yet. Mother can't do everything, and----"
"Well, we can talk about that some other time. To-night I am going toread aloud to you a play of Shakespeare's. I wonder if you even knowwho Shakespeare was?"
"Of course I do."
"Could you honestly say that you have ever read one--only one--of histragedies?"
"No. Could you?"
"I am going to read 'Macbeth' to you, trying to indicate by changes inmy voice which character is speaking." I opened the book.
Eliza said that she couldn't think who it was took her scissors.
"I can't begin till you keep quiet," I said.
"It's the second pair that's gone this week."
"Very well, then," I said, shutting up the book with a bang, "I willnot read aloud to you to-night at all. You may get along as you canwithout it."
"You're sure you didn't take those scissors for anything?" she replied,meditatively.
* * * * *
"Now then," I said, on the next night, "I am ready to begin. Thetragedy is entitled 'Macbeth.' This is the first scene."