by Ruskin Bond
Mr. Dabney expressed himself in suitable terms, and cast a swift glance at his hostess on his other side, as if seeking for relief. She was talking, as it happened, about a novel of the day, in which little but the marital relation is discussed, and Mr. Dabney, on being drawn into the discussion, remarked sententiously, "The trouble with marriage is that while every woman is at heart a mother, every man is at heart a bachelor."
"What was that?" said Grandmamma, who is not really deaf, but when in a tight place likes to gain time by this harmless imposition. "What did Mr. Dabney say?" she repeated, appealing to Naomi.
Poor Mr. Dabney turned scarlet. To a mind of almost mischievous fearlessness is allied a shrinking sensitiveness and distaste for prominence of any kind, especially among people whom he does not know well.
"Oh, it was nothing, nothing," he said. "Merely a chance remark."
"I don't agree with you," replied Grandmamma severely, thus giving away her little ruse. "There is no trouble with marriage. It is very distressing to find this new attitude with regard to that state. When I was a girl we neither talked about incompatibility and temperament and all the rest of it, nor thought about them. We married. I have had to give up my library subscription entirely because they send me nothing nowadays but nauseous novels about husbands and wives who cannot get on together. I hope," she added, turning swiftly to Mr. Dabney, "that those are not the kind of books that you write."
"Oh, no," said Mr. Dabney; "I don't write books at all."
"Not write books at all? said Grandmamma. "I understood you were an author."
''No, dear," said Naomi, "not an author. Mr. Dabney is an editor. He edits a very interesting weekly paper, The Balance. He stimulates others to write."
"I never heard of the paper," said Grandmamma, who is too old to have any pity.
"I must show it to you," said Naomi. "Frank writes for it."
"Very well," said Grandmamma. "But I am disappointed. I thought that Mr. Dabney wrote books. The papers are growing steadily worse, and more unfit for general reading, especially in August. I hope," she said, turning to Mr. Dabney again, "you don't write any of those terrible letters in August about home life?"
Mr. Dabney said that he didn't, and Grandmamma began to soften. "I am very fond of literary society," she said. "It is one of my great griefs that there is so little literary society in Ludlow. You are too young, of course, Mr. Dabney, but I am sure it will interest you to know that I knew personally both Mr. Dickens and Mr. Thackeray."
Here a shudder ran round the table, and Lionel practically disappeared into his plate. I stole a glance at Mr. Dabney's face. Drops of perspiration were beginning to break out on his forehead.
"Mr. Dickens," the old lady continued remorselessly, and all unconscious of the devastation she was causing, even at the sideboard, usually a stronghold of discreet impassivity, "Mr. Dickens I met at an hotel in Manchester in the 'sixties. I was there with me dear husband on business, and we breakfasted at the same table. Mr. Dickens was all nerves and fun. The toast was not good, and I remember he compared it in his inimitable way to sawdust."
Mr. Dabney ate feverishly.
"I remember also that he made a capital joke as he was giving the waiter a tip, a me dear husband always used to call a douceur. 'There,' he said——"
Mr. Dabney twisted a silver fork into the shape of a hairpin.
It was, of course, Naomi who came to the rescuer. "Grandmamma," she said, "we have a great surprise for you—the first dish of strawberries."
"So early!" said the old lady. "How very extravagant of you, but how very pleasant." She took one and ate it slowly, while Mr. Dabney laid the ruined fork aside and assumed the expression of a reprieved assassin.
"'Doubtless'," Grandmamma quoted, "'God could have made a better berry, but doubtless He never did.' Do you know," she asked Mr. Dabney, "who said that? It was a favourite quotation of me fawther's."
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dabney, who had been cutting it out of articles every June for years, "it was Bishop Butler."
The situation was saved, for Grandmamma talked exclusively of fruit for the rest of the meal. Ludlow, it seems, has some very beautiful gardens, especially Dr. Sworder's, which is famous for its figs. A southern aspect.
At one moment, however, we all went cold again, for Lionel, who is merciless, suddenly asked in a silence, "Didn't you once meet Thackeray, Grandmamma?"
Naomi, however, was too quick for him, and before the old lady could begin she had signalled to her mother to lead the way to the drawing-room.
The Faith Cure
BY A.G. SHIRREFF
Dragging on a pair of crutches his emaciated frame,
To the Pir at Pipra ferry Ahmaq the Julaha came.
'Holy Saint,' he cried, 'have pity, and exert thy power to save
One whom magic arts are hurrying prematurely to the grave.
As you know, the Tharu women all possess the evil eye,
And its pitiable victims are most often such as I.
For these witches have a weakness for a handsome bachelor
Such as I was only lately,—such as I shall be no more.
There's a fatal fascination in the Tharu woman's glance;
If she once has overlooked you, you don't stand an earthly chance.
There's a buxom Tharu widow who sells fish in Tulsipur;
She has cast the glamour on me, I am absolutely sure.
See, my limbs are all a-tremble, and my skin is ashen grey;
All my strength is turned to water; I am withering away.
These are symptoms of the Lohna, which invariably ends
In excruciating torments, as I hear from all my friends.
Soon my liver, being shrivelled to the bigness of a pea,
Will be riven from my midriff, which will be the end of me.
Be the end? I wish it were, though. After death I shall be still
Everlastingly the victim of that wicked woman's will.
I shall flitter at the midnight through the glimmering forest glades,
Speeding on her gruesome errands in a troop of gibbering shades.
It is you alone can save me from this miserable fate.
Holy father, have compassion; help me ere it be too late.'
'Yes,' the sage said, I can heal you, if my bidding you obey.
Tell me first, how came you hither, and on which side of the way?'
Ahmaq wondered at the question. 'I arrived here,' he replied,
'With the aid of these two crutches, keeping to the left hand side.'
'This then,' said the sage, 'will cure you. Go straight back to your abode,
Walking only on the pattri on the right side of the road.'
'Is that all?' said the Julaha. 'That is all,' replied the Pir.
'One thing more, though;—those two crutches. You had better leave them here.'
Ahmaq did so and departed, crawling painfully and slow,
But he felt a vast improvement after half a mile or so.
By the time he passed Turkaulia health was glowing in his cheeks;
And he reached his home an-hungered as he had not been for weeks.
With a day or two's high feeding when his tone was quite restored,
Back he journeyed with a present of the best he could afford.
'Twas a web of his own weaving worked upon a special plan,
All the colours of the rainbow rioting in every span.
When the gift had been accepted, Ahmaq said, 'If there is nought
Unbefitting in the question, tell me how the cure was wrought.'
Said the sage, ''Tis very simple. As you journey back to-day,
You will notice there are nim-trees on the right side of the way.
That the nim has healing virtue you no doubt already know.
To that virtue's efficacy your recovery you owe.'
Back went Ahmaq, and thenceforward night and day his constant theme
Was the wisdom of the hermit, and virtue of the nim.
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But the holy man's disciple, as the patient went away,
Said, 'With your permission, Master, there is some-thing I would say.
If he journeyed on the left side when from Tulsipur he came,
And returned upon the right side, either way it was the same.
Either way it was the same, and there's no reason on this showing,
Why the nim-trees should have cured him not in coming but in going.'
Then the sage of Pipra ferry answered smiling,—and I think,—
That he must have winked, if ever holy sages deign to wink,—
'Yes, I nearly made a blunder; but the risk was very slight.
Was there ever a Julaha knew his left hand from his right?
For the nim-tree's power to cure him,—you may doubt it if you will;
It is every whit as true as Tharu magic's power to kill.'
The Abbot, at the story's end,
Said, 'I approve your moral, friend.
Many folk's troubles would be less
Could they be brought to understand
That oft they cause their own distress,
And hold its cure in their own hand.'
More had he said in the same strain,
But now the Thakur sang again.—
Can you blame for what is written on your forehead anyone?
If the owl is blind by daylight would you criticise the sun?
Would you criticize the sun if aloes bloom not every spring,
Or the cloud if raindrops fall not in the bottle's opening?
Thus says Girdhar, prince of poets, if your efforts miss their aim,
Blame yourself, or blame your fortunes; whom else can you justly blame?
First published in The Canning College Magazine,
Lucknow, 1917
A Comedy in Capricorn
BY MORLEY ROBERTS
It was in her aunt's box at the Opera that Gwendolen Oakhurst first met Lord Bampton. They were playing something revolutionary by Stravinsky, but to Gwen the music was but a prelude to her own romance.
"He's certainly handsome," said Gwen pensively, as she looked across the theatre.
"And wishes to meet you, my dear," said old Lady Mary Warrington. "With a reserved nature like Harry's, that speaks whole encyclopaedias."
"Tell me about him," said Gwen. "I really think I shall like him, Auntie."
"Like him? You will love him, my dear," dear Lady Mary. "He has looks, brains, immense wealth, and is of the kindliest disposition. With such advantages, one expects to find a failure somewhere, perhaps in manners. His are perfect. He possesses the magnificent calm which was held in my youth to distinguish the well bred."
"Has he no faults whatever?" asked her niece.
"If he was one, it is a virtue," replied Lady Mary, "and one which should be an addition to you. He adores animals to a degree beyond reason. He even breeds wild horses in his park, and he asks to be introduced to you! Do you want an archangel?"
"With wings?" asked Gwen. "Not with my passion for china!"
"I have none on my visiting list," said Lady Mary.
On one whose heart was also warm, who adored animals and was herself a notably sweet example of the type best represented by Gainsborough in his most successful portraits, such representations could not fail to have an instant effect, although Lady Mary's collocation of wild-horse breeding and a desire for an introduction was somewhat startling. When representation was replaced by adoring reality, the result was all that Lady Mary hoped for. It came about with such amazing rapidity that in less than a week there would have been news concerning his daughter to be imparted to Colonel Oakhurst had not Gwen begged her lover to give her time to break it. She owned that her father was conservative to an extreme degree, and that any change whatsoever was apt to disturb him, and possibly the neighbourhood, since long employment in India had given him the high military complexion and habit which betoken irascibility.
"As long as our marriage is not delayed," said Lord Bampton amiably, "I do not mind postponing the news of our engagement. I will, then, call early next week and ask for permission to pay you my addresses, dearest."
"They will be well received," said Gwen, smiling.
"And if your dear, ferocious, white-haired father is not amenable, I shall, of course, run away with you," said her lover, as he kissed her hand.
"With your wild horses, Harry?" asked Gwendolen.
"They would symbolise my feeling," said Lord Bampton. "But I am very happy."
And so was Gwen, though she was a little nervous when her lover called at Warrington Grange a few days later. Even Mrs. Oakhurst did not know how far matters had really advanced, but the colonel showed no irascibility when she hinted, not vaguely, that his daughter had made a more than notable conquest. It is true that he searched his mind for objections in order to relieve his conservative conscience, but he owned presently that he had heard nothing against his would-be son-in-law save that he was, perhaps, somewhat eccentric in his devotion to the animal kingdom.
"Still, that's nothing, and if he don't shoot or hunt it can't be helped. It's his loss, not mine," said the colonel. "I don't care a—a Continental! He may come here with his wild horses if he likes, or with a chimpanzee! Didn't I hear he keeps 'em?"
"Will he really bring one with him?" asked Mrs. Oakhurst anxiously. "I don't think quite I should care for a chimpanzee to come here. The animal might break something."
"Let him bring a gorilla if he likes and break up the house," said the colonel, chuckling. "I'll tell Benson that if Lord Bampton turns up with a polar bear or a Bengal tiger it's to come into the drawing-room. For I'll say this much: that, on thinking it over, my dear, there's not a man in England I'd prefer for a son-in-law. I remember Dicky Brown, who knows everyone on earth, sayin' Bampton had the manners of Lord Chesterfield and the morals of the Archbishop of Canterbury, while as for property he owns half this county and a coal-mine in Yorkshire. If he brings the Zoo, you'll see me take it like a lamb! By the Lord Harry, like a lamb!"
Long years in India had made the colonel look like anything but a lamb. And when he gave orders they were not neglected. He feared no one but his wife and his Scotch gardener; and Benson, the butler, in spite of his imposing appearance, was but as clay in his hands.
"Look here, Benson," said the colonel, "Lord Bampton will call this afternoon about four."
"Yes, sir," said the butler.
"If everything isn't spick and span and as bright as blazes there will be appointments vacant in this infernal neighbourhood," cried the colonel fiercely. "And if that damned Thompson drops the tea-tray again I'll drag him out into the garden and cut his throat from ear to ear."
"I will attend to everything myself, sir," said Benson.
"And another thing," said the colonel; "his lordship is fond of pets."
"Yes, sir?" said the butler.
"And I understand he takes them about with him," said the colonel. "So if he brings a chimpanzee or a gorilla with him it's to come into the drawing-room; right in, by all that's holy!"
"How shall I know if it's a chimpanzee or a gorilla, sir?" asked the butler.
"By its bite, of course," repied the colonel. "But when I say a chimpanzee or a gorilla, I mean any livin' thing, a polar bear or a Bengal tiger or billy-goat. Do you understand clearly—quite clearly?"
"Quite clearly, sir," said the butler, who by now was prepared to usher into the drawing-room any animal whatsoever, even if it were an elephant or a crocodile.
"I'm to know it by its bite, am I?" he said bitterly. "At times there's no knowin' what to make of the colonel. He's the most harbitrary gent in the county."
It was about a quarter to four when his lordship's car, driven unostentatiously by himself, stayed outside the imposing front entrance of Warrington Grange. By one of those highly remarkable coincidences which seem to happen in order to bring the pure, logical sequence of the universe into contempt, a handsome young billy-goat, about three parts grown, a
nd that very day imported into the village by the blacksmith, had broken loose from its tether and wandered into the colonel's grounds. Finding rich feed there, he had satiated his appetite, and was now resolved to satisfy the curiosity which seems inherent in the species. Having been brought up by hand, he was of an amiable and kindly disposition, and well disposed towards humanity. It may be, of course, that Lord Bampton's fondness for pets of all kinds was by some mysterious means communicated to the goat, for the lively animal rushed from behind the car just as Lord Bampton alighted. The genial creature, pleased to be with company after a period of solitude, uttered a friendly baa as he mounted the steps side by side with the expected and honoured guest. At that very moment Benson appeared at the door, and Lord Bampton was ushered into the drawing-room with the goat following him. The butler, being much relieved to find that he was under no necessity to recognize the species of this unlikely pet by its bite, considered himself peculiarly fortunate in finding it not only gentle but tractable, and so much attached to its master that it entered the room without being coerced or chased into doing so.
Colonel Oakhurst was alone in the drawing-room when the curious pair entered. Mrs. Oakhurst considered it advisable to leave them alone for a while in order that Lord Bampton might be at full liberty to speak to Gwendolen's father. She and Gwen therefore waited a while in the library.
"I am delighted to meet you, Lord Bampton," said Colonel Oakhurst, "and as my wife and daughter are for the moment not here, you must allow me to introduce myself."
It seemed obvious to Lord Bampton that he and Colonel Oakhurst would be friends. For in order to please his guest the colonel patted the goat, even while he wondered at his choice of pets, and the visitor was obviously touched by the affection displayed by its owner for this highly engaging animal. As the goat wandered round the room with all the curiousity owned to be characteristic of the race, host and guest alike expatiated upon its merits. It ate part of a cushion tassel, and though the colonel cursed it in his heart he smiled with what seemed ferocious tenderness.