by John Collier
It was not very long before she arrived, although it seemed so. Heaven knows how she preserved her radiant health in the nasty grey air of Hell's outer suburbs, but she looked as fresh and bright as ever, and seemed to glow through her cheerless wrappings as a peach glows through tissue paper. Nevertheless, George was naturally a slow starter, especially when his conscience was involved. He certainly greeted her very warmly, but if all the scientists in the world had had these hugs and kisses in a test tube, they could not have separated one atom of sin out of them, for they were as simple and natural as could possibly be desired.
I admit the simple and natural is as good a beginning as any other. George, however, proceeded only to the offer of a cup of tea, which is not sinful except at the University. They began to chat; he was unable to resist telling her of his joys and sorrows in the neighbourhood of the Tottenham Court Road, and the reason for this was that he wished her to know everything about him. She herself was no less frank. It is impossible to describe the emotion with which George heard that she had become an orphan at the age of fourteen, and had since then lived with an old aunt, who was inclined to severity. The moments passed like flowers of that precious, edelweiss joy which blooms on the brink of the abyss.
The light began to fade; the warbling of blackbirds and thrushes now sank into a stillness from which soon arose the diviner strains of the nightingale. In this far, wild corner of the garden, the effect was a little Chinese, with a profusion of willow trees, which now turned blue in the dimming air. Our young people, seated at the entrance of the tent, found their tongues fall idle, and sat in a divine languor which, like another silence, a silence of the soul, permitted the first fault notes of a new music to become audible in their hearts.
Their fingers interlocked. The moon, which in those parts is of gigantic size, being no other than Hell itself, rose behind the shadowy trees. «They say,» said Rosie in a dreamy voice, «that those marks on it are craters.»
One person's dream may well be another's awakening. George was at once galvanized into activity. «Come,» said he. «It is time we began dinner. It's my birthday, so there's lots of champagne.»
He hoped by these words to inveigle the simple girl into making a feast of it. However, he started under a handicap, for he was already as drank as a lord on the very sound of her voice. A man's true nature appears when he is in that condition: George was prepared to jeopardize his whole future for an amorous whim. His brain reeled under the onslaught of a legion of virtuous thoughts. He even conceived the notion of suggesting to the Devil that it should be the dummy husband who should be cast into the boiling brimstone, and that he should take that useless effigy's place, but from this act of madness the thought of the imps restrained him.
The remembrance of his master brought him back to Hell for a moment. «My dear,» said he, patting her hand, «how would you like to be a film star?»
«Not at all,» said she.
«What?» said he.
«Not at all,» said she.
«Oh!» said he. «Well! Well! Well!»
He had a diamond necklace in his pocket, ready to tempt her with, but could not restrain himself from hanging it unconditionally about her neck, he was so delighted by this answer of hers.
She was pleased, even more than by the gift itself, by the spirit in which it was given. She thought George the kindest and the best of men, and (whether it was the wine or not, I'll not say) she would have even stuck to it that he was handsome.
Altogether, the meal went off as merry as a marriage bell. The only drawback was that George could see no signs of a fitting sequel. Some would say the brimstone was a sequel sufficiently appropriate, but that was not George's idea at all. In fact, when he had played all his cards in this half-hearted fashion, he was suddenly overcome by a hideous prevision of his fate, and could not repress a most alarming groan.
«What is it, my dear?» cried Rosie, in the tenderest of voices.
«Oh, nothing,» said he, «nothing at all. Only that I shall burn for ever if I fail to seduce you.»
«That is what the young man said at the stocking counter,» said she in dismay.
«But I mean, in brimstone,» said he dolorously, «and that, I assure you, is altogether a different proposition from love, whatever the poets may say.»
«You are right,» said she, in a happier voice than seemed entirely fitting, «love is altogether different from brimstone,» and with that she squeezed his hand.
«I fear it will give me no peace in which to remember you,» said he, positively photographing her with his eyes.
«You shall not go there,» said she.
«He said I must!» cried George.
«Not,» said she, «if — if it will save you to —»
«To what?» cried George.
«To seduce me,» faltered Rosie.
George protested very little; he was altogether carried away by the charming manner in which she expressed herself. He flung his arms about her, and endeavoured to convey, in one single kiss, all his gratitude for her kindness, his admiration for her beauty, his respect for her character, and his regret that she should have been orphaned at the age of fourteen and left to the care of an aunt who was a little inclined to severity. This is a great deal to be expressed in one single kiss; nevertheless, our hero did his best.
Next morning, he had to telephone his report to the Devil. «I'll hold your hand,» said Rosie.
«Very well, my darling,» said he. «I shall feel better so.»
His call was put through like lightning. The Devil, like thunder, asked him how he had got on.
«The young woman is seduced,» said George, in a rather brusque tone.
«Excellent!» returned his master. «Now tell me exactly how it happened.»
«I thought,» said George, «that you were supposed to be a gentleman.»
«I am inquiring,» said the Devil, «in a strictly professional capacity. What I wish to get at is her motive in yielding to your almost subtle charm.»
«Why?» cried George. «You don't think that splendid girl would see me frilling and frying in a lake of boiling brimstone?»
«Do you mean to say,» cried the Devil in a terrifying voice, «that she has sacrificed her virtue merely to save you from punishment?»
«What other inducement,» asked our hero, «do you imagine would have been likely to prevail?»
«You besotted fool!» cried his master, and proceeded to abuse him ten times more roundly than before.
George listened in fear and rage. When he had done cursing him, the Devil continued in a calmer voice, «There is only one thing to be done,» said he, «and you may consider yourself very fortunate that you (you worm!) are needed to play a part in it. Otherwise you would be frizzling before sunset. As it is, I see I must give the matter my individual attention, and the first step is that you must marry the girl.»
«By all means,» replied our hero briskly.
«I shall send you a bishop to perform the ceremony,» continued the fiend, «and next week, if I am better of my present fit of gout, I shall require you to present me to your wife, and I myself will undertake her temptation.»
«Temptation to what?» asked George, in a tone of great anxiety.
«To that sin to which wives are peculiarly fitted,» replied the Devil. «Does she like a waxed mustache?»
«Oh, dear! He says,» whispered George to Rosie, «do you like a waxed mustache?»
«No, darling,» said Rosie. «I like a bristly, sandy one, like yours.»
«She says she likes a bristly, sandy one, like mine,» said George, not entirely without complacency.
«Excellent! I will appear in one yet bristlier and sandier,» replied the fiend. «Keep her by you. I have never failed yet. And, Postlethwaite —»
«Oh, yes, yes,» said George. «What is it now?»
«Be discreet,» said the Devil, in a menacing tone. «If she gets wind of my intentions, you shall be in the brimstone within an hour.»
George hung up the receiver. «Excuse
me, my dear,» he said. «I really must go and think over what I have just heard.»
He walked out among his groves of willows, which were then all freshened by the morning dew, and resounding with the songs of birds. It was, of all the mornings of his life, that on which he would most have appreciated his first cigarette, had it not been for his conversation with the Devil. As it was, he did not bother to light one. «The thing is,» he said to himself, «he must either succeed or fail. In the latter case his fury will be intolerable; in the former case mine will be.»
The problem seemed to defy solution, and so it would have done, had it not been that love, whose bemusing effects have been celebrated often enough in song and story, has another and an ungratefully neglected aspect, in which the mind receives the benefits of clarifying calm. When the first flurry of his perturbation had passed, our hero found himself in possession of a mind as cool and unclouded as the sea-strand sky of earliest dawn. He immediately lit his cigarette.
«After all, we have some days to go,» he murmured, «and time is entirely relative. Consider, for example, that fellow Prior, who is at this very moment about to drink up the universe, and who will still be arrested in the act of doing so long after all our little lives have passed away. On the other hand, it is certainly not for me to deny that certain delightful moments can take on the aspect of eternity. Besides, we might always escape.»
The thought had entered his mind as unostentatiously as, no doubt, the notion of writing Paradise Lost entered Milton's — «H'm, I'll write Paradise Lost.» «Besides, we might always escape.» Just a few words, which, however, made all the difference. All that remained, in one case as in the other, was to work out the little details.
Our hero was ingenious. What's more, he was assisted in his reflections by the hoarse cry, like that of a homing swan, of Charon's siren. It was the hour when that worthy, having cast loose from the quays of Hell, where he dropped his male cargo, turned his great ship towards George's planet. It came into sight, cleaving the morning blue, flashing in the beams of the local sun, leaving behind it a wake like that of a smoke-trailing aeroplane, only altogether better. It was a glorious sight. Soon George could see the women scampering up and down the decks, and hear their cry: «Is that Buenos Aires?»
He lost no time. Repairing to his palace, and seating himself in the most impressive of its salons, he sent forth a messenger to the docks, saying, «Bid the skipper come up and have a word with, me.»
Charon soon came stumping along in the wake of the messenger. He might have been inclined to grumble, but his eyes brightened at the sight of a bottle George had on his desk. This contained nothing less than the Old Original Rum of Hell, a liquor of the fieriest description, and now as rare as it is unappreciated.
«Skipper,» said George, «you and I have got on well enough hitherto, I believe. I have to ask you a question, which may seem to reflect a little on your capacities. However, I don't ask it on my own behalf, you may be sure, and in order to show my private estimation of you as a friend, as a man, and above all as a sea-dog of the old school, I am going to ask you to do me the favour of taking a little tipple with me first.»
Charon was a man of few words. «Aye! Aye!» said he.
George then poured out the rum. When Charon had wet his whistle, «The chief,» said George, «is in a secret fury with you over Mrs. Soames of Bayswater.»
«Avast,» said Charon, with a frown.
«Has it slipped your memory that I mentioned her to you on two previous occasions?» continued our hero. «She is now a hundred and four, and as cross as two sticks. The chief wants to know why you have not brought her along months ago.» As he spoke, he refilled Charon's glass.
«Avast,» said that worthy again.
«Perhaps,» said George, «among your manifold onerous duties, his express commands concerning one individual may have seemed unworthy of your attention. I'm sure I should have forgotten the matter altogether, had I such a job as yours. Still, you know what he is. He has been talking of changes at the Admiralty; however, pay no attention to that. I have to visit the earth myself on important business, and I find that the young woman you brought by such a regrettable mistake has had training as a hospital nurse. Between us, I assure you, we will shanghai the old geezer in a brace of shakes; the chief will find her here when he recovers from his gout, and foul weather between you will be entirely averted.»
With that he poured the rest of the rum into the old salt's glass.
«Aye! Aye!» said that worthy.
George at once pressed the bell, and had Rosie ushered in, in a bewitching uniform. «To the ship, at once!» he cried.
«Aye! Aye!» cried Charon.
«I can take you back,» whispered George to his beloved, «as long as you don't cast a glance behind you. If you do, we are lost.»
«Depend upon me,» she said. «I have too much to look forward to.»
Very well, they got aboard. Charon believed all landlubbers were mad; moreover, he had long suspected machinations against him at headquarters, and was obliged to George for giving him word of them. George ordered a whole case of the admirable rum (the last case in existence) to be placed in his cabin, lest Charon should remember that old Mrs. Soames had never been mentioned to him at all.
Amid hoots and exclamations in technical language the great ship left her moorings. George, on the pretext that he had to maintain constant communication with his chief, took over the wireless operator's cabin. You may be sure Satan was in a fury when he heard what had happened; but the only effect of that was that his gouty members became a thousand times worse inflamed, and grew still more so when he found it impossible to establish communication with the ship.
The best he could do was to conjure up, in the trackless wastes of space, such dumb images as might tempt Rosie to glance behind her. A Paris hat would bob up like a buoy on the starboard bow, and a moment later (so great was the speed of the ship) be tossing far astern. On other occasions, the images of the most famous film actors would be descried sitting on the silver planets of far constellations, combing their hair. She was exposed to a hundred temptations of this sort, and, what was crueller, she was subjected, by pursuant imps, to ceaseless tweakings of the hair, tuggings of the garments, sensations as of a spider down her back, and to all sorts of odious familiarities, such as would be very offensive to describe! The devoted girl, holding fast to the forward rail of the boat-deck, never so much as nickered an eye.
The result of this devotion, coupled with George's vigilance at the earphones and Charon's drunkenness below, was that they soon heaved to in the latitudes of the earth. George and Rosie were set to slide at dizzy speed down an invisible rope, and they found themselves safely in bed beside the old centenarian, Mrs. Soames.
She was in a tearing rage when she found this young couple beside her. «Get out of here at once!» she cried.
«All right,» they said, «we will.»
The very next day I met them in Oxford Street, looking in the windows of the furniture shops, and George acquainted me with the whole story.
«And you say,» said I, «that the universe is really a vast pint of beer?»
«Yes,» said he. «It is all true. To prove it, I will show you the very place where Rosie was pinched by the envious young woman.»
«The very place?» I cried.
«Yes,» said he. «It was in that shop over there, at the counter to the right as you go in, just at the end of the stockings, and before the beginning of the lingerie.»
AH THE UNIVERSITY
Just outside London there lived an old father who dearly loved his only son. Accordingly, when the boy was a youngster of some eighteen years, the old man sent for him and, with a benevolent glimmer of his horn-rimmed spectacles, said, «Well, Jack, you are now done with school. No doubt you are looking forward to going to the university.»
«Yes, Dad, I am,» said the son.
«You show good judgment,» said the father. «The best years of one's whole life are unqu
estionably those which are spent at the university. Apart from the vast honeycomb of learning, the mellow voices of the professors, the venerable gray buildings, and the atmosphere of culture and refinement, there is the delight of being in possession of a comfortable allowance.»
«Yes, Dad,» said the son.
«Rooms of one's own,» continued the father, «little dinners to one's friends, endless credit with the tradespeople, pipes, cigars, claret, Burgundy, clothes.»
«Yes, Dad,» said the son.
«There are exclusive little clubs,» said the old man, «all sorts of sports, May Weeks, theatricals, balls, parties, rags, binges, scaling of walk, dodging of proctors, fun of every conceivable description.»
«Yes! Yes, Dad!» cried the son.
«Certainly nothing in the world is more delightful than being at the university,» said the father. «The springtime of life! Pleasure after pleasure! The world seems a whole dozen of oysters, each with a pearl in it. Ah, the university! However, I'm not going to send you there.»
«Then why the hell do you go on so about it?» said poor Jack.
«I did so in order that you might not think I was carelessly underestimating the pleasures I must call upon you to renounce,» said his father. «You see, Jack, my health is not of the best; nothing but champagne agrees with me, and if I smoke a second-rate cigar, I get a vile taste in my month. My expenses have mounted abominably and I shall have very little to leave to you, yet my dearest wish is to see you in a comfortable way of life.»
«If that is your wish, you might gratify it by sending me to the university,» said Jack.
«We must think of the future,» said his father. «You will have your living to earn, and in a world where culture is the least marketable of assets. Unless you are to be a schoolmaster or a curate, you will gain no great advantage from the university.»
«Then what am I to be?» the young man asked.
«I read only a little while ago,» said his father, «the following words, which flashed like sudden lightning upon the gloom in which I was considering your future: 'Most players are weak.' These words came from a little brochure upon the delightful and universally popular game of poker. It is a game which is played for counters, commonly called chips, and each of these chips represents an agreeable sum of money.»