by W. W. Jacobs
"I have the truth." Mary pointed at the letter-file. "The truth isn'tthere. Mrs. Chater isn't capable of the truth. She cannot even recognisethe truth when she hears it."
In yet more freezing tones Miss Ram replied: "She is an old and valuedclient."
"You only know her in this office," Mary told her. "You don't know herin her home."
"I have suited her with other young ladies. I have heard of her fromthem."
"And they have spoken well of her?"
"Discounting the prejudice of a late employee, they have spoken well."
"Was her son there with them?"
"They have not told me so."
"Ah!" said Mary; sat back in her chair.
"Then your version is about the son?"
Mary nodded. Recollection put a silly lump in her throat.
Miss Ram said: "Miss Humfray, when I received that letter from Mrs.Chater, I said I would have no more to do with you. I told Miss PorterI would not see you. Why, out of all my ladies, do you come back to mecharacterless from your situations? I will listen to your story. Makeit very brief. Don't exaggerate. I have sat in this chair for seventeenyears. I can distinguish in a minute between facts and spleen. Youdesire to tell your version?"
"I must," Mary said. "What I'd like to do would be to get up and say,'If you doubt me, I'll not trouble to convince you.' I'd like to walkout and leave you and face anything rather than 'explain.' Why shouldI 'explain' to anybody? But I'm not going to walk out. I haven't thepluck. I know what it is like to be alone out there." She gave a littlechoke. "I've learnt that much, anyway." She went on. "I'll just tellyou, that's all. I don't want your sympathy; I only want your sense ofjustice."
"I like your spirit," Miss Ram said. It was a quality she rarely foundin her applicants. "Go on."
Then Mary told. She phrased bluntly. Her recital was after the manner ofthe fireworks called "Roman candles." These, when lit, pour out fire andsmoke in a rather weak-kneed dribble. They must be held tightly. Whentensely enough constricted, of fire and smoke there is little, but atintervals out there pops an exceedingly luminous ball of flame.
My Mary kept the pressure of pride upon her throat. There was no dribbleof emotion. Only the facts popped out--hard and dry, and to MissRam intensely illuminative. Mary did not mention George's name. Sheconcluded her narrative with jerky facts relative to the scene in thePark. "Then I ran away," she said, "and a friend of mine came up. He hadseen. And he thrashed him. When I got back to Mrs. Chater's her son hadarrived--battered. He told his mother that he had seen me with a man andhad interfered. That the man assaulted him. That's all."
"The miserable hound!" pronounced Miss Ram with extraordinary ferocity.
From a drawer in her desk she took a manuscript book, bound in limpleather, tied with blue ribbon. Herein were contained the remarkablethoughts which from time to time had come to this woman during herseventeen years' occupancy of the chair in which she sat. Upon theflyleaf was inscribed "Aphorisms: by Eugenie Ram." It was her intentto publish this darling work when beneath each letter of the alphabettwelve aphorisms were written.
"The miserable hound!" cried she, when the full tale of Mr. Bob Chater'svileness was told; drew "Aphorisms" towards her and wrote in hot blood.
Then looked at Mary. "_L,_" she read, "_L. Lust. Lust is the sound meatof natural instinct gone to carrion. Men eat meat, wolves eat carrion.Some men are wolf-men_--Hand me the dictionary, Miss Humfray. Two r's incarrion. I _thought_ so. Thank you."
She replaced "Aphorisms." "My dear, I will do what I can for you," shetold Mary. "I _do_ believe you. Go into the interview room. I hear astep."
III.
That step was George's. Abashed in this home of women he shuffleduneasily in the passage, then put a hesitating knuckle upon "Enquiries."
From within a violent movement was followed by a strange guttural sound.George entered.
With scarlet face and watery eyes, Miss Porter--the stout young womanwho presided over this department, and whose habit it was to suck sweetsthe better to beguile the tedium of her duties--gazed at him; madeguttural sounds. The start of George's knock had caused this girlto swallow a particularly large sweet, and its downward passage wasinflicting upon her considerable pain.
Her face was an alarming sight. "I'm afraid--" George began.
"Pardon!" gasped Miss Porter, driving the sweet with a tremendousswallow. "Pardon!"
"Not at all," George pleasantly said. "Not at all. I called withreference to a lady-help."
The grinding sweet forbade the pleasant dalliance
Miss Porter could have wished with this handsome young man. In a bravespasm (this girl was in great suffering), "I will tell the Principal,"she said; trod heavily to Miss Ram's door.
Fate is an abominable trickster; loves to tease us. With one handit gave Miss Porter a delectable male; with the other prevented herenjoying him. Furthermore, it prematurely deprived her of a fine sweet.
Reappearing and holding the door ajar: "Miss Ram will see you," shemurmured. Tears were in this girl's eyes; the bolted sweet was stillpaining her very much indeed.
IV.
In two clever bows Miss Ram without a word greeted George; indicated achair.
George sat down. "I want," he began--"that is, my uncle wants, alady-help--"
"Name, please," rapped Miss Ram, opening the ledger.
George gave it; stretched a leg to indicate a confidence he did notfeel; pitched his voice to aid the presentment. "When I say lady-help--"
"Address, please," said Miss Ram with a pistol-snap.
George withdrew the signs of confidence with a jerk. He gave theinformation. Then waited Miss Ram to give him a lead. He had twice beenshot; was in no desire again to expose his person.
Miss Ram fixed her small black eyes upon him. She said nothing. Theintrusion of a young man into matters essentially domestic she stronglydisapproved. Under "D" in "Aphorisms" this woman had a trenchant notetouching this matter. "_D. Domesticity. Domesticity_," said this note,"_is the offspring of all the womanly virtues. The virtues impregnatethe woman, and domesticity is the resultant child. Absence of a singlewomanly trait aborts or debilitates the offspring. Men have nothingwhatever to do with it, and nothing is more abominable than a man whomeddles with domestic matters._"
The rays of Miss Ram's disconcerting eye pushed George steadilybackwards from the rock of such small confidence as remained to him.Assailed by the inquiring bows with which she now interrogated hisfurther purpose, he slipped from it, plunged wildly into the sea of whathe required, and for five minutes beat this way and that, hurling thesplash of broken sentences at Miss Ram's unbending countenance.
Beginning a description of Mr. Marrapit's household, he flounderedthence to a description of the required lady's duties; abandoning thatunfinished, splashed to a description of the manner of person for whomhe sought.
It was his object to paint a character and appearance as near to hisMary's as he could master; to induce Miss Ram to suggest her as likelycandidate for the post. He could not introduce his Mary to his uncleunless she came under the auspices of some recognised institution.
So he floundered on.
Miss Ram did not move. His struggles grew less; he caught at haphazardwords; flung them desperately; at last relapsed; sat sweating.
Miss Ram poked him with a questioning bow. He did not stir.
With a further bow she accepted his defeat; handed him a pink paper."Now, kindly fill up this form. State precisely what you require. Writeclearly, please."
George obeyed. Miss Ram studied the answers to her printedinterrogations; opened her ledger. "I have several suitable ladies."She started to read a list. "Miss Minna Gregor; aged 25; daughter ofthe late Humphrey Gregor, stockbroker; three years' character from Mrs.Mountsaffron of Charles Street, to whom she was lady-help and from whoman excellent reference may be obtained."
"Too old," said George.
Miss Ram frowned; returned to the ledger. "Miss Ellen Hay; aged20; daughter of Li
eutenant Hay, late R.N. For two years with Mrs.Hoyle-Hoyle of Knightsbridge."
George squeaked, "Too young." He had not anticipated this ordeal.
Miss Ram read on. At the fifteenth name George was in desperateagitation. His list of objections was exhausted. Each protest hadnarrowed his field.
"This is the last upon my books," Miss Ram severely told him. "Shefills all your requirements. None of your objections applies. You willcertainly engage her."
"I feel sure I shall," George brightly said. If this was the last nameit must be Mary.
"I am glad to hear that," Miss Ram announced. "You are hard to please.This is a most admirable young woman."
George leaned forward with an expectant smile. Miss Ram read: "Miss RosaBrump--"
George's smile died. An "Eh?" was startled out of him.
"Brump," said Miss Ram testily. "Brump. B-r-u-m-p, _Brump_."
George said "Oh!"; ran a finger around the inside of his collar.
Miss Ram read on, emphasising the Brumps with the suggestion of a ballbouncing from rock to rock:
"Miss Rosa _Brump_; aged 21; daughter of the late Selwyn Agburn _Brump_,barrister-at-law. Companion to Miss Victoria Shuttle of Shuttle Hall,Shuttle, Lines, until that lady's death. The late Miss Shuttle dyingsuddenly, Miss _Brump_ has no reference from her. What that referencewould have been, however, is clearly evidenced by the fact that in herwill Miss Shuttle bequeathed 'to my faithful companion Rosa _Brump_,'her terra-cotta bust of the late Loomis Shuttle, Esq., J.P., inventor ofthe Shuttle liquid manure."
Miss Ram wagged a finger at George. "That speaks for itself," she said.
George did not answer. He was in a confusion of fear. This terriblewoman would force Miss Brump upon him. He was powerless in her hands. Hewas in chains.
"Does it not?" poked Miss Ram.
"Rather," said George. "Oh, rather."
"Very good. I congratulate your uncle upon obtaining this estimableyoung woman. She should call here in a few minutes. You can then makefinal arrangements. Meanwhile, this form--"
George hurled himself free from this hypnotic panic. Anything must bedone to shake off this intolerable Brump.
"One moment," he said. "I had forgotten--"
"Well?"
"What colour is Miss Brump's hair?"
"Her _what?_"
"Hair. Her hair."
"How extraordinary! Brown."
George effected an admirable start. He echoed: "_Brown?_ Oh, not brown?"
"Certainly. Brown."
George mournfully shook his head. "Oh, dear! How unfortunate! I'm afraidMiss Brump will not suit, Miss Ram. My uncle--extraordinary foible--hasa violent objection to brown hair. He will not have it in the house."
"Unheard of!" Miss Ram snapped. "Unheard of!"
George rubbed together his sweating palms; blundered on. "None the lessa fact," he said impressively. He dropped his voice. "It is a very sadstory. He had fifteen brothers--"
"Fifteen!"
"I assure you, yes. All were black-haired except one, who was brown--thefirst brown-haired child in the history of the house. 'Bantam' they usedto call him when they were girls and boys together--'Bantam.'"
"_Girls_! You said brothers!"
"Ah, yes. Girls as well. Twelve, twelve girls."
"Twelve girls and fifteen boys!"
"I assure you, yes. A record. As I was saying, the brown-haired child,he took to drink. It is most painful. Died in a madhouse. My uncle, headof the family, reeled beneath the stigma--reeled. Vowed from that daythat he would never let a brown-haired person cross his threshold."
George wiped his streaming face; sat back with a sigh. Miss Brump wasburied.
Miss Ram's next words caused him to start in his seat.
"But your hair is brown."
My contemptible George, all his lies now rushing furious upon him, puthis hand to his head; withdrawing it, gazed at the palm with the air ofone looking for a stain.
"How about _that_?" rapped Miss Ram.
George gave a wan smile. "It is my misfortune," he said simply--"mylittle cross. We all have our burdens in this life, Miss Ram. Pardon meif I do not care to dwell upon mine."
With a bow Miss Ram indicated sympathy; decorously closed the subject.
George gave a little sigh. With a simulation of brightness he proceeded:"You are sure you have no other lady?"
"I have one," said Miss Ram. "She would not suit."
"May I be allowed to judge?"
Miss Ram turned to the ledger. "'Miss Mary Humfray.'"
George started. "It is nothing," he explained. "One of those shivers;that is all."
Miss Ram bowed. "'Miss Mary Humfray; aged 21; only child of the lateColonel Humfray, Indian Army; references from former employer not good,but with extenuating circumstances.'"
"I think she might suit," George said. "She--she--" he gropedwildly--"she is the daughter of a colonel."
"So were four others."
George wiped his brow. "The--the _only_ daughter."
"You consider that a merit?"
"My uncle would. He has curious ideas. He is himself an only child."
Miss Ram stared. George had the prescience of trouble, but could notfind it. "Oh, yes," he said, "oh, yes."
"Fifteen brothers and twelve sis--"
George saw the gaping pit; sprang from it. "_Has_ an only child," hecorrected. "_Has_, not _is_."
Miss Ram glared, continued: "What of the absence of character?"
"I imagine the fact of being an only child would override that. You saidthere were extenuating circumstances?"
"There are. I personally would speak for the young lady."
Excitement put George upon his feet. "I thank you very much, Miss Ram. Ifeel that this lady will suit."
"You have asked nothing about her. With the others you were unusuallyparticular."
"I act greatly by instinct. It is a family trait. Something seems toassure me in this case."
Miss Ram gazed searchingly at George; answered him upon an interestednote. "Indeed!" she spoke. "Remarkable. Pray pardon me." She drew"Aphorisms" from its drawer; hesitated a moment; with flowing pen wrotebeneath "I."
She turned towards George. "Pray pardon me," she repeated. "What youtell me of acting by instinct greatly interests me as a student ofcharacter. In this little volume here I--allow me." She emphasised witha quill-pen. "_I. Instinct. Instinct is the Almighty's rudder with whichHe steers our frail barques upon the tempestuous sea of life at momentswhen otherwise we should be quite at a loss. Some of us answer quicklyto this mysterious helm and for example something seems to tell them inthe middle of the night that the house is on fire, and they get up andfind it is. Let those who don't answer quickly beware!_"
"That's awfully well put," said George. "Awfully well."
For the first time Miss Ram smiled. "You would wish to interview theyoung lady?" she asked. "Fortunately she is present. Kindly step to theInterview Room."
She led the way. With thundering pulses George followed. His Mary rose.Miss Ram introduced them.
George rolled his tongue in a dry mouth; passed it over dry lips. He hadno words.
"Have you no questions?" Miss Ram asked severely.
For a third time since he had entered this building, panic broke damplyupon George's brow. He blew his nose; in a very faint voice asked: "Yourage is twenty-one?"
Upon an agitated squeak his Mary told him: "Yes."
"Ah!" In desperation he paused: caught Miss Ram's awful eye; was goadedto fresh plunge. "Ah, one-and-twenty?"
In a tiny squeak Mary replied: "Yes."
He shuffled in desperation. "When will you be twenty-two?"
"In February."
"Ah! February." This was awful. "February."
Miss Ram's eye stabbed him again.
"February. Then you must be twenty-one now?"
"_Tch-tch!_" sounded Miss Ram.
"Twenty-one," George stammered. "Twenty-one--"
From the other room at that moment
Miss Porter called.
"I am required," said Miss Ram, "elsewhere. I will return in a moment."She passed out; closed the door.
V.
"My darling!" cried George.
"Georgie!"
They embraced.
He held her to him; kissed the soft gold hair.
On a movement in the next room his Mary wriggled free. "Tell me."
"By Gad, it's been awful! Did you hear me in that room?"
She nodded, laughing at him. He kissed the smiles.
"Oh, do be careful! Let _go_, George; let _go_. I couldn't hear what yousaid. But you were hours--_hours_."
"Years," said George. "Years. Aeons of time. I have aged considerably. Ithought it would never end. It was appalling."
She clasped her pretty hands. "But tell me, George. Do tell me. I don'tunderstand _anything_. What has _happened?_"
"Give me time," George told her. "I am not the same George. Thelight-hearted George of yore is dead under Miss Ram's chair. I am oldand seamed with care."
"George, _do, do_ tell me! Don't fool."
"I'm not fooling. I can't fool. You don't realise what I have beenthrough. You have no heart. I can't fool. When I was a child I thoughtas a child; I did childish things. But now that I have been throughMiss Ram's hands my bright boyhood is sapped. I am old and stricken inyears."
"Oh, Georgie, _do, do_ tell me!"
This ridiculous George gave a boyish laugh; clasped his Mary again;squeezed her to him till she gasped. "I've got you, Mary!" he said. Hekissed the gold hair. "I've got you. I'm going to see you every day.You're coming down to live at Herons' Holt."