by W. W. Jacobs
Then he told her.
VI.
Miss Ram returned; directed at George a bow that Was one huge note ofinterrogation.
"Quite satisfactory," George replied. "I am sure my uncle will agree."
"There is, of course," objected Miss Ram, "the unfortunate matter ofreferences."
George took a frank air. "Miss Ram, I am quite willing to take yourpersonal assurances on that matter. On behalf of my uncle I acceptthem."
"I will send a written statement of the matter," said Miss Ram. Her airwas dogged.
"I most solemnly assure you that is unnecessary."
Miss Ram killed him with a bow. "It is my custom. I have the reputationof seventeen years to sustain."
George quailed.
"Your uncle," Miss Ram exclaimed, "will also wish to see Miss Humfray.She shall go this afternoon."
"Not this afternoon," George told her. "No. To-morrow. He could not seeher to-day."
"Very well. To-morrow. To-night I will write the references to him.Kindly pay the fee to Miss Porter in the office. Good morning!"
She pushed him off with a stabbing bow. He fled.
VII.
In that delectable interview during Miss Ram's absence George hadarranged with his Mary that this was a day to be celebrated. She shouldnot proceed instantly to be weighed by Mr. Marrapit; let that ordeal begiven to the morrow. This splendid day should splendidly end; tremendousgaiety should with a golden clasp fasten the golden hours of themorning. In the afternoon he had a lecture and clinical demonstrations.Like a horse he would work till half-past six. At seven he would meethis Mary in Sloane Square.
So it was. At that hour George from the top of his 'bus spied his Maryupon the little island in the Square. He sprang down and his firstaction was to show a fat and heavy sovereign, pregnant with delights,lying in his palm.
"Borrowed," said George. "One pound sterling. Twenty shillings net. Andevery penny of it is going to fly."
He called a hansom, and they smoothly rolled to Earl's Court.
When sovereigns are rare possessions, how commanding an air the feel ofone imparts! Mary watched her George with pride. How masterful was he!How deferential the head waiter at the restaurant in the Exhibitionbecame! The man was putting them off with an inner table. Her George bya look and a word had him in a minute to right-abouts, and one of thecoveted tables upon the verandah was theirs. Waiters flocked about. Withsuch an air did George command the cheapest wine upon the list thatthe waiter, whose lip ordinarily would have curled at such an order,hastened to its execution with dignity of task, deference of service.
They ate robustly through the menu: faltered not nor checked at a singledish. They passed remarks upon their neighbours. At intervals Georgewould say, "Isn't this fine, Mary?"; or his Mary would say, "Oh,Georgie, isn't this splendid?" And the other would answer, "Rather!"
A meal and a conversation to make your proper lovers shudder! There wasno nibbling at and toying with food; there was no drinking and feastingfrom the light of one another's eyes. When George felt thirsty hewould put his nose in the cheap claret and keep it there till mightilyrefreshed; such hungry yearnings as his Mary felt she satisfied withknife and fork. These were very simple children and exceedingly healthy.
But while his Mary's tongue ached with a cold, cold ice, George wasin the pangs of mental arithmetic. As the bill stood, that pregnantsovereign had given birth to all the delights of which it was capable;was shattered and utterly wrecked in child-bed.
A waiter came bustling. There was just time. George leant across. "Mary,when I ask you if you'll have coffee, say you prefer it outside--it'scheaper there."
"Coffee, sir?"
"Special coffee," George ordered nonchalantly. "Yes, two. One moment.Would you rather have your coffee outside near the band, Mary?"
His Mary was splendid. She looked around the room, she looked into thecool night--and there her eye longer lingered. "It's cooler outside,"she said. "I think it would be nicer outside, if you don't mind."
"All right."
"Sure you don't mind?"
"Oh, no; no, not a bit. Bill, waiter."
The waiter bowed low over his munificent tip; dropped it into a jinglingpocket. George gathered his miserable change; slid it silently to whereit lay companionless; with his Mary passed into the warm night.
In the Empress Gardens they found a hidden table; here sipped coffee,and here were most dreadfully common. Mary's hand crept into herGeorge's; they spoke little. The warm night breeze gently kissed theirfaces; the band stirred deepest depths; they set their eyes upon thevelvety darkness that lay beyond the lights, and there pictured oneanother in a delectable future. Mary saw a very wonderful George; nowand then glimpsed a very happy little Mary in a wonderful home. Georgealso saw a happy little Mary in a wonderful home, but he more clearlyfollowed a very wonderful George, magnificently accomplishing the mightythings that made the little Mary happy.
* * * * *
George kissed his Mary upon the doorstep of the Battersea lodgings;caught the last train to Paltley Hill; and as he walked home from thestation the scented hedges murmured to him with his Mary's voice.
CHAPTER VI.
The Girl Comes Near The Lugger.
I.
At breakfast upon the following day George set forth the result ofhis labours; with urgent eloquence extolled the virtues of this MissHumfray.
Before Mr. Marrapit's plate lay an open envelope; upon the back Georgecould read the inscription "Norfolk Street Agency for DistressedGentlewomen."
What had Miss Ram said of his Mary? The thought that she had writtena reference which at the last moment would dash into dust this mightyscheme, was as a twisting knife in George's vitals. Every time that Mr.Marrapit stretched his hand for the letter the agitated young man upona fresh impulse would dash into defiant eulogy of his darling; and soimpetuous was the rush of his desperate words that at the beat of everynew wave Mr. Marrapit would withdraw his startled hand from the letter;frown at George across the coffee-pot.
At last: "Sufficient," he announced. "Curb zeal. Mount discretion.Satisfy the demands of appetite. You have not touched food. Tasks hebefore you. Do not starve the brain. I am tired of your eulogies of thisperson. For twenty-one minutes you have been hurling advertisements atme. I am a hoarding."
The bill-sticker pushed a piece of bacon into a dry mouth; sat withgoggling eyes.
The hoarding continued: "I have here this person's reference. It isgood."
"Down shot the piece of bacon; convulsively bolted like Miss Porter'ssweet.
"Good!" cried George.
"I said good. For faulty articulation I apologise."
"I know, I heard. I meant that I am pleased."
"Strive to express the meaning. The person arrives for inspectionat mid-day. For your assistance I tender thanks. The incident is nowclosed. Do you labour at hospital to-day?"
George had determined to be at the fount of news. In town, uncertain, hecould have applied himself to nothing. He said:
"No, here; I work here to-day."
"To your tasks," commanded Mr. Marrapit.
II.
George went to his room, but his tasks through that morning layneglected.
Impossible to work. He was in a position at which at one time or anothermost of us are placed. He was upon one end of a balanced see-saw, and hewas blindfolded so that it was impossible to see what might happen uponthe other extremity. Suddenly he might be swung up to highest delight;suddenly he might be dashed earthwards to hit ground with a jarringthud. The one eventuality or the other was certain; but he must sitblindfold and helpless--unable to affect the balance by an ounce. Hereis the position in which all of us are made cowards. Bring the soldierinto action, and his blood will run hot enough to make him intoxicatedand insensible to fear; hold him in reserve, and courage will begin toooze. Give us daylight in which we may see aught that threatens us, andlikely enough we shall have desperate courage sufficien
t to rush in andgrapple; it is in the darkness that uncertainty sets teeth chattering.More prayers are said, and with more devotion, at night than in themorning. We creep and crawl and squirm to heaven when the uncertainty ofthe night has to be faced; but we can get along well enough, thank you,when we spring out of bed with the courage of morning.
George could not work until he knew whether he was to be swung highor thrown low. He paced his room; glimpsed his watch; tremendouslysmoked--and groaned aloud as, at every turn, he would receive thebuffets of recollection of some important point upon which he hadomitted to school his Mary.
In those desperate moments he decided finally that Margaret should notbe told that Mary and he were so much more than strangers. Supposing allwent well, and his Mary came to Herons' Holt, her safety and his wouldcertainly be imperilled by giving the key of their secret to hiscousin. It was a hard resolve. About the beautiful romance of the thingMargaret's nature would have crooned as a mother over her suckling. Shewould have mothered it, cherished it, given them a hundred opportunitiesof exchanging for clasps and whispers the chilly demeanour they mustbear one to another. But the pleasure must be foregone. My George hadthe astonishing sense to know that the animal instinct in Margaret'snature would outride the romance. Twice the countless years thatseparate us from the gathering of our first instincts may pass, and thisthe strongest of them--the abhorrence of secrecy-will never be uprooted.When all life was a ferocious struggle for life, secrecy--and it wouldhave been the secret of a store of food--was inimical to the existenceof the pack: it was opposed to the first of the slowly forming laws ofnature. There must be equality of opportunity that all might equallybe tested. Thus it was that a secret hoard of food, when come upon,instantly was noised abroad by the discoverer, and its possessor tornto death; and thus it is to-day that a secret once beyond the personsimmediately concerned is carried from mouth to mouth till the world hasit, and its first possessors take the violence of discovery.
For a reason that was almost similar George negatived the impulse whichbade him meet his Mary at the station, walk with her to the house, andleave her before the gates. For, supposing again that she were acceptedand came to Herons' Holt, this suspicious meeting would come flying toMr. Marrapit upon the breezes that whirl in and out of every crannyand nook in small communities. Towns are blind and deaf; villages havepeeping eyes, straining ears, loose mouths, that pry and listen andwhisper.
Almost upon the hour of twelve there came to the agitated young man'sears a ring that could be none other than hers.
He tip-toed to the banisters; peered below. His Mary was ushered in.
While she stood behind the maid who tapped on Mr. Marrapit's door, sheglanced up. George had a glimpse of her face; waved encouragement fromthe stairhead.
The maid stood aside. His Mary passed in to the ogre's den.
III.
Clad in a dressing-gown, Mr. Marrapit was standing against thefireplace. My trembling Mary settled just clear of the closing door;took his gaze. He put his eye upon her face; slowly travelled it downher person; rested it upon her little shoes; again brought it up; againcarried it down; this time left it at her feet.
The gaze seemed to burn her stockings. She shuffled; little squirms offright nudged her. She glanced at her feet, fearful of some hideous holein her shoes.
"I am--" she jerked.
Then Mr. Marrapit spoke: "I see you are. Discontinue."
The command was shot at her. Trembling against the shock she could onlymurmur: "Discontinue?"
"Assuredly. Discontinue. Refrain. Adjust."
"Discontinue...?" With difficulty she articulated the word, then putafter it on a little squeak: "... What?"
"It," rapped Mr. Marrapit.
"I am afraid--"
"I quake in terror."
"I don't understand."
"Pah!" Mr. Marrapit exclaimed. "You said 'I am.' Were you not about tosay 'I am standing on the polished boards'?"
"No."
"I believed that was in your mind. Let it now enter your mind. You areon the polished boards. You have high heels. I quake in terror lest theyhave left scratch or blemish. Adjust your position."
Mary stepped to the carpet. She was dumb before this man.
Mr. Marrapit bent above the polished flooring where she had stood."There is no scratch," he announced, "neither is there any blemish." Heresumed his post against the fireplace and again regarded her: "You areyoung."
"I am older really."
"Elucidate that."
"I mean--I am not inexperienced."
"Why say one thing and mean another? Beware the habit. It is perilous."
"Indeed it is not my habit."
"It is your recreation, then. Do not indulge it. Continue."
"I am young, but I have had experience. I think if you were to engage meI would give you satisfaction."
"Adduce grounds."
"I would try in every way to do as you required. I understand I am tolook after cats."
"Where?"
"Here."
"Abandon that impression. I have not said so."
"No, I mean if you engage me."
"Again you say one thing and mean another. I am suspicious. It is ahabit."
"Oh, _indeed_ it is not."
"Then if a recreation, a recreation to which you are devoted. You rompin it. Twice within a minute you have gambolled."
My Mary blinked tears. Since rising that morning, her nerves had beenupon the stretch against this interview. She had schooled herselfagainst all possibilities so as to win into the house of her dearGeorge, yet at every moment she seemed to fall further from success.
"You ca-catch me up so," she trembled.
Mr. Marrapit expanded upwards. "Catch you up! A horrible accusation. Thetable is between us."
"You mis-misunderstand me." She silenced a little sniff with a dab ofher handkerchief. She looked very pretty. Mr. Marrapit placed beside herthe mental image of Mrs. Major; and at every point she had the prize. Heliked the soft gold hair; he liked the forlorn little face it enframed;he liked the slim little form. His cats, he suspected, would appreciatethose nice little hands; he judged her to have nice firm legs againstwhich his cats could rub. Mrs. Major's, he apprehended, would have beenbony; not legs, but shanks.
Mary made another dab at her now red little nose. The silence increasedher silly fright. "You mis-misunderstand me," she repeated.
With less asperity Mr. Marrapit told her: "I cannot accept the blame.You wrap your meanings. I plunge and grope after them. Eluding me, I amcompelled to believe them wilfully thrown. Strive to let your yea be yeaand your nay nay. With circumspection proceed."
Mary gathered her emotion with a final little sniff. "I like ca-cats."
"I implore you not to accuse me of misunderstanding you. A question isessential. You do not always pronounce 'cats' in two syllables?"
"Oh, no."
"Satisfactory. You said 'ca-cats.' Doubtless under stress of emotion.Proceed."
Mary sniffed; proceeded. "I like ca-cats--cats. If you were to engage meI am sure your cats would take to me."
"I admit the possibility. I like your appearance. I like your voice.Had you knowledge of the acute supersensitiveness of my cats you wouldunderstand that they will appreciate those points. I do not require inyou veterinary knowledge; I require sympathetic traits. I do not engageyou to nurse my cats--though, should mischance befall, that would comewithin your duties,--but to be their companion, their friend. You are alady; themselves ancestral they will appreciate that. I understandyou are an orphan; there also a bond links you with them. All cats areorphans. It is the sole unfortunate trait of their characters that theyare prone to forget their offspring. In so far as it is possible tocorrect this failing amongst my own cats, I have done my best. Amongstthem the sanctity of the marriage tie is strictly observed. The wordstud is peculiarly abhorrent to me. Polygamy is odious. There is a finalpoint. Pray seat yourself."
Mary took a chair. Mr. Marrapit, standing before
her, gazed down uponher. From her left he gazed, then from her right. He returned to thefireplace.
"It is satisfactory," he said. "You have a nice lap. That is of firstimportance. The question of wages has been settled. Arrive to-morrow.You are engaged."
BOOK V.
Of Mr. Marrapit upon the Rack: of George in Torment.
CHAPTER I.
Prosiness Upon Events: So Uneventful That It Should Be Skipped.
If we write that Mary's first month at Herons' Holt was uneventful, weuse the term as a figure of speech that must be taken in its acceptedsense; not read literally. For it is impossible that life, in whateverconditions, can be eventless. The dullest life is often with events themost crowded. In dulness we are thrown back upon our inner selves, andthat inner self is of a construction so sensitive that each lightestthought is an event that leaves an impression.
In action, in gaiety, in intercourse we put out an unnatural self tobrunt the beat of events. We are upon our guard. There are eyes watchingus, and from their gaze we by instinct fend our inner self just as byinstinct we fend our nakedness.
Overmuch crowded with such events, the inner self is prone to shrivel,to fade beneath lack of nutriment; and it may happen that in time theunnatural self will take its place, will become our very self.