by W. W. Jacobs
"Never lost her! No, but she's been--"
"I've had her all the time!"
"_All the_--"
"I took her!"
"You _took_ her! _You_--took her! Oh, George, speak sense! Whatevercan you mean?" Mary had jumped to her feet when first the Rose steppedforth; now was close to her George--face a little white, perplexed;hands clasped.
He cried: "Sweetest dove of a Mary, don't talk like that. Sit down andI'll tell you."
"But what have you done?--what have you _done?_"
The true woman was in that question. How they jostle us, these women,with their timid little flutterings when we are trying to put a casebefore them in our manlike way!--first spoiling their palate with allthe sugar, so that they may not taste the powder.
"I'll tell you what I've done if you'll only sit down."
She went to the seat.
"Now laugh, Mary. You simply must laugh. I can't tell you while you looklike that. Laugh, or I shall tickle you."
She laughed merrily--over her first bewilderment. "But, Georgie, it'ssomething fearful that you've done, isn't it?"
He sat beside her; took her hands. "It's terrific. Look here. From thebeginning. When I told old Marrapit I'd passed my exam. I asked for that500 pounds--you know--to start us."
She nodded.
"He refused. He got in an awful state at the bare idea. I asked himto lend it--he got worse. Mary, he simply would not give or advance apenny: you know what that meant?"
The dejected droop of her mouth gave answer.
"Well, then, I concocted a plot. Old Wyvern helped me--Professor Wyvern,you know. I thought that if I took his cat, his beloved Rose, and laylow with her for a bit, he would--"
"Oh, _George!_"
"Well?"
"Nothing--finish."
"--He would be certain to offer a reward. And I guessed he wouldn't mindwhat he paid. So I thought I'd take the cat and hang on till he offeredL500, or till I thought he'd be so glad to get the Rose back that he'ddo what I want out of pure gratitude. Then I'd bring it back and getthe money--say I'd found it, you see, and--and--wait a bit--for heaven'ssake don't speak yet." George saw his Mary was bursting with words; ashe judged the look in her eyes they were words he had reason to fear.Shirking their hurt, he hurried along. "Don't speak yet. Get the money,and then we'd save up and pay him back and then tell him. There!"
She burst out: "But, George--how _could_ you? Oh, it's wrong--it's_awful!_ Why, do you know what people would call you? They'd say you'rea--yes, they'd say you're a--"
He snatched the terrible word from her lips with a kiss.
"They'd say I was a fool if I let Marrapit do me out of what is my own.That's the point, Mary. It's my money. I'm only trying to get what is myown. I felt all along you would see that; otherwise--" He hesitated.He was in difficulties. Manlike, he suddenly essayed to shoot theresponsibility upon the woman. "--Otherwise I wouldn't have done it," heended.
His Mary had the wit to slip from the net, to dig him a vital thrustwith the trident: "If you thought that, why didn't you tell me?"
The thrust staggered him; set him blustering: "Tell you! Tell you! Howcould I tell you? I did it on the spur of the moment."
"You could have written. Oh, Georgie, it's wrong. It _is_ wrong."
He took up the famous sex attack. "Wrong! Wrong! That's just like awoman to say that! You won't listen to reason. You jump at a thing andshut your eyes and your ears."
"I _will_ listen to reason. But you haven't _got_ any reason. If youhad, why didn't you tell me before you did it?"
He continued the sex assault; flung out a declamatory hand. "There yougo! Why didn't I tell you? I've told you why. I tell you I did it on thespur of the moment--"
But she still struggled. "Yes, that's just it. You didn't think. Nowthat you are thinking you must see it in its proper light. You _must_see it's wrong."
"I don't. I don't in the least."
"Well, why are you getting in such a state about it?"
"I'm not getting in a state!"
"You are." His Mary fumbled at her waist-belt. "Youare. You're--saying--all sorts--of--things.You--said--I--was--just--like--a--woman." Out came this preposterousMary's pocket handkerchief; into it went Mary's little nose.
George sprang to her. "Oh, Mary! Oh, I say, don't cry, old girl!"
The nose came out for a minute, a very shiny little nose. "I can'thelp crying. This is an--an _awful_ business." The shiny little nosedisappeared again.
George tried to pull away the handkerchief, tried to put his faceagainst hers. A bony little shoulder poked obstinately up and preventedhim. He burst out desperately. "Oh, damn! Oh, what a beast I am! I'malways making you cry. Oh, damn! Oh, Mary! I can't do anything right.I've had an awful time these days--and I was longing to see you,--andnow I've called you names and been a brute."
His Mary gulped the tears that were making the shiny little nose everyminute more shiny. Never could she bear to hear her George accusehimself. Upon a tremendous sniff, "You haven't been a brute," she said,"--a bit. It's my--my fault for annoying you when I don't properlyunderstand. Perhaps I don't understand."
He put an arm about her. "You don't, Mary. Really and truly you don't.Let me tell you. Don't say a word till I've done. I'll tell you firstwhy I've brought the Rose here. You see, I can't keep her anywhereelse. I'm being chased about all over England. Bill and that infernaldetective are after me now, and I simply must hide the beastly cat whereit will be safe. Well, it's safest here--here, right under their noses,where nobody will ever look because everyone thinks it miles away bynow. I can't stop near it, because I must be away on this clue theythink I've got--especially now I've got mixed up with the detectives:see? So I want you just to come up from the house every day and feed thecat. You'll be perfectly safe, and it can't be for very long. You woulddo that, wouldn't you? Oh, Mary, think what it means to us!"
She polished the shiny little nose: "I'd do anything that would helpyou. But, Georgie, it's not _right_; it's _wrong_. Oh, it is wrong! Idon't care _what_ you say."
"But you haven't heard what I've got to say."
"I have. I've been listening for hours."
"No, no, Mary. No, I haven't explained yet. You're too serious aboutit. It isn't a bit serious. It's only a frightful rag. And nobody willsuffer, because he'll get his money back. And, think--think what itmeans. Now, do listen!"
She listened, and her George poured forth a flood of arguments that wereall mixed and tangled with love. She could not separate the two. Thisargument that he was right was delectably sugared with the knowledgethat the thing was done for her; that delicious picture of the future,when it was swallowed, proved to be an argument in favour of hispurpose. Love and argument, argument and love--she could not separatethem, and they combined into a most exquisite sweetmeat. The arm herGeorge had about her was a base advantage over her. How doubt her Georgewas right when against her she could feel his heart! How be wiser thanhe when both her hands were in that dear brown fist?
She was almost won when with a "So there you are!" he concluded. She hadbeen won if she had much longer remained beneath the drug of his dear,gay, earnest words.
But when he ceased she came to. The little awakening sigh she gave wasthe little fluttering sigh of a patient when the anesthetic leaves thesenses clear.
She looked at her George. Horrible to dim the sparkling in thosedear eyes, radiant with excitement, with love. Yet she did it. Thegoody-goody little soul of her put its hands about the little weaknessof her and held it tight.
She said: "I do, _do_ see what you mean, Georgie. But I do, _do_ thinkit's wrong."
And then the little hands and the brown fist changed places. For sheput one hand below the fist, and with the other patted as she gaveher little homily--goody-goody little arguments, Sunday-school littlearguments, mother-and-child little arguments. And very timidly sheconcluded: "You are not angry, Georgie, are you?"
This splendid George of hers gave her a tremendous kiss. "You're alittle
saint; you're a little idiot; you're a little angel; you'rea little goose," he told her. "But I love you all the more for it,although I'd like to shake you. I _would_ like to shake you, Mary.You're ruining the finest joke that ever was tried; and you're ruiningour only chance of marrying; and goodness only knows what's going tohappen now."
She laughed ever so happily. It was intoxicating to bend this dearGeorge; intoxicating to have the love that came of bending him.
"But I _am_ right, am I not?" she asked.
George said: "Look here, saint and goose. I'm simply not going to chuckthe thing and all our happiness like this. I'll make a bargain. Saintand goose, we'll say you are right, but you shall have one night tothink over it. One night. And this afternoon you will go to ProfessorWyvern and tell him everything and hear what he thinks about it--what anoutsider thinks: see? Yes, that's it. Don't even spend a night over it.Have a talk with Professor Wyvern, and if you still think I ought tochuck it, write to me at once, and to-morrow I'll come down and creepin unto my uncle with the cat, and say: 'Uncle, I have sinned.' There,Mary, that's agreed, isn't it?"
"That's agreed," she joined. "Yes, that's fair."
He looked at his watch. "I must cut. I must catch the one-thirty train.I must calm Bill and the 'tec. in case you--Mary, _do_ weigh whateverWyvern says, won't you?"
She promised; gave her George her hope that the Professor would make hersee differently.
"That's splendid of you!" George cried. "Saint and goose, that's sweetof you. Mary, I'm sure he will. Look here, I must fly; come half-wayto the station. The cat's all right here. Pop up and feed her thisafternoon."
They pressed the door behind them; hurried down the path.
It was precisely as they turned from the lane into the high-road, thatMrs. Major, a cat beneath her arm, went bounding wildly through thecopse towards Herons' Holt.
CHAPTER IV.
George Has A Shot At Paradise.
I.
Two hours after George, leaving his Mary near Paltley Hill railwaystation, had got back to his inn at Temple Colney, a very agitatedyoung man booked from Temple Colney to Paltley Hill and was now speedingbetween them in the train.
He had the carriage to himself. Sometimes he sat, hands deep in pockets,legs thrust before him, staring with wide and frightened eyes at theopposite seat. Sometimes he paced wildly from door to door, chin sunk onbreast, in his eyes still that look of frantic apprehension. Sometimeshe would snatch from his pocket a telegram; glare at it; pucker hisbrows over it; groan over it.
George was this feverish young man.
On his table in his room at the inn he had found this telegram awaitinghim. He had broken the envelope, had read, and immediately a ticklingfeeling over his scalp had sent a dreadful shiver through his frame:
"_Return at once. Cat found.--Marrapit._"
He had plumped into a chair.
For a space the capacity for thought was gone. In his brain was onlya heavy drumming that numbed. Beneath the window a laden cart wentthumping by--thump, thump; thump, thump--cat found; cat found. The cartdrubbed away and was lost. Then the heavy ticking of the clock edgedinto his senses--tick, tock; tick, tock--cat found; cat found.
Then thought came.
Cat found!--then all was lost. Cat found!--then some damned prowlingidiot had chanced upon the hut.
This miserable George had felt certain that Professor Wyvern's argumentswould overcome his Mary's scruples. That little meeting with his Maryhad made him the more desperately anxious for success so that he mightwin her and have her. And now--cat found!--all over. Cat found! Hispains for nothing!
Then came the support of a hope, and to this, hurrying back to thestation, speeding now in the train, most desperately he clung. TheRose, he struggled to assure himself, had not been found at all. It wasimpossible that anyone had been to the hut. Some idiot had found acat that answered to the Rose's description, and had telegraphed thediscovery to his uncle; or someone had brought a cat to his uncle andhis uncle was himself temporarily deluded.
Wildly praying that this might be so, George leaped from the train atPaltley Hill; went rushing to the hut. Outside, for full ten minutes hedared not push the door. What if he saw no Rose? What if all were indeedlost?
He braced himself; pushed; entered.
At once he gave a whoop, and another whoop, and a third. He snapped hisfingers; cavorted through the steps of a wild dance that considerablyalarmed the noble cat that watched him.
For there was the Rose!
II.
When George had indulged his transports till he was calmer, he took amoment's swift thought to decide his action.
Since someone was bouncing a spurious Rose on his uncle, he must delay,he decided, no longer--must dash in with the true Rose at once. Surelyhis uncle's delight would be sufficient to arouse in him the gratitudethat would produce the sum necessary for Runnygate!
Previously, when he had reflected upon the plan he should follow onrestoring the cat, he had been a little alarmed at the difficultieshe foresaw. Chief among them was the fact that his uncle, and thedetective, and heaven knew who else besides, would require a plausibleand circumstantial story of how the Rose had been found--might wish toprosecute the thief. How to invent this story had caused George enormousanxiety. He shuddered whenever he thought upon it; had steadily put itbehind him till the matter must be faced.
But this and all other difficulties he now sent flying. The relief offreedom from the badgering he had endured since he abducted the Rose;the enormous relief of finding that the Rose was not, after all, gonefrom the hut; the tearing excitement of the thought that he had his veryfingers upon success--these combined to make him reckless of truth andblind to doubts. He relied upon his uncle's transports of delight onrecovering the Rose--he felt that in the delirious excitement of thatjoy everything must go well and unquestioned with him who had brought itabout. As to his Mary's scruples--time enough for them when the matterwas done.
This was George's feeling at the end of his rapid cogitation. Aheartless chuckle he gave as he thought of Bill and Mr. Brunger atthe inn, closely dogging the landlord; then he seized the cat and in asecond was bounding through the copse to Herons' Holt as Mrs. Major, ashort space ago, had bounded before him.
CHAPTER V.
Of Twin Cats: Of Ananias And Of Sapphira.
I.
The maid who opened the door told George that the master awaited him inthe study.
Nothing of George's excitement had left him during the rush down to thehouse. His right arm tucked about the cat he carried, with his left handimpulsively he pushed open the door; with a spring eagerly entered.
Even as he stepped over the threshold the bubbling words that filled hismouth melted; did not shape. In the atmosphere of the apartment therewas that sinister element of some unseen force which we detect by mediumof the almost atrophied sense that in dogs we call instinct. As dogswill check and grow suspicious in the presence of death that they cannotsee, but feel, so my George checked and was struck apprehensive by thesudden sensation of an invisible calamity.
The quick glance he gave increased the sudden chill of his spirits.He saw Mr. Marrapit standing against the mantelshelf--dressing-gowned,hands behind back, face most intensely grim; his glance shifted and hefroze, for it rested upon Mrs. Major--hidden by a table from the waistdownwards, prim, bolt upright in a chair, face most intensely grim; hiseyes passed her and now goggled in new bewilderment, for they took inhis Mary--seated upon the extreme edge of the sofa, a white tooth uponlower lip, face most intensely woebegone.
George stood perfectly still.
Like the full, deep note of a huge bell, Mr. Marrapit's voice camebooming through the fearful atmosphere.
"Well?" boomed Mr. Marrapit.
The cat beneath George's arm wriggled.
Boom and wriggle touched George back to action from the fear into whichthe invisible something and the fearful panorama of faces had struckhim.
After all--let have happened what mig
ht have happened--he had the cat!
He swung the creature round into his hands; outstretched it. He took astep forward. "Uncle!" he cried, "uncle, I have found the Rose!"
"Hem!" said Mrs. Major on a short jerk.
From Mary there came a violent double sniff.
George stood perfectly still; the unseen horror he felt to be rushingupon him, but it remained invisible. With considerably less confidencehe repeated:
"The Rose, uncle."
"Hem!" said Mrs. Major on a yet shorter jerk; from Mary a double sniffyet more violent.
Mr. Marrapit raised a white hand.
"Hark!" said Mr. Marrapit.
Alarmed, his nerves unstrung, with straining ears George listened. Thetense atmosphere made him ajump for outward sounds.
"Hark!" boomed Mr. Marrapit; lowered the warning hand; at Georgedirected a long finger. "Are you not afraid that you will hear upon thethreshold the footsteps of the young men who will come in, wind you up,and carry you out?"
"What on earth--?" George asked.
Mr. Marrapit poked the extended finger towards him. "Ananias!" heboomed. He poked at my quivering Mary. "Sapphira!"
"Hem!" said Mrs. Major. "Hem!"
George recovered. "Is this a joke?" he asked. "I tell you--look foryourself--I have found the Rose."
Mr. Marrapit stooped to Mrs. Major's lap, hidden by the table. With amost queenly creature in his arms he stood upright. "Here is the Rose,"said he.
Instantly George forgot all that had immediately passed. Instantlyhe remembered that a bogus Rose was what he fully expected to see.Instantly fear fled. Instantly assurance returned.