The Man Who Would Be King: Selected Stories of Rudyard Kipling

by Rudyard Kipling

  ‘ “Make it one Bradbury,” ’e says. “It’s dirt-cheap. You saw me ’old the Circus in the ’ollow of me ’and?”

  ‘No denyin’ it. I ’ad. So, for one pound, he communicated me the Password of the First Degree,10 which was Tilniz an’ trap-doors.11

  ‘ “I know what a trap-door is,” I says to ’im, “but what in ’ell’s Tilniz?”

  ‘ “You obey orders,” ’e says, “an’ next time I ask you what you’re thinkin’ about you’ll answer, ‘Tilniz an’ trap-doors,’ in a smart and soldierly manner. I’ll spring that question at me own time. All you’ve got to do is to be distinck.”

  ‘We settled all this while we was skinnin’ spuds for dinner at the back o’ the rear-truck under our camouflage-screens. Gawd, ’ow that glue-paint did stink! Otherwise, ’twasn’t so bad, with the sun comin’ through our pantomime leaves, an’ the wind marcellin’12 the grasses in the cutting. Well, one thing leading to another, nothin’ further ’appened in this direction till the afternoon. We ’ad a high standard o’ livin’ in Mess – an’ in the Group, for that matter. I was takin’ away Mosse’s lunch – dinner ’e would never call it – an’ Mosse was fillin’ ’is cigarette-case previous to the afternoon’s dooty. Macklin, in the passage, comin’ in as if ’e didn’t know Mosse was there, slings ’is question at me, an’ I give the countersign in a low but quite distinck voice, makin’ as if I ’adn’t seen Mosse. Mosse looked at me through and through, with his cigarette-case in his ’and. Then ’e jerks out ’arf-a-dozen – best Turkish – on the table an’ exits. I pinched ’em an’ divvied with Macklin.

  ‘ “You see ’ow it works?” says Macklin. “Could you ’ave invested a Bradbury to better advantage?”

  ‘ “So far, no,” I says. “Otherwise, though, if they start provin’ an’ tryin’ me, I’m a dead bird. There must be a lot more to this Janeite game.”

  ‘ “’Eaps an’ ’eaps,” he says. “But to show you the sort of ’eart I ’ave, I’ll communicate you all the ’Igher Degrees among the Janeites, includin’ the Charges,13 for another Bradbury. But you’ll ’ave to work, Dobbin.” ’

  ‘’Pretty free with your Bradburys, wasn’t you?’ Anthony grunted disapprovingly.

  ‘What odds? Actually, Gander told us, we couldn’t expect to av’rage more than six weeks longer apiece, an’, any’ow, I never regretted it. But make no mistake – the preparation was somethin’ cruel. In the first place, I come under Macklin for direct instruction re Jane.’

  ‘Oh! Jane was real, then?’ Anthony glanced for an instant at me as he put the question. ‘I couldn’t quite make that out.’

  ‘Real!’ Humberstall’s voice rose almost to a treble. ‘Jane? Why, she was a little old maid ’oo’d written ’alf-a-dozen books about a hundred years ago. ’Twasn’t as if there was anythin’ to ’em, either. I know. I had to read ’em. They weren’t adventurous, nor smutty, nor what you’d call even interestin’ – all about girls o’ seventeen (they begun young then, I tell you), not certain ’oom they’d like to marry; an’ their dances an’ card-parties an’ picnics, and their young blokes goin’ off to London on ’orseback for ’air-cuts an’ shaves. It took a full day in those days, if you went to a proper barber. They wore wigs, too, when they was chemists or clergymen. All that interested me on account o’ me profession, an’ cuttin’ the men’s ’air every fortnight. Macklin used to chip me about bein’ an ’airdresser. ’E could pass remarks, too!’

  Humberstall recited with relish a fragment of what must have been a superb commination-service, ending with, ‘You lazy-minded, lousy-headed, long-trousered, perfumed perookier.’

  ‘An’ you took it?’ Anthony’s quick eyes ran over the man.

  ‘Yes. I was after my money’s worth; an’ Macklin, havin’ put ’is ’and to the plough, wasn’t one to withdraw it. Otherwise, if I’d pushed ’im, I’d ha’ slew ’im. Our Battery Sergeant-Major nearly did. For Macklin had a wonderful way o’ passing remarks on a man’s civil life; an’ he put it about that our BSM had run a dope an’ dolly-shop with a Chinee woman, the wrong end o’ Southwark Bridge. Nothin’ you could lay ’old of, o’ course; but –’ Humberstall let us draw our own conclusions.

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Anthony, smacking his lips. ‘I’ ad a bit of a fracas with a fare in the Fulham Road last month. He called me a parastit-ic Forder. I informed ’im I was owner-driver, an’ ’e could see for ’imself the cab was quite clean. That didn’t suit ’im. ’E said it was crawlin’.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘One o’ them blue-bellied Bolshies of post-war Police (neglectin’ point-duty, as usual) asked us to flirt a little quieter. My joker chucked some Arabic at ’im. That was when we signed the Armistice. ’E’d been a Yeoman – a perishin’ Gloucestershire Yeoman – that I’d helped gather in the orange crop with at Jaffa, in the ’Oly Land!’

  ‘And after that?’ I continued.

  ‘It ’ud be ’ard to say. I know ’e lived at Hendon or Cricklewood. I drove ’im there. We must ’ave talked Zionism or somethin’, because at seven next mornin’ ’im an’ me was tryin’ to get petrol out of a milk-shop at St Albans. They ’adn’t any. In lots o’ ways this War has been a public noosance, as one might say, but there’s no denyin’ it ’elps you slip through life easier. The dairyman’s son ’ad done time on Jordan with camels. So he stood us rum an’ milk.’

  ‘Just like ’avin’ the Password, eh?’ was Humberstall’s comment.

  ‘That’s right. Ours was Imshee kelb.* Not so ’ard to remember as your Jane stuff.’

  ‘Jane wasn’t so very ’ard – not the way Macklin used to put ’er,’ Humberstall resumed. ‘I ’ad only six books to remember. I learned the names by ’eart as Macklin placed ’em. There was one called Persuasion, first; an’ the rest in a bunch, except another about some Abbey or other14 – last by three lengths. But, as I was sayin’, what beat me was there was nothin’ to ’em nor in ’em. Nothin’ at all, believe me.’

  ‘You seem good an’ full of ’em, any’ow,’ said Anthony.

  ‘I mean that ’er characters was no use! They was only just like people you’d run across any day. One of ’em was a curate – the Reverend Collins – always on the make an’ lookin’ to marry money. Well, when I was a Boy Scout, ’im or ’is twin brother was our troop-leader. An’ there was an upstandin’ ’ard-mouthed Duchess or a Baronet’s wife that didn’t give a curse for anyone ’oo wouldn’t do what she told ’em to; the Lady – Lady Catherine (I’ll get it in a minute) De Bugg.15 Before Ma bought the ’airdressin’ business in London I used to know of an ’olesale grocer’s wife near Leicester (I’m Leicestershire myself) that might ’ave been ’er duplicate. And – oh yes – there was a Miss Bates;16 just an old maid runnin’ about like a hen with ’er ’ead cut off, an’ her tongue loose at both ends. I’ve got an aunt like ’er. Good as gold – but, you know.’

  ‘Lord, yes!’ said Anthony, with feeling. ‘An’ did you find out what Tilniz meant? I’m always huntin’ after the meanin’ of things meself.’

  ‘Yes, ’e was a swine of a Major-General, retired, and on the make. They’re all on the make, in a quiet way, in Jane. ’E was so much of a gentleman by ’is own estimation that ’e was always be’avin’ like a hound. You know the sort. Turned a girl out of ’is own ’ouse because she ’adn’t any money – after, mark you, encouragin’ ’er to set ’er cap at his son, because ’e thought she had.’

  ‘But that ’appens all the time,’ said Anthony. ‘Why, me own mother –’

  ‘That’s right. So would mine. But this Tilney was a man, an’ some’ow Jane put it down all so naked it made you ashamed. I told Macklin that, an’ he said I was shapin’ to be a good Janeite. ’Twasn’t his fault if I wasn’t. ’Nother thing, too; ’avin’ been at the Bath Mineral Waters ’Ospital in ’Sixteen, with trench-feet, was a great advantage to me, because I knew the names o’ the streets where Jane ’ad lived. There was one of ’em – Laura,17 I think, or some other girl’s name –
which Macklin said was ’oly ground. “If you’d been initiated then,” he says, “you’d ha’ felt your flat feet tingle every time you walked over those sacred pavin’-stones.”

  ‘ “My feet tingled right enough,” I said, “but not on account of Jane. Nothin’ remarkable about that,” I says.

  ‘ “’Eaven lend me patience!” he says, combin’ ’is ’air with ’is little ’ands. “Every dam’ thing about Jane is remarkable to a pukka18 Janeite! It was there,” he says, “that Miss What’s-her-Name” (he had the name; I’ve forgotten it) “made up ’er engagement again, after nine years, with Captain T’other Bloke.” An’ he dished me out a page an’ a half of one of the books to learn by ’eart – Persuasion, I think it was.’

  ‘You quick at gettin’ things off by ’eart?’ Anthony demanded.

  ‘Not as a rule. I was then, though, or else Macklin knew ’ow to deliver the Charges properly. ’E said ’e’d been some sort o’ schoolmaster once, and he’d make my mind resume work or break ’imself. That was just before the Battery Sergeant-Major ’ad it in for him on account o’ what he’d been sayin’ about the Chinee wife an’ the dolly-shop.’

  ‘What did Macklin really say?’ Anthony and I asked together. Humberstall gave us a fragment. It was hardly the stuff to let loose on a pious post-war world without revision.

  ‘And what had your BSM been in civil life?’ I asked at the end.

  ‘’Ead-embalmer to an ’olesale undertaker in the Midlands,’ said Humberstall; ‘but, o’ course, when he thought ’e saw his chance he naturally took it. He come along one mornin’ lickin’ ’is lips. “You don’t get past me this time,” ’e says to Macklin. “You’re for it, Professor.”

  ‘ “’Ow so, me gallant Major,” says Macklin; “an’ what for?”

  ‘ “For writin’ obese words on the breech o’ the ten-inch,” says the BSM. She was our old Skoda that I’ve been tellin’ you about. We called ’er “Bloody Eliza”. She ’ad a badly wore obturator an’ blew through a fair treat. I knew by Macklin’s face the BSM ’ad dropped it somewhere, but all he vow’-saifed was, “Very good, Major. We will consider it in Common Room.” The BSM couldn’t ever stand Macklin’s toff’s way o’ puttin’ things; so he goes off rumblin’ like ’ell’s bells in an ’urricane, as the Marines say. Macklin put it to me at once, what had I been doin’? Some’ow he could read me like a book.

  ‘Well, all I’d done – an’ I told ’im he was responsible for it – was to chalk the guns. ’Ammick never minded what the men wrote up on ’em. ’E said it gave ’em an interest in their job. You’d see all sorts of remarks chalked on the side-plates or the gear-casin’s.’

  ‘What sort of remarks?’ said Anthony keenly.

  ‘Oh! ’Ow Bloody Eliza, or Spittin’ Jim – that was our old Mark Five Nine-point-two – felt that morning, an’ such things. But it ’ad come over me – more to please Macklin than anythin’ else – that it was time we Janeites ’ad a look in. So, as I was tellin’ you, I’d taken an’ rechristened all three of ’em, on my own, early that mornin’. Spittin’ Jim I ’ad chalked “The Reverend Collins” – that curate I was tellin’ you about; an’ our cut-down Navy Twelve, “General Tilney”, because it was worse wore in the groovin’ than anything I’d ever seen. The Skoda (an’ that was where I dropped it) I ’ad chalked up “The Lady Catherine De Bugg”. I made a clean breast of it all to Macklin. He reached up an’ patted me on the shoulder. “You done nobly,” he says. “You’re bringin’ forth abundant fruit,19 like a good Janeite. But I’m afraid your spellin’ has misled our worthy BSM. That’s what it is,” ’e says, slappin’ ’is little leg. “’Ow might you ’ave spelt De Bourgh for example?”

  ‘I told ’im. ’Twasn’t right; an’ ’e nips off to the Skoda to make it so. When ’e comes back, ’e says that the Gander ’ad been before ’im an’ corrected the error. But we two come up before the Major, just the same, that afternoon after lunch; ’Ammick in the chair, so to speak, Mosse in another, an’ the BSM chargin’ Macklin with writin’ obese words on His Majesty’s property, on active service. When it transpired that me an’ not Macklin was the offendin’ party, the BSM turned ’is hand in an’ sulked like a baby. ’E as good as told ’Ammick ’e couldn’t hope to preserve discipline unless examples was made – meanin’, o’ course, Macklin.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard all that,’ said Anthony, with a contemptuous grunt. ‘The worst of it is, a lot of it’s true.’

  ‘’Ammick took ’im up sharp about Military Law, which he said was even more fair than the civilian article.’

  ‘My Gawd!’ This came from Anthony’s scornful midmost bosom.

  ‘ “Accordin’ to the unwritten law of the ’Eavies,” says ’Ammick, “there’s no objection to the men chalkin’ the guns, if decency is preserved. On the other ’and,” says he, “we ’aven’t yet settled the precise status of individuals entitled so to do. I ’old that the privilege is confined to combatants only.”

  ‘ “With the permission of the Court,” says Mosse, who was another born lawyer, “I’d like to be allowed to join issue on that point. Prisoner’s position is very delicate an’ doubtful, an’ he has no legal representative.”

  ‘ “Very good,” says ’Ammick. “Macklin bein’ acquitted – ”

  ‘ “With submission, me lud,” says Mosse. “I hope to prove ’e was accessory before the fact.”

  ‘ “As you please,” says ’Ammick. “But in that case, ’oo the ’ell’s goin’ to get the port I’m tryin’ to stand the Court?”

  ‘ “I submit,” says Mosse, “prisoner, bein’ under direct observation o’ the Court, could be temporarily enlarged for that duty.”

  ‘So Macklin went an’ got it, an’ the BSM had ’is glass with the rest. Then they argued whether mess-servants an’ non-combatants was entitled to chalk the guns (’Ammick versus Mosse). After a bit, ’Ammick as CO give ’imself best, an’ me an’ Macklin was severely admonished for trespassin’ on combatants’ rights, an’ the BSM was warned that if we repeated the offence ’e could deal with us summ’rily. He ’ad some glasses o’ port an’ went out quite ’appy. Then my turn come, while Macklin was gettin’ them their tea; an’ one thing leadin’ to another, ’Ammick put me through all the Janeite Degrees, you might say. Never ’ad such a doin’ in my life.’

  ‘Yes, but what did you tell ’em?’ said Anthony. ‘I can’t ever think my lies quick enough when I’m for it.’

  ‘No need to lie. I told ’em that the backside view o’ the Skoda, when she was run up, put Lady de Bugg into my ’ead. They gave me right there, but they said I was wrong about General Tilney. ’Cordin’ to them, our Navy twelve-inch ought to ’ave been christened Miss Bates. I said the same idea ’ad crossed my mind, till I’d seen the General’s groovin’. Then I felt it had to be the General or nothin’. But they give me full marks for the Reverend Collins – our Nine-point-two.’

  ‘An’ you fed ’em that sort o’ talk?’ Anthony’s fox-coloured eyebrows climbed almost into his hair.

  ‘While I was assistin’ Macklin to get tea – yes. Seein’ it was an examination, I wanted to do ’im credit as a Janeite.’

  ‘An’ – an’ what did they say?’

  ‘They said it was ’ighly creditable to us both. I don’t drink, so they give me about a hundred fags.’

  ‘Gawd! What a Circus you must ’ave been!’ was Anthony’s gasping comment.

  ‘It was a ’appy little Group. I wouldn’t ’a changed with any other.’

  Humberstall sighed heavily as he helped Anthony slide back the organ-panel. We all admired it in silence, while Anthony repocketed his secret polishing mixture, which lived in a tin tobacco-box. I had neglected my work for listening to Humberstall. Anthony reached out quietly and took over a Secretary’s Jewel and a rag. Humberstall studied his reflection in the glossy wood.

  ‘Almost,’ he said critically, holding his head to one side.

  ‘Not with an Army. You could with a Safety, though,’ said Anthony. A
nd, indeed, as Brother Burges had foretold, one might have shaved in it with comfort.

  ‘Did you ever run across any of ’em afterwards, any time?’ Anthony asked presently.

  ‘Not so many of ’em left to run after, now. With the ’Eavies it’s mostly neck or nothin’. We copped it. In the neck. In due time.’

  ‘Well, you come out of it all right.’ Anthony spoke both stoutly and soothingly; but Humberstall would not be comforted.

  ‘That’s right; but I almost wish I ’adn’t,’ he sighed. ‘I was ’appier there than ever before or since. Jerry’s March push in ’Eighteen did us in; an’ yet, ’ow could we ’ave expected it? ’Ow could we ’ave expected it? We’d been sent back for rest an’ runnin’-repairs, back pretty near our base; an’ our old loco’20 that used to shift us about o’ nights, she’d gone down the line for repairs. But for ’Ammick we wouldn’t even ’ave ’ad our camouflage-screens up. He told our Brigadier that, whatever ’e might be in the Gunnery line, as a leadin’ Divorce lawyer he never threw away a point in argument. So ’e ’ad us all screened in over in a cuttin’ on a little spur-line near a wood, an’ ’e saw to the screens ’imself. The leaves weren’t more than comin’ out then, an’ the sun used to make our glue-paint stink. Just like actin’ in a theatre, it was! But ’appy. But ’appy! I expect if we’d been caterpillars, like the new big six-inch hows, they’d ha’ remembered us. But we was the old La Bassee ’15 Mark o’ Heavies that ran on rails – not much more good than scrap-iron that late in the War. An’, believe me, gents – or Brethren, as I should say – we copped it cruel. Look ’ere! It was in the afternoon, an’ I was watchin’ Gander instructin’ a class in new sights at Lady Catherine. All of a sudden I ’eard our screens rip overhead, an’ a runner on a motor-bike come sailin’, sailin’ through the air – like that bloke that used to bicycle off Brighton Pier – and landed one awful wop almost atop o’ the class. “’Old ’ard,” says Gander. “That’s no way to report. What’s the fuss?” “Your screens ’ave broke my back, for one thing,” says the bloke on the ground; “an’ for another, the ’ole Front’s gone.” “Nonsense,” says Gander. ’E ’adn’t more than passed the remark when the man was vi’lently sick an’ conked out. ’E ’ad plenty papers on ’im from Brigadiers and CO’s reporting ’emselves cut off an’ askin’ for orders. ’E was right both ways – his back an’ our Front. The ’ole Somme Front washed out as clean as kiss-me-’and!’ His huge hand smashed down open on his knee.