The Half-Hearted

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER V

  A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS

  It was the sultriest of weather in London--days when the city lay in afog of heat, when the paving cracked, and the brow was damp from theslightest movement and the mind of the stranger was tortured by thethought of airy downs and running rivers. The leaves in the Green Parkwere withered and dusty, the window-boxes in Mayfair had a tarnishedlook, and horse and man moved with unwilling languor. A tall young manin a grey frockcoat searched the street for shadow, and finding noneentered the doorway of a club which promised coolness.

  Mr. George Winterham removed his top-hat, had a good wash, and thensought the smoking room. Seen to better advantage, he was sufficientlygood-looking, with an elegant if somewhat lanky frame, a cheerfulcountenance, and a great brown moustache which gave him the airmilitary. But he was no soldier, being indeed that anomalous creature,the titular barrister, who shows his profession by rarely entering thechambers and by an ignorance of law more profound than Necessity's.

  He found the shadiest corner of the smoking room and ordered the coolestdrink he could think of. Then he smiled, for he saw advancing to himacross the room another victim of the weather. This was a small, thinman, with a finely-shaped dark head and the most perfectly-fittingclothes. He had been deep in a review, but at the sight of the weariedgiant in the corner he had forgotten his interest in the "Entomology ofthe Riviera." He looked something of the artist or the man of letters,but in truth he had no taint of Bohemianism about him, being a veryrespectable person and a rising politician. His name was ArthurMordaunt, but because it was the fashion at the time for a certain classof people to address each other in monosyllables, his friends invariablyknew him as "John."

  He dropped into a chair and regarded his companion with half-closedeyes.

  "Well, John. Dished, eh? Most infernal heat I ever endured! I can'tstand it, you know. I'll have to go away."

  "Think," said the other, "think that at this moment somewhere in thecountry there are great, cool, deep woods and lakes and waterfalls, andwe might be sitting in flannels instead of being clothed in thesegarments of sin."

  "Think," said George, "of nothing of the kind. Think of high uplandglens and full brown rivers, and hillsides where there is always wind.Why do I tantalize myself and talk to a vexatious idiot like you?"

  This young man had a deep voice, a most emphatic manner of speech, and atrick of cheerfully abusing his friends which they rather liked thanotherwise.

  "And why should I sit opposite six feet of foolishness which can give meno comfort? Whew! But I think I am getting cool at last. I have swornto make use of my first half-hour of reasonable temperature andconsequent clearness of mind to plan flight from this place."

  "May I come with you, my pretty maid? I am hideously sick of July intown. I know Mabel will never forgive me, but I must risk it."

  Mabel was the young man's sister, and the friendship between the two wasa perpetual joke. As a small girl she had been wont to con eagerly herbrother's cricketing achievements, for George had been a famouscricketer, and annually went crazy with excitement at the Eton andHarrow match. She exercised a maternal care over him, and he stood inwholesome fear of her and ordered his doings more or less at herjudgment. Now she was married, but she still supervised her tallbrother, and the victim made no secret of the yoke.

  Suddenly Arthur jumped to his feet. "I say, what about Lewis Haystoun?He is home now, somewhere in Scotland. Have you heard a word abouthim?"

  "He has never written," groaned George, but he took out a pocket-bookand shook therefrom certain newspaper cuttings. "The people I employsent me these about him to-day." And he laid them out on his knee.

  The first of them was long, and consisted of a belated review of Mr.Haystoun's book. George, who never read such things, handed it toArthur, who glanced over the lines and returned it. The secondexplained in correct journalese that the Manorwater family had returnedto Glenavelin for the summer and autumn, and that Mr. Lewis Haystounwas expected at Etterick shortly. The third recorded the opening of abazaar in the town of Gledsmuir which Mr. Haystoun had patronised,"looking," said the fatuous cutting, "very brown and distinguished afterhis experiences in the East."--"Whew!" said George. "Poor beggar, tohave such stuff written about him!"--The fourth discussed the possibleretirement of Sir Robert Merkland, the member for Gledsmuir, and hispossible successor. Mr. Haystoun's name was mentioned, "thoughindeed," said the wiseacre, "that gentleman has never shown any decidedleanings to practical politics. We understand that the seat will becontested in the Radical interest by Mr. Albert Stocks, the well-knownwriter and lecturer."

  "You know everybody, John. Who's the fellow?" George asked.

  "Oh, a very able man indeed, one of the best speakers we have. I shouldlike to see a fight between him and Lewie: they would not get on witheach other. This Stocks is a sort of living embodiment of the irritableRadical conscience, a very good thing in its way, but not quite inLewie's style."

  The fifth cutting mentioned the presence of Mr. Haystoun at threegarden-parties, and hinted the possibility of a mistress soon to be atEtterick.

  George lay back in his chair gasping. "I never thought it would come tothis. I always thought Lewie the least impressionable of men. I wonderwhat sort of woman he has fallen in love with. But it may not be true."

  "We'll pray that it isn't true. But I was never quite sure of him. Youknow there was always an odd romantic strain in the man. The ordinarysmart, pretty girl, who adorns the end of a dinner-table and makes anadmirable mistress of a house, he would never think twice about. Butfor all his sanity Lewie has many cranks, and a woman might get him onthat side."

  "Don't talk of it. I can picture the horrid reality. He will marrysome thin-lipped creature who will back him in all his madness, and hisfriends will have to bid him a reluctant farewell. Or, worse still,there are scores of gushing, sentimental girls who might capture him. Iwish old Wratislaw were here to ask him what he thinks, for he knowsLewie better than any of us. Is he a member here?"

  "Oh yes, he is a member, but I don't think he comes much. You peopleare too frivolous for him."

  "Well, that is all the good done by subscribing to a news-cutting agencyfor news of one's friends. I feel as low as ditch water. There is thatidiot who goes off to the ends of the earth for three years, and when hecomes back his friends get no good of him for the confounded women."George echoed the ancient complaint which is doubtless old as David andJonathan.

  Then these two desolated young men, in view of their friend's defection,were full of sad memories, much as relations after a funeral hymn theacts of the deceased.

  George lit a cigar and smoked it savagely. "So that is the end ofLewis! And to think I knew the fool at school and college and couldn'tmake a better job of him than this! Do you remember, John, how we usedto call him 'Vaulting Ambition,' because he won the high jump and was acocky beggar in general?"

  "And do you remember when he got his First, and they wanted him to standfor a fellowship, but he was keen to get out of England and travel? Doyou remember that last night at Heston, when he told us all he was goingto do, and took a bet with Wratislaw about it?"

  It is probable that this sad elegy would have continued for hours, hadnot a servant approached with letters, which he distributed, two toArthur Mordaunt and one to Mr. Winterham. A close observer might haveseen that two of the envelopes were identical. Arthur slipped one intohis pocket, but tore open the other and read.

  "It's from Lewie," he cried. "He wants me down there next week atEtterick. He says he is all alone and crazy to see old friends again."

  "Mine's the same!" said George, after puzzling out Mr. Haystoun's by nomeans legible writing. "I say, John, of course we'll go. It's the verychance we were wishing for."

  Then he added with a cheerful face, "I begin to think better of humannature. Here were we abusing the poor man as a defaulter, and tenminutes after he heaps coals of fire on our heads. There can't be muchtruth in what that newspaper says, or he
wouldn't want his friends downto spoil sport."

  "I wonder what he'll be like? Wratislaw saw him in town, but only for alittle, and he notices nothing. He's rather famous now, you know, andwe may expect to find him very dignified and wise. He'll be able toteach us most things, and we'll have to listen with proper humility."

  "I'll give you fifty to one he's nothing of the kind," said George. "Hehas his faults like us all, but they don't run in that line. No, no,Lewie will be modest enough. He may have the pride of Lucifer at heart,but he would never show it. His fault is just this infernal modesty,which makes him shirk fighting some blatant ass or publishing his meritsto the world."

  Arthur looked curiously at his companion. Mr. Winterham was loved ofhis friends as the best of good fellows, but to the staid and risingpolitician he was not a person for serious talk. Hence, when he foundhim saying very plainly what had for long been a suspicion of his own,he was willing to credit him with a new acuteness.

  "You know I've always backed Lewie to romp home some day," went on theyoung man. "He has got it in him to do most things, if he doesn't jiband bolt altogether."

  "I don't see why you should talk of your friends as if they wereracehorses or prize dogs."

  "Well, there's a lot of truth in the metaphor. You know yourself what amess of it he might make. Say some good woman got hold of him--somegood woman, for we will put aside the horrible suggestion of theadventuress. I suppose he'd be what you call a 'good husband.' He wouldbecome a magistrate and a patron of local agricultural societies andflower shows. And eveybody would talk about him as a great success inlife; but we--you and I and Tommy--who know him better, would feel thatit was all a ghastly failure."

  Mr. Lewis Haystoun's character erred in its simplicity, for it was atthe mercy of every friend for comment.

  "What makes you dread the women so?" asked Arthur with a smile.

  "I don't dread 'em. They are all that's good, and a great deal betterthan most men. But then, you know, if you get a man really first-classhe's so much better than all but the very best women that you've got tolook after him. To ordinary beggars like myself it doesn't matter astraw, but I won't have Lewie throwing himself away."

  "Then is the ancient race of the Haystouns to disappear from the earth?"

  "Oh, there are women fit for him, sure enough, but you won't find themat every garden party. Why, to find the proper woman would be themaking of the man, and I should never have another doubt about him. ButI am afraid. He's a deal too kindly and good-natured, and he'd marry agirl to-morrow merely to please her. And then some day quite casuallyhe would come across the woman who was meant by Providence for him, andthere would be the devil to pay and the ruin of one good man. I don'tmean that he'd make a fool of himself or anything of that sort, for he'snot a cad; but in the middle of his pleasant domesticity he would get aglimpse of what he might have been, and those glimpses are notforgotten."

  "Why, George, you are getting dithyrambic," said Arthur, still smiling,but with a new vague respect in his heart.

  "For you cannot harness the wind or tie--tie the bonds of the wild ass,"said George, with an air of quotation. "At any rate, we're going tolook after him. He is a good chap and I've got to see him through."

  For Mr. Winterham, who was very much like other men, whose language wasfree, and who respected few things indeed in the world, had unfailingtenderness for two beings--his sister and his friend.

  The two young men rose, yawned, and strolled out into the hall. Theyscanned carelessly the telegram boards. Arthur pointed a finger to amessage typed in a corner.

  "That will make a good deal of difference to Wratislaw."

  George read: "The death is announced, at his residence in Hampshire, ofEarl Beauregard. His lordship had reached the age of eighty-five, andhad been long in weak health. He is succeeded by his son the Right Hon.Lord Malham, the present Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs."

  "It means that if Wratislaw's party get back with a majority afterAugust, and if Wratislaw gets the under-secretaryship as most peopleexpect, then, with his chief in the Lords, he will be rather animportant figure in the Commons."

  "And I suppose his work will be pretty lively," said George. He hadbeen reading some of the other telegrams, which were, as a rule,hysterical messages by way of foreign capitals, telling of Russianpreparations in the East.

  "Oh, lively, yes. But I've confidence in Tommy. I wish the Fate whichdecides men's politics had sent him to our side. He knows more aboutthe thing than any one else, and he knows his own mind, which is rareenough. But it's too hot for serious talk. I suppose my seat is safeenough in August, but I don't relish the prospect of a three weeks'fight. Wratislaw, lucky man, will not be opposed. I suppose he'll comeup and help Lewis to make hay of Stock's chances. It's a confoundedshame. I shall go and talk for him."

  On the steps of the club both men halted, and looked up and down thesultry white street. The bills of the evening papers were plastered ina row on the pavement, and the glaring pink and green still furtherincreased the dazzle. After the cool darkness within each shaded hiseyes and blinked.

  "This settles it," said George. "I shall wire to Lewie to-night."

  "And I," said the other; "and to-morrow evening we'll be in that coolgreen Paradise of a glen. Think of it! Meantime I shall grill throughanother evening in the House, and pair."