by W. W. Jacobs
It was Bill's burning ambition to obtain a post upon a paper. Not untillater did he learn that it is the men outside the papers who must havea turn for stringing sentences; that those inside are machines, cuttingand serving the material with no greater interest in it than has thecheesemonger in the cheese he weighs and deals. Meanwhile, the glimpsewe may take of him shows Bill Wyvern urging along his pen until cleanpaper became magic manuscripts; living upon a billow of hope when theenvelopes were sped, submerged beneath oceans of gloom when they werereturned; trembling into Fleet Street deliciously to inhale the thicksmell of printer's ink that came roaring up from a hundred basements;with goggle eyes venerating the men who with assured steps passed inand out the swing-doors of castles he burned to storm; snatching briefmoments for the boisterous society of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, thoserare bull-terriers; and finally, expending with his Margaret momentsmore protracted--stealthy meetings, for the most part--in Mr. Marrapit'sshrubbery.
III.
But two more peeps from our bridge need we take, and then our characterswill be ready to meet us upon the further side.
A glance from here will reveal to us Mrs. Major, that masterly woman,inscribing in her diary:
"_Getting on with Mr. M. Should sue. Precip. fat._"
Fill out the abbreviations to which Mrs. Major, in her diary, was prone,and we have:
"_Getting on with Mr. Marrapit. Should succeed. Precipitancy fatal._"
Succeed in what? To what would precipitancy of action be irreparable?Listen to a conversation that may enlighten us--spoken upon the lawnof Herons' Holt; Mr. Marrapit in his chair making a lap for the Rose ofSharon; Mrs. Major on a garden seat, crocheting.
A stealthy peep assuring her that his eyes were not closed, Mrs. Majornerved herself with a deep breath; with a long sigh let it escape in theform, "A year ago!"--dropped hands upon her lap and gazed wistfully atthe setting sun. She had seen the trick very successfully performed uponthe stage.
Mr. Marrapit turned his eyes upon her.
"You spoke, Mrs. Major?"
With an admirable start Mrs. Major appeared to gather in wanderingfancies. "I fear I was thinking aloud, Mr. Marrapit. I beg pardon."
"Do not. There is no occasion. You said 'A year ago.'"
"Did I, Mr. Marrapit?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Marrapit.
A pause followed. The wistful woman felt that, were the thing to be doneproperly, the word lay with her companion. To her pleasure he continued:
"To-day, then, is an anniversary?"
"It is."
"Of a happy event, I trust?"
Mrs. Major clasped her hands; spoke with admirable ecstasy. "Oh, Mr.Marrapit, of a golden--golden page in my life."
"Elucidate," Mr. Marrapit commanded.
Mrs. Major put into a whisper:
"The day I came here."
Mr. Marrapit slowly moved his head towards her.
Her eyes were averted. "The time has passed swiftly," he said.
Mrs. Major breathed: "For me it has flown on--on--" She searched wildlyfor a metaphor. "On wings," she concluded.
Again there was a pause, and again Mrs. Major felt that for this passageto have fullest effect the word lay with Mr. Marrapit. But Mr. Marrapit,himself considerably perturbed, did not speak. The moments sped. Fearfullest they should distance beyond recovery the sentiments she felt shehad aroused, Mrs. Major hastened to check them.
She said musingly: "I wonder if they are right?"--sighed as thoughdoubtful.
"To whom do you refer?"
"Why, the people who say that time flies when it is spent in pleasantcompany."
"They are correct," Mr. Marrapit affirmed.
"Oh, I do not doubt it for my part, Mr. Marrapit. I never knew whathappiness was until I come here--came here. But if--" The masterly womanpaused.
"Continue" Mr. Marrapit commanded.
The hard word was softly spoken. Mrs. Major's heart gave two littlethumps; her plan clear before her, pushed ahead. "But if to you also,Mr. Marrapit, the time has seemed to fly, then--then Mr. Marrapit, mycompany has--has been agreeable to you?"
Certainly there was a softness in Mr. Marrapit's tones as he madeanswer.
"It has, Mrs. Major," he said, "it has. Into my establishment you havebrought an air of peace that had for some time been lacking. Prior toyour arrival, I was often worried by household cares that should notfall upon a man."
Earnestly Mrs. Major replied: "Oh, I _saw_ that. I strove to lift them."
"You have lifted them. You have attended not only my cats but mykitchen. I am now able often to enjoy such evenings as these. This peacearound us illustrates the tranquillity you have brought--"
The tranquillity was at that moment disastrously shattered. A bed ofshrubbery lay within a few feet of where they sat. What had appearedto be a gnarled stump in its midst now quivered, broadened, fell into aline with the straightening back of Mr. Fletcher.
Mr. Marrapit was startled and annoyed. "What are you doing there, sir?"
"Snailin'," said Mr. Fletcher gloomily; exhibited his snail.
"Snail elsewhere. Do not snail where I am."
"I snails where there's snails."
"Cease snailing. You must have been there hours."
"What if I have? This garden's fair planted with snails."
"Snail oftener. Depart."
Mr. Fletcher moved a few steps; then turned. "I should like to ast ifthis is to be part of my regular job. First you says 'cease snailin','then you says 'snail oftener,' then you says 'snail elsewhere.'Snails take findin'. They don't come to me; I has to go to them. It's'ard--damn 'ard. I'm a gardener, I am; not a lettuce-leaf."
He gloomily withdrew.
Mr. Marrapit's face was angrily twitching. The moment was not propitiousfor continuing her conversation, and with a little sigh Mrs. Majorwithdrew.
But it was upon that night that she inscribed in her diary:
_"Getting on with Mr. M. Should suc. Precip. fat."_
IV.
A last peep, ere we hurry across the bridge, will disclose to us Mr. BobChater still pressing upon Mary the attentions which her position, inrelation to his, made it so difficult for her to escape. Piqued by herattitude towards him, he was the more inflamed than ordinarily he wouldhave been by the fair face and neat figure that were hers. Yet he madeno headway; within a month of the date of his return to Palace Gardenswas as far from conquest as upon that night in the nursery.
To a City friend, Mr. Lemuel Moss, dining at 14 Palace Gardens with himone night, he explained affairs.
"Dam' pretty girl, that governess of yours, or whatever she is," saidMr. Moss, biting the end from a cigar in the smoking-room after dinner."Lucky beggar you are, Bob. My mater won't have even a servant in theplace that wouldn't look amiss in a monkey-house. Knows me too well,unfortunately," and Mr. Moss, taking a squint at himself in theovermantel, laughed--well enough pleased.
Bob pointed out that there was not so much luck about it as Mr. Mossappeared to think. "Never seen such a stand-offish little rip in all mylife," he moodily concluded.
"What, isn't she--?"
Bob understood the unvoiced question. "Won't even let a chap have twominutes' talk with her," he said, "let alone anything else."
Mr. Moss stretched himself along the sofa; rejoined: "Oh, rats! Rats!You don't know how to manage 'em--that's what it is."
"I know as well as you, and a dashed sight better, I don't mindbetting," Bob returned with heat. In some circles it is an aspersionupon a man's manliness to have it hinted that a petticoat presentingpossibilities has not been ruffled.
"Well, it don't look much like it. I caught her eye in the passage whenwe were coming downstairs, and you don't tell me--not much!"
"Did you though?" Bob said. Himself he had never been so fortunate.
"No mistake about it. Why, d'you mean to say you've never got as far asthat, even?"
"Tell you she won't look at me."
Mr. Moss laughed. Enjoyed the "score" over his
host for a few moments,and then:
"Tell you what it is, old bird," said he, "you're going the wrong wayabout it. I know another case just the same. Chap out Wimbledon way.His people kept a girl--topper she was, too--dark. He was always messinground just like you are, and she was stand-offish as a nun. One nighthe came home early, a bit screwed--people out--girl in. Met her in thedrawing-room. Almost been afraid to speak to her before. Had a bit offizz on board him now--_you_ know; didn't care a rip for anybody. Gaveher a smacking great kiss, and, by Gad!--well, she _was_ all right. Toldhim she'd always stood off up to then because she was never quite surewhat he meant--afraid he didn't mean anything, and that she might getherself into no end of a row if she started playing around. Same withthis little bit of goods, I'll lay."
Bob was interested. "Shouldn't be surprised if you're right," he said;and moodily cogitated upon the line of action prescribed.
Mr. Moss offered to bet that where girls were concerned he was neverfar wrong. "Slap-dash style is what they like," he remarked, and with acareless "It's all they understand" dismissed the subject.
It remained, however, in Bob's mind throughout the evening; spranginstantly when, after breakfast upon the following day, he caught aglimpse of Mary as he prepared for the City.
Standing for a moment in the hall, it occurred to him that this veryevening offered the opportunity he sought. Mr. and Mrs. Chater wereto dine at the house of a neighbour. The invitation had includedBob--fortunately he had refused it. Returning to the morning-room, "Ishan't be in to-night," he told his mother.
"Then I needn't order any dinner for you?"
"No." He hung about irresolute, then lit a cigar, and between the puffs,"Shall you be late?" he asked carelessly.
"Sure to be," Mrs. Chater told him. "It's going to be a big bridgedrive, you know. We shan't get back before midnight. Don't sit up forus, dear."
Bob inhaled a long breath from his cigar, exhaled it deliciously. Thechance for the slap-dash style was at hand.
"Oh, I'll be later than you. Lemmy Moss has got a bachelors' party on.We're going to have a billiard match."
"That's capital then, dear. I shall let the servants go to Earl'sCourt--I've promised them a long time."
Bob whistled gaily as he mounted his 'bus for the City. The opportunitywas surely exceptional.
At eight o'clock he returned; noiselessly let himself in.
The gas in the hall burned low. Beneath the library door gleamed astronger light. Bob turned the handle.
Mary was curled in a big chair with a book. Certainly the opportunitywas exceptional.
At the noise of his entry she sprang to her feet with a little cry. "Oh,dear!" she exclaimed: "what a fright you gave me!"
Bob pushed the door. He laughed. "Did I?"; came towards her. "Are youall alone? What a shame!"
"Minnie is in the kitchen, I think. Mrs. Chater said you wouldn't be into-night."
"Why do you think I came?"
"I don't know."
"I came to see you."
She gave a nervous little laugh and made to pass him.
Bob fell back a pace, guarding the door. "Don't you think that wasthoughtful of me?"
"I don't know what you mean. There was no need."
"What! No need! You all alone like this when all the rest are enjoyingthemselves!"
"So was I. A long evening with a book."
She had fallen back as he, speaking, had slowly advanced.
Now the great chair in which she had been seated was alone between them.
"Oh, books! Books are rot." He stepped around the chair.
She fell back; was cornered between the hearth and a low table.
Bob dropped into the chair; boldly regarded her; his eyes as expressiveof his slap-dash intentions as he could make them: "Look here, I wantyou to enjoy yourself for once. I'm going to take you to a music-hall orsomewhere."
He stretched a foot; touched her.
She drew back close against the mantelpiece, her agitation very evident.
"Well, don't that please you?"
"You know it is impossible."
Bob paid no regard. This was that same diffidence with which the chapnear Wimbledon had had to contend.
"We'll come out of the show early and have a bit of supper and be backbefore half-past eleven. Who's to know? Now, then?"
"It's very kind of you. I know you mean it kindly--"
"Of course I do--"
"But I'd rather not."
"Are you afraid?"
She was desperately afraid. Her face, the shaking of her hand where itwas pressed back against the wall, and the catch in her voice advertisedher apprehension. She was afraid of this big young man confidentlylolling before her.
She said weakly: "It would not be right."
Bob sat up. "Is that all?" he laughed. His hands were upon the arms ofthe chair, and he made to pull himself up towards her.
She saw her mistake. "No," she cried hurriedly--"no; I would not go withyou in any case."
A shadow flickered upon Bob's face. "What do you mean?"
"I mean what I say. Please let me pass."
"I want to be friends with you. Why can't you let me?"
"Please let me pass. Mr. Chater."
Bob lay back. He said with a laugh, "Well, I'm not stopping you, am I?"
She hesitated a moment. The passage between the table and the longchair was narrow. But truly he was not stopping her--so far as one mightjudge.
She took her skirts about her with her left hand; stepped forward; wasalmost past the chair before he moved.
Then he flung out a hand and caught her wrist, drawing her.
"Now!" he cried, and his voice was thick.
She gave a half-sound of dismay--of fear; tried to twist free. Boblaughed; pulled sharply on her arm. She was standing sideways tohim--against the sudden strain lost her balance and half toppled acrossthe chair.
As Bob reflected, when afterwards feeding upon the incident, had he notbeen as unprepared as she for her sudden stumble, he would have made--ashe put it--a better thing of it. As it was, her face falling againsthis, he was but able to give a half kiss when she had writhed herselffree and made across the room.
But that embrace of her had warmed Bob's passions. Springing up, hecaught her as she fumbled with the latch; twisted her to him.
For a moment they struggled, he grasping her wrists and pressing towardsher.
With the intention of encircling her waist he slipped his hold. Butpanic made her the quicker. Her outstretched arms held him at bay fora breathing space; then as he broke them down she dealt him a swingingblow upon the face that staggered him back a step, his hand to hischeek.
Mrs. Chater opened the door.
"Oh, he kissed me! He kissed me!" Mary cried.
Bob said very slowly, "You--infernal--little--liar."
Mrs. Chater glowered upon Mary with cruel eyes. "It was a fortunatething," she said coldly, "that a headache brought me home. Go to yourroom, miss."
We may hurry across the bridge.
CHAPTER III.
Excursions In Love.
I.
Saturday was the day immediately following this scene.
George, on a 'bus carrying him towards Regent's Park, was in spiritat one with the gay freshness that gave this September morning aspring-like air.
A week of torrid heat, in which London crawled, groaned, and panted, hadbeen wiped from the memory by an over-night thunderstorm that burst thepent-up dams of heaven and loosed cool floods upon the staring streets.No misty drizzle nor gusty shower it had been, but a strong, straight,continuous downpour, seemingly impelled by tremendous pressure. Dustyroofs, dusty streets, dusty windows it had scoured and scrubbed andpolished; torrents had poured down the gutters--whenever temporarily thepressure seemed to relax, the ears of wakeful Londoners were sung to bythe gurgle and rush of frantic streams driving before them the collecteddebris of many days.
Upon this morning, in the result, a tempest might have s
wept the townand found never a speck of dust to drive before it. The very air hadbeen washed and sweetened; and London's workers, scurrying to and fromtheir hives, seemed also to have benefited by some attribute of thedownpour that tinted cheeks, sparkled eyes, and, rejuvenating limbs,gave to them a new sprightliness of movement.
George, from his 'bus, caught many a bright eye under a jaunty littlehat; gave each back its gleam from the depths of gay lightness thatfilled his heart. Nearing the Park he alighted; made two purchases. Froma confectioner bun-corn for David and Angela, those ramping steeds;from a florist the reddest rose that an exhaustive search of stock coulddiscover.
Mary had from him such a rose at their every meeting. She might not wearit back to Palace Gardens--it would not flourish beneath Mrs. Chater'scuriosity; but while they were together she would tuck it in her bosom,and George tenderly would bear it home and set it in a vase before himto lend him inspiration as he worked.
It is almost certain that such a part is one for which flowers wereespecially designed.
II.
Those splendid steeds, David and Angela, having been duly exercised,groomed, and turned out to browse upon bun-corn, George rushed at onceupon the matter that was singing within him.
