Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (26 page)

‘I’m very sorry, but you remember I was — I was angry with you before Mr. Torpenhow went away?’

‘You were very angry, child; and on my word I think you had some right to be.’

‘Then I — but aren’t you sure Mr. Torpenhow didn’t tell you?’

‘Tell me what? Good gracious, what are you making such a fuss about when you might just as well be giving me another kiss?’

He was beginning to learn, not for the first time in his experience, that kissing is a cumulative poison. The more you get of it, the more you want.

Bessie gave the kiss promptly, whispering, as she did so, ‘I was so angry I rubbed out that picture with the turpentine. You aren’t angry, are you?’

‘What? Say that again.’ The man’s hand had closed on her wrist.

‘I rubbed it out with turps and the knife,’ faltered Bessie. ‘I thought you’d only have to do it over again. You did do it over again, didn’t you? Oh, let go of my wrist; you’re hurting me.’

‘Isn’t there anything left of the thing?’

‘N’nothing that looks like anything. I’m sorry — I didn’t know you’d take on about it; I only meant to do it in fun. You aren’t going to hit me?’

‘Hit you! No! Let’s think.’

He did not relax his hold upon her wrist but stood staring at the carpet.

Then he shook his head as a young steer shakes it when the lash of the stock-whip cross his nose warns him back to the path on to the shambles that he would escape. For weeks he had forced himself not to think of the Melancolia, because she was a part of his dead life. With Bessie’s return and certain new prospects that had developed themselves, the Melancolia — lovelier in his imagination than she had ever been on canvas — reappeared. By her aid he might have procured mor money wherewith to amuse Bess and to forget Maisie, as well as another taste of an almost forgotten success. Now, thanks to a vicious little housemaid’s folly, there was nothing to look for — not even the hope that he might some day take an abiding interest in the housemaid. Worst of all, he had been made to appear ridiculous in Maisie’s eyes. A woman will forgive the man who has ruined her life’s work so long as he gives her love; a man may forgive those who ruin the love of his life, but he will never forgive the destruction of his work.

‘Tck — tck — tck,’ said Dick between his teeth, and then laughed softly. ‘It’s an omen, Bessie, and — a good many things considered, it serves me right for doing what I have done. By Jove! that accounts for Maisie’s running away. She must have thought me perfectly mad — small blame to her! The whole picture ruined, isn’t it so? What made you do it?’

‘Because I was that angry. I’m not angry now — I’m awful sorry.’

‘I wonder. — It doesn’t matter, anyhow. I’m to blame for making the mistake.’

‘What mistake?’

‘Something you wouldn’t understand, dear. Great heavens! to think that a little piece of dirt like you could throw me out of stride!’ Dick was talking to himself as Bessie tried to shake off his grip on her wrist.

‘I ain’t a piece of dirt, and you shouldn’t call me so! I did it ‘cause I hated you, and I’m only sorry now ‘cause you’re — ’cause you’re —  — ’

‘Exactly — because I’m blind. There’s noting like tact in little things.’

Bessie began to sob. She did not like being shackled against her will; she was afraid of the blind face and the look upon it, and was sorry too that her great revenge had only made Dick laugh.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said, and took her into his arms. ‘You only did what you thought right.’

‘I — I ain’t a little piece of dirt, and if you say that I’ll never come to you again.’

‘You don’t know what you’ve done to me. I’m not angry — indeed, I’m not.

Be quiet for a minute.’

Bessie remained in his arms shrinking. Dick’s first thought was connected with Maisie, and it hurt him as white-hot iron hurts an open sore.

Not for nothing is a man permitted to ally himself to the wrong woman.

The first pang — the first sense of things lost is but the prelude to the play, for the very just Providence who delights in causing pain has decreed that the agony shall return, and that in the midst of keenest pleasure.

They know this pain equally who have forsaken or been forsaken by the love of their life, and in their new wives’ arms are compelled to realise it.

It is better to remain alone and suffer only the misery of being alone, so long as it is possible to find distraction in daily work. When that resource goes the man is to be pitied and left alone.

These things and some others Dick considered while he was holding Bessie to his heart.

‘Though you mayn’t know it,’ he said, raising his head, ‘the Lord is a just and a terrible God, Bess; with a very strong sense of humour. It serves me right — how it serves me right! Torp could understand it if he were here; he must have suffered something at your hands, child, but only for a minute or so. I saved him. Set that to my credit, some one.’

‘Let me go,’ said Bess, her face darkening. ‘Let me go.’

‘All in good time. Did you ever attend Sunday school?’

‘Never. Let me go, I tell you; you’re making fun of me.’

‘Indeed, I’m not. I’m making fun of myself.... Thus. “He saved others, himself he cannot save.” It isn’t exactly a school-board text.’ He released her wrist, but since he was between her and the door, she could not escape. ‘What an enormous amount of mischief one little woman can do!’

‘I’m sorry; I’m awful sorry about the picture.’

‘I’m not. I’m grateful to you for spoiling it.... What were we talking about before you mentioned the thing?’

‘About getting away — and money. Me and you going away.’

‘Of course. We will get away — that is to say, I will.’

‘And me?’

‘You shall have fifty whole pounds for spoiling a picture.’

‘Then you won’t —  — ?’

‘I’m afraid not, dear. Think of fifty pounds for pretty things all to yourself.’

‘You said you couldn’t do anything without me.’

‘That was true a little while ago. I’m better now, thank you. Get me my hat.’

‘S’pose I don’t?’

‘Beeton will, and you’ll lose fifty pounds. That’s all. Get it.’

Bessie cursed under her breath. She had pitied the man sincerely, had kissed him with almost equal sincerity, for he was not unhandsome; it pleased her to be in a way and for a time his protector, and above all there were four thousand pounds to be handled by some one. Now through a slip of the tongue and a little feminine desire to give a little, not too much, pain she had lost the money, the blessed idleness and the pretty things, the companionship, and the chance of looking outwardly as respectable as a real lady.

‘Now fill me a pipe. Tobacco doesn’t taste, but it doesn’t matter, and I’ll think things out. What’s the day of the week, Bess?’

‘Tuesday.’

‘Then Thursday’s mail-day. What a fool — what a blind fool I have been!

Twenty-two pounds covers my passage home again. Allow ten for additional expenses. We must put up at Madam Binat’s for old time’s sake. Thirty-two pounds altogether. Add a hundred for the cost of the last trip — Gad, won’t Torp stare to see me! — a hundred and thirty-two leaves seventy-eight for baksheesh — I shall need it — and to play with.

What are you crying for, Bess? It wasn’t your fault, child; it was mine altogether. Oh, you funny little opossum, mop your eyes and take me out!

I want the pass-book and the check-book. Stop a minute. Four thousand pounds at four per cent — that’s safe interest — means a hundred and sixty pounds a year; one hundred and twenty pounds a hear — also safe — is two eighty, and two hundred and eighty pounds added to three hundred a year means gilded luxury for a single woman. Bess, we’ll go to the bank.’

Richer by two hundred and ten pounds stored in his money-belt, Dick caused Bessie, now thoroughly bewildered, to hurry from the bank to the P. and O. offices, where he explained things tersely.

‘Port Said, single first; cabin as close to the baggage-hatch as possible.

What ship’s going?’

‘The Colgong,’ said the clerk.

‘She’s a wet little hooker. Is it Tilbury and a tender, or Galleons and the docks?’

‘Galleons. Twelve-forty, Thursday.’

‘Thanks. Change, please. I can’t see very well — will you count it into my hand?’

‘If they all took their passages like that instead of talking about their trunks, life would be worth something,’ said the clerk to his neighbour, who was trying to explain to a harassed mother of many that condensed milk is just as good for babes at sea as daily dairy. Being nineteen and unmarried, he spoke with conviction.

‘We are now,’ quoth Dick, as they returned to the studio, patting the place where his money-belt covered ticket and money, ‘beyond the reach of man, or devil, or woman — which is much more important. I’ve had three little affairs to carry through before Thursday, but I needn’t ask you to help, Bess. Come here on Thursday morning at nine. We’ll breakfast, and you shall take me down to Galleons Station.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Going away, of course. What should I stay for?’

‘But you can’t look after yourself?’

‘I can do anything. I didn’t realise it before, but I can. I’ve done a great deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie doesn’t object.’ Strangely enough, Bessie objected and Dick laughed. ‘I suppose you’re right. Well, come at nine the day after to-morrow and you’ll get your money.’

‘Shall I sure?’

‘I don’t bilk, and you won’t know whether I do or not unless you come.

Oh, but it’s long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie, — send Beeton here as you go out.’

The housekeeper came.

‘What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?’ said Dick, imperiously.

‘‘Tisn’t for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is wore out dreadful.’

‘I’m insured for two hundred and seventy.’

‘Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don’t say —  — ’

‘Oh, damn your longwindedness! You’ve made your pickings out of me and the other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a public-house the other day. Give a straight answer to a straight question.’

‘Fifty,’ said Mr. Beeton, without a moment’s hesitation.

‘Double it; or I’ll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.’

He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, and wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars.

‘That’s sinful, sir,’ said the housekeeper, alarmed.

‘It’s my own. One hundred or —  — ’

‘One hundred it is. It’ll cost me three and six to get that there pilaster mended.’

‘I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to spring that price at once!’

‘I hope I’ve done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least of all you, sir.’

‘Never mind that. Get me the money to-morrow, and see that all my clothes are packed in the little brown bullock-trunk. I’m going.’

‘But the quarter’s notice?’

‘I’ll pay forfeit. Look after the packing and leave me alone.’

Mr. Beeton discussed this new departure with his wife, who decided that Bessie was at the bottom of it all. Her husband took a more charitable view.

‘It’s very sudden — but then he was always sudden in his ways. Listen to him now!’

There was a sound of chanting from Dick’s room.

‘We’ll never come back any more, boys,

We’ll never come back no more;

We’ll go to the deuce on any excuse,

And never come back no more!

Oh say we’re afloat or ashore, boys,

Oh say we’re afloat or ashore;

But we’ll never come back any more, boys,

We’ll never come back no more!’

‘Mr. Beeton! Mr. Beeton! Where the deuce is my pistol?’

‘Quick, he’s going to shoot himself — ’avin’ gone mad!’ said Mrs. Beeton.

Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it was some time before the latter, threshing up and down his bedroom, could realise the intention of the promises to ‘find everything to-morrow, sir.’

‘Oh, you copper-nosed old fool — you impotent Academician!’ he shouted at last. ‘Do you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the pistol in your silly shaking hand then. If you touch it, it will go off, because it’s loaded.

It’s among my campaign-kit somewhere — in the parcel at the bottom of the trunk.’

Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight field-equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It was this put-away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr.

Beeton whipped the revolver out of its place on the top of the package, and Dick drove his hand among the khaki coat and breeches, the blue cloth leg-bands, and the heavy flannel shirts doubled over a pair of swan-neck spurs. Under these and the water-bottle lay a sketch-book and a pigskin case of stationery.

‘These we don’t want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton. Everything else I’ll keep. Pack ‘em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When you’ve done that come into the studio with your wife. I want you both. Wait a minute; get me a pen and a sheet of notepaper.’

It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had particular reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he began, following his right hand with his left: ‘“The badness of this writing is because I am blind and cannot see my pen.” H’mph! — even a lawyer can’t mistake that. It must be signed, I suppose, but it needn’t be witnessed. Now an inch lower — why did I never learn to use a type-writer? — ”This is the last will and testament of me, Richard Heldar. I am in sound bodily and mental health, and there is no previous will to revoke.” — That’s all right. Damn the pen! Whereabouts on the paper was I? — ”I leave everything that I possess in the world, including four thousand pounds, and two thousand seven hundred and twenty eight pounds held for me” — oh, I can’t get this straight.’ He tore off half the sheet and began again with the caution about the handwriting. Then: ‘I leave all the money I possess in the world to’ — here followed Maisie’s name, and the names of the two banks that held the money.

‘It mayn’t be quite regular, but no one has a shadow of a right to dispute it, and I’ve given Maisie’s address. Come in, Mr. Beeton. This is my signature; I want you and your wife to witness it. Thanks. To-morrow you must take me to the landlord and I’ll pay forfeit for leaving without notice, and I’ll lodge this paper with him in case anything happens while I’m away. Now we’re going to light up the studio stove. Stay with me, and give me my papers as I want ‘em.’