Why is it, I wonder, that stories of Retribution calling at the wrongaddress strike us as funny instead of pathetic? I myself had beenamused by them many a time. In a book which I had read only a few daysbefore our cold-dinner party a shop-woman, annoyed with an omnibusconductor, had thrown a superannuated orange at him. It had found itsbillet not on him but on a perfectly inoffensive spectator. Themissile, said the writer, " 'it a young copper full in the hyeball." Ihad enjoyed this when I read it, but now that Fate had arranged aprecisely similar situation, with myself in the role of the youngcopper, the fun of the thing appealed to me not at all.
It was Ukridge who was to blame for the professor's regrettableexplosion and departure, and he ought by all laws of justice to havesuffered for it. As it was, I was the only person materially affected.
It did not matter to Ukridge. He did not care twopence one way or theother. If the professor were friendly, he was willing to talk to himby the hour on any subject, pleasant or unpleasant. If, on the otherhand, he wished to have nothing more to do with us, it did not worryhim. He was content to let him go. Ukridge was a self-sufficingperson.
But to me it was a serious matter. More than serious. If I have donemy work as historian with an adequate degree of skill, the readershould have gathered by this time the state of my feelings.
"I did not love as others do:
None ever did that I've heard tell of.
My passion was a by-word throughThe town she was, of course, the belle of."At least it was--fortunately--not quite that; but it was certainlygenuine and most disturbing, and it grew with the days. Somebody witha taste for juggling with figures might write a very readable page orso of statistics in connection with the growth of love. In some casesit is, I believe, slow. In my own I can only say that Jack's beanstalkwas a backward plant in comparison. It is true that we had not seen agreat deal of one another, and that, when we had met, our interviewhad been brief and our conversation conventional; but it is theintervals between the meeting that do the real damage. Absence--I donot claim the thought as my own--makes the heart grow fonder. And now,thanks to Ukridge's amazing idiocy, a barrier had been thrust betweenus. Lord knows, the business of fishing for a girl's heart issufficiently difficult and delicate without the addition of needlessobstacles. To cut out the naval miscreant under equal conditions wouldhave been a task ample enough for my modest needs. It was terrible tohave to re-establish myself in the good graces of the professor beforeI could so much as begin to dream of Phyllis. Ukridge gave me no balm.
"Well, after all," he said, when I pointed out to him quietly butplainly my opinion of his tactlessness, "what does it matter? OldDerrick isn't the only person in the world. If he doesn't want to knowus, laddie, we just jolly well pull ourselves together and staggeralong without him. It's quite possible to be happy without knowing oldDerrick. Millions of people are going about the world at this moment,singing like larks out of pure light-heartedness, who don't even knowof his existence. And, as a matter of fact, old horse, we haven't timeto waste making friends and being the social pets. Too much to do onthe farm. Strict business is the watchword, my boy. We must be thekeen, tense men of affairs, or, before we know where we are, we shallfind ourselves right in the gumbo.
"I've noticed, Garny, old horse, that you haven't been the whale forwork lately that you might be. You must buckle to, laddie. There mustbe no slackness. We are at a critical stage. On our work now dependsthe success of the speculation. Look at those damned cocks. They'realways fighting. Heave a stone at them, laddie, while you're up.
What's the matter with you? You seem pipped. Can't get the novel offyour chest, or what? You take my tip and give your brain a rest.
Nothing like manual labour for clearing the brain. All the doctors sayso. Those coops ought to be painted to-day or to-morrow. Mind you, Ithink old Derrick would be all right if one persevered--""--and didn't call him a fat little buffer and contradict everythinghe said and spoil all his stories by breaking in with chestnuts ofyour own in the middle," I interrupted with bitterness.
"My dear old son, he didn't mind being called a fat little buffer. Youkeep harping on that. It's no discredit to a man to be a fat littlebuffer. Some of the noblest men I have met have been fat littlebuffers. What was the matter with old Derrick was a touch of liver. Isaid to myself, when I saw him eating cheese, 'that fellow's going tohave a nasty shooting pain sooner or later.' I say, laddie, just heaveanother rock or two at those cocks, will you. They'll slay eachother."I had hoped, fearing the while that there was not much chance of sucha thing happening, that the professor might get over his feeling ofinjury during the night and be as friendly as ever next day. But hewas evidently a man who had no objection whatever to letting the sungo down upon his wrath, for when I met him on the following morning onthe beach, he cut me in the most uncompromising manner.
Phyllis was with him at the time, and also another girl, who was, Isupposed, from the strong likeness between them, her sister. She hadthe same mass of soft brown hair. But to me she appeared almostcommonplace in comparison.
It is never pleasant to be cut dead, even when you have done somethingto deserve it. It is like treading on nothing where one imagined astair to be. In the present instance the pang was mitigated to acertain extent--not largely--by the fact that Phyllis looked at me.
She did not move her head, and I could not have declared positivelythat she moved her eyes; but nevertheless she certainly looked at me.
It was something. She seemed to say that duty compelled her to followher father's lead, and that the act must not be taken as evidence ofany personal animus.
That, at least, was how I read off the message.
Two days later I met Mr. Chase in the village.
"Hullo, so you're back," I said.
"You've discovered my secret," he admitted; "will you have a cigar ora cocoanut?"There was a pause.
"Trouble I hear, while I was away," he said.
I nodded.
"The man I live with, Ukridge, did what you warned me against. Touchedon the Irish question.""Home Rule?""He mentioned it among other things.""And the professor went off?""Like a bomb.""He would. So now you have parted brass rags. It's a pity."I agreed. I am glad to say that I suppressed the desire to ask him touse his influence, if any, with Mr. Derrick to effect areconciliation. I felt that I must play the game. To request one'srival to give one assistance in the struggle, to the end that he maybe the more readily cut out, can hardly be considered cricket.
"I ought not to be speaking to you, you know," said Mr. Chase. "You'reunder arrest.""He's still----?" I stopped for a word.
"Very much so. I'll do what I can.""It's very good of you.""But the time is not yet ripe. He may be said at present to besimmering down.""I see. Thanks. Good-bye.""So long."And Mr. Chase walked on with long strides to the Cob.
The days passed slowly. I saw nothing more of Phyllis or her sister.
The professor I met once or twice on the links. I had taken earnestlyto golf in this time of stress. Golf is the game of disappointedlovers. On the other hand, it does not follow that because a man is afailure as a lover he will be any good at all on the links. My gamewas distinctly poor at first. But a round or two put me back into myproper form, which is fair.
The professor's demeanour at these accidental meetings on the linkswas a faithful reproduction of his attitude on the beach. Only by astudied imitation of the Absolute Stranger did he show that he hadobserved my presence.
Once or twice, after dinner, when Ukridge was smoking one of hisspecial cigars while Mrs. Ukridge nursed Edwin (now moving in societyonce more, and in his right mind), I lit my pipe and walked out acrossthe fields through the cool summer night till I came to the hedge thatshut off the Derrick's grounds. Not the hedge through which I had mademy first entrance, but another, lower, and nearer the house. Standingthere under the shade of a tree I could see the lighted windows of thedrawing-room. Generally there was music inside, and, the windows beingopened on account of the warmth of the night, I was able to makemyself a little more miserable by hearing Phyllis sing. It deepenedthe feeling of banishment.
I shall never forget those furtive visits. The intense stillness ofthe night, broken by an occasional rustling in the grass or the hedge;the smell of the flowers in the garden beyond; the distant drone ofthe sea.
"God makes sech nights, all white and still,Fur'z you to look and listen."Another day had generally begun before I moved from my hiding-place,and started for home, surprised to find my limbs stiff and my clothesbathed with dew.
欢迎访问英文小说网 |