Once Aboard the Lugger-- The History of George and his Mary, Page 2

  Mr. Marrapit inquired: "Your task?"

  "Weedin'," said Frederick.

  "Weeding what?"

  "Weeds," Frederick told him, a little surprised.

  Mr. Marrapit rapped sharply: "Say 'sir'."

  "Sir," said Frederick, making to move.

  Mr. Marrapit peered at the basket. "You have remarkably few."

  "There ain't never many," Frederick said with quiet pride--"there ain'tnever many if you keep 'em down by always doin' your job."

  Mr. Marrapit pointed: "They grow thick at your feet, sir!"

  In round-eyed astonishment Frederick peered low. "They spring up theminute your back's turned, them weeds. They want a weed destroyer whatyou pours out of a can."

  "You are the weed-destroyer," Mr. Marrapit said sternly. "Be careful.It is very true that they spring up whenever _my_ back is turned. Becareful." He passed on.

  "Blarst yer back," murmured Frederick, bending his own to the task.

  IV.

  A few yards further Mr. Marrapit again paused. Against a laurel bushstood a pair of human legs, the seat of whose encasing trousers staredgloomily upwards at the sky. With a small twig he carried Mr.Marrapit tapped the seat. Three or four raps were necessary; slowly itstraightened into line with the legs; from the abyss of the bush a back,shoulders, head, appeared.

  Just as the ostrich with buried head believes itself hid fromobservation, so it was with Mr. Fletcher, needing peace, a habit toplunge head and shoulders into a bush and there remain--showingnothing against the sky-line. Long practice had freed the posture fromirksomeness. As a young man Mr. Fletcher had been employed in a publictennis-court, and there had learned the little mannerism to which he nowhad constant resort. In those days the necessity of freeing himself fromthe constant annoyance of nets to be tightened, or of disputes betweenrival claims to courts to be settled, had driven him to devise somemeans of escape. It was essential to the safety of his post, uponthe other hand, that he must never allow it to be said that he wasconstantly absent from his duties. Chance gave him the very means hesought. Bent double into a bush one day, searching a tennis ball, heheard his name bawled up and down the courts; he did not stir. Those whowere calling him stumbled almost against his legs; did not observehim; passed on calling. Thereafter, when unduly pressed, it became Mr.Fletcher's habit to bury head and arms in a bush either until the hueand cry for him had lulled, or until exasperated searchers knockedagainst his stern; in the latter event he would explain that he waslooking for tennis balls.

  The habit had persisted. Whenever irritated or depressed (and this man'stemperament caused such often to be his fate), he would creep to themost likely bush and there disappear as to his upper half. It is a finething in this turbulent life thus to have some quiet refuge against thesnarlings of adversity.

  Mr. Fletcher drew up now and faced Mr. Marrapit; in his hand a snail.

  He said gloomily: "Another one"; held it towards his master's face.

  Here is an example of how one deception leads to another. This was nofresh snail; often before Mr. Marrapit had seen it. To lend motive tohis concealment Mr. Fletcher carried always with him this same snail;needing peace he would draw it from his pocket; plunge to consolation;upon discovery exhibit it as excuse.

  "There is an abominable smell here," said Mr. Marrapit.

  Mr. Fletcher inhaled laboriously. "It's not for me to say what it is."

  "Adjust that impression. Yours is the duty. You are in charge here. Whatis it?"

  "It's them damn cats."

  "You are insolent, sir. Your insolence increases. It grows unendurable."

  Mr. Fletcher addressed the snail. "He asts a question. I beg not toanswer it. He insists. I tell him. I'm insolent." He sighed; the tyrannyof the world pressed heavily upon this man.

  Mr. Marrapit advertised annoyance by clicks of his tongue: "You areinsolent when you swear in my presence. You are insolent when you imputeto my cats a fault that is not theirs."

  "I ain't blamin' the cats. It's natural to them. Whenever the wind setsthis way I notice it. It's blamin' me I complain of. I don't draw thesmell. I try to get away from it. It's 'ard--damn 'ard. I'm a gardener,I am; not a wind-shaft."

  Whenever Mr. Marrapit had occasion to speak with Mr. Fletcher, after thefirst few exchanges he would swallow with distinct effort. It was wrathhe swallowed; and bitter as the pill was, rarely did he fail to force itdown. Mr. Fletcher spoke to him as no other member of his establishmentdared speak. The formula of dismissal would leap to Mr. Marrapit'smouth: knowledge of the unusually small wage for which Mr. Fletcherworked caused it to be stifled ere it found tongue. Thousands ofinferiors have daily to bow to humiliations from their employers; itis an encouraging thought for this army that masters there be who,restrained by parsimony, daily writhe beneath impertinences fromvaluable, ill-paid servants.

  Mr. Marrapit swallowed. He said: "To the smell of which I complain mycats are no party. It is tobacco. The air reeks of tobacco. I will nothave tobacco in my garden."

  Twice, with a roaring sound, Mr. Fletcher inhaled. He pointed towards anelm against the wall: "It comes from over there."

  "Ascertain."

  The gardener plunged through the bushes; nosed laboriously; hisinhalations rasped across the shrubs. "There's no smoking here," hecalled.

  "Someone, in some place concealed, indubitably smokes. Yourself you havenoticed it. Follow the scent."

  Exertion beaded upon Mr. Fletcher's brow. He drew his hand across it;thrust a damp and gloomy face between the foliage towards his master.

  "I'd like to know," he asked, "if this is to be one of my regular jobsfor the future? Was I engaged to 'unt smells all day? It's 'ard-damn'ard. I'm a gardener, I am; not a blood-'ound."

  But Mr. Marrapit had passed on.

  "Damn 'ard," Mr. Fletcher repeated; drew the snail from his pocket;plunged to consolation.

  V.

  A short distance down the garden Mr. Marrapit himself discovered thesource of the smell that had offended him. Bending to the left he camefull upon it where it uprose from a secluded patch of turf: from theremains of a pipe there mounted steadily through the still air a thinwisp of smoke.

  Outraged, Mr. Marrapit stared; fuming, turned upon the step that soundedon the path behind him.

  The slim and tall young man who approached was that nephew George, whosecoming into Mr. Marrapit's household had considerably disturbed Mr.Marrapit's peace. Orphaned by the death of his mother, George hadgone into the guardianship of his uncle while in his middle teens. Theresponsibility had been thrust upon Mr. Marrapit by his sister. Vainlyhe had writhed and twisted in fretful protest; she shackled him to herdesire by tearful and unceasing entreaty. Vainly he urged that his meanswere not what she thought; she assured him--and by her will bore out theassurance--that with her George should go her money.

  And the will, when read, in some degree consoled Mr. Marrapit for thesniffling encumbrance he took back with him to Herons' Holt after thefuneral. It was a simple and trustful will--commended George into thekeeping of her brother Christopher Marrapit; desired that George shouldbe entered in her late husband's--the medical--profession; and for thatpurpose bequeathed her all to the said brother.

  George was eighteen when Mr. Marrapit entered him at St. Peter'sHospital in mild pursuit of the qualification of the Conjoint Board ofSurgeons and Physicians. "I am entering you," Mr. Marrapit had said,consulting notes he had prepared against the interview--"I am enteringyou at enormous cost upon a noble career which involves, however, aprolonged and highly expensive professional training. Your mother wishedit."

  Mr. Marrapit did not add that George's mother had expressly paid forit. This man had the knowledge that Youth would lose such veneration forAuthority as it may possess were Authority to disclose the motives thatprompt its actions.

  He continued: "For me this involves considerable self-denial andpatience. I do not flinch. From you it demands unceasing devotion toyour books, your studies, your researches. You are no longer a boy: y
ouare a man. The idle sports of youth must be placed behind you. Sternlife must be sternly faced."

  "I do not flinch," George had replied.

  "For your personal expenses I shall make you a small allowance. You willlive in my house. Your wants should be insignificant."

  In a faint voice George squeezed in: "I have heard that one can work farbetter by living near the hospital in digs."

  "Elucidate."

  "Digs--lodgings. I have heard that one can work far better by livingnear the hospital in lodgings."

  "Adjust that impression," Mr. Marrapit had told him. "You aremisinformed."

  George struggled: "I should have the constant companionship of menabsorbed in the same work as myself. We could exchange views and notesin the evenings."

  "In your books seek that companionship. With them compare your views.Let your notes by them be checked. They are infallible."

  George said no more. At that moment the freedom of hospital as againstthe restraint of school, was a gallant steed upon which he outrid allother desires. The prospect of new and strange books in exchange forthose he so completely abhorred, was an alluring delight. It is notuntil the bargain is complete that we discover how much easier topolish, and more comfortable to handle, are old lamps than new.

  Mr. Marrapit had referred to his notes: "In regard to the allowance Ishall make you. I earnestly pray no spur may be necessary to urge youat your tasks. Yet, salutary it is that spur should exist. I arrange,therefore, that in the deplorable event of your failing to pass anyexamination your allowance shall be diminished."

  "Will it be correspondingly increased when I pass first shot?"

  The fearful possibilities of this suggestion Mr. Marrapit had hesitatedto accept. Speculation was abhorrent to this man. Visions of successupon success demanding increase upon increase considerably agitated him.Upon the other hand, the sooner these successes were won, the sooner,he reflected, would he be rid of this incubus, and, in the long-run, thecheaper. He nerved himself to the decision. "I agree to that," he hadsaid. "The compact is affirmed."

  It was a wretched compact for George.

  But the sum had not yet been fixed. George, standing opposite his uncle,twisted one leg about the other; twined his clammy hands; put the awfulquestion: "By how much will the allowance be increased or cut down?"

  "By two pounds a quarter."

  George plunged: "So if I fail in my first exam. I shall get elevenpounds at the quarter? if I pass, fifteen?"

  Horror widened Mr. Marrapit's eyes; shrilled his voice: "What is thecolossal sum you anticipate?"

  "I thought you said fifty-two pounds a year-a pound a week."

  "A monstrous impression. Adjust it. Four pounds a quarter is the sum.You will have no needs. It errs upon the side of liberality--I desire tobe liberal."

  George twisted his legs into a yet firmer knot: "But two failures wouldwipe it bang out."

  "Look you to that," Mr. Marrapit told him. "The matter is settled."

  But it was further pursued by George when outside the door.

  "Simply to spite that stingy brute," vowed he, "I'll pass all my exams,with such a rush that I'll be hooking sixteen quid a quarter out of himbefore he knows where he is. I swear I will."

  It was a rash oath. When Youth selects as weapon against Authority someimplement that requires sweat in the forging Authority may go unarmed.The task of contriving such weapons is early abandoned. In three monthsGeorge's hot resolve was cooled; in six it was forgotten; at the endof three years, after considerable fluctuation, his allowance stood atminus two pounds for the ensuing quarter.

  Mr. Marrapit, appealed to for advance, had raved about his study withwaving arms.

  "The continued strain of renewing examination fees consequent on yourcallous failures," he had said, "terrifies me. I am haunted by thespectre of ruin. The Bank of England could not stand it."

  Still George argued.

  With a whirlwind of words Mr. Marrapit drove him from the study:"Precious moments fly even as you stand here. To your books, sir. Inthem seek solace. By application to them refresh your shattered pocket."

  Shamefully was the advice construed. George sought and found solace inhis books by selling his Kirke, his Quain and his Stone to Mr. Schooleof the Charing Cross Road; his microscope he temporarily lodged with Mr.Maughan in the Strand; to the science of bridge he applied himself witha skill that served to supply his petty needs.

  Notwithstanding, his career at St. Peter's was of average merit. Georgewas now in the sixth year of his studies; and by the third part of hisfinal examination, was alone delayed from the qualification which wouldbring him freedom from his uncle's irksome rule.

  VI.

  His attempt at this last examination had been concluded upon this Julyday that opens our history, and thus we return to Mr. Marrapit, toGeorge, and to the line of smoke uprising from the tobacco.

  Mr. Marrapit indicated the smouldering wedge.

  George bent forward. "Tobacco," he announced.

  "My nose informed me. My eyes affirm. Yours?"

  "I am afraid so."

  "My simple rule. In the vegetable garden you may smoke; here you maynot. Is it so hard to observe?"

  "I quite forgot myself."

  Mr. Marrapit cried: "Adjust that impression. You forgot me. Consistentlyyou forget me. My desires, my interests are nothing to you."

  "It's a rotten thing to make a fuss about."

  "That is why I make a fuss. It _is_ a rotten thing. A disgusting and anoisome thing. Bury it."

  Into a bed of soft mould George struck a sullen heel; kicked the tobaccotowards the pit. Mr. Marrapit chanted over the obsequies: "I provide youwith the enormous expanse of my vegetable garden in which to smoke. Yetupon my little acre you intrude. I am Naboth."

  Ahab straightened his back; sighed heavily. Naboth started against theprick of a sudden recollection:

  "I had forgotten. Your examination?"

  George half turned away. The bitterest moment of a sad day was come. Hegrowled:

  "Pipped."

  "_Pipped?_"

  "Pilled."

  "_Pilled?_"

  "Spun."

  "_Spun?"_

  "Three months."

  Mr. Marrapit put his hands to his head: "I shall go mad. My brain reelsbeneath these conundrums. I implore English."

  The confession of defeat is a thousandfold more bitter when made tounkind ears. George paled a little; spoke very clearly: "I failed. I wasreferred for three months."

  "I am Job," groaned Mr. Marrapit. "I expected this. The strain isunendurable. It is unnatural. The next chance shall be your last. Whatis the fee for re-examination?"

  "Five guineas."

  "My God!" said Mr. Marrapit.

  He tottered away up the path.

  CHAPTER II

  Excursions In Melancholy.

  I.

  Gloom brooded over Herons' Holt that evening. Gloom hung thickly aboutthe rooms: blanketed conversation; veiled eyes that might have sparkled;choked appetites.

  Nevertheless this was an atmosphere in which one member of the householdfelt most comfortable.

  Margaret, Mr. Marrapit's only child, was nineteen; of sallow complexion,petite, pretty; with large brown eyes in which sat always a constantquest--an entreaty, a wistful yearning.

  Hers was a clinging nature, readily responsive to the attraction of anystouter mind. Enthusiasm was in this girl, but it lay well-like--notas a spring. To stir it the influence of another was wanted; of itself,spontaneous, it could not leap. Aroused, there was no rush and surgeof emotion--it welled, rose deeply; thickly, without ripple; crestless,flinging no intoxicating spume. Waves rush triumphant, hurtling forwardthe stick they support: the pool swells, leaving the stick quiescent,floating.

  Many persons have this order of enthusiasm; it is a clammy thingto attract. A curate with a glimpse at Shelley's mind once rousedMargaret's enthusiasm for the poet. It welled so suffocatingly about himthat he came near to damning Shelley and all his w
orks; threw up his hatwhen opportunity put out a beckoning finger and drew him elsewhere.

  Margaret walked in considerable fear of her father; but she clung to himdespite his oppressive foibles, because this was her nature. She lovedchurch; incense; soft music; a prayer-book tastefully bound. She "wrotepoetry."

  Warmed by the gloom that lay over Herons' Holt upon this evening, shesat brooding upon her cousin George's failure until a beautiful picturewas hatched. He had gone to his room directly after dinner; during themeal had not spoken. She imagined him seated on his bed, hands deep inpockets, chin sunk, brow knitted, wrestling with that old devil despair.She knew that latterly he had worked tremendously hard. He had told herbefore the examination how confident of success he was, had revealed howmuch in the immediate prospect of freedom he gloried. She recalledhis gay laugh as he had bade her good-bye on the first day, and therecollection stung her just as, she reflected, it must now be stinginghim.... Only he must a thousand times more fiercely be feeling the burnof its venom....

  Margaret moved impatiently with a desire to shake into herself aprofounder sense of her cousin's misfortune. By ten she was plunged in amost pleasing melancholy.