[Frontispiece: HE PASSED HIS FOREARM ACROSS THE GIPSY'S THROAT PAGE
21]
JACK CARSTAIRS
OF THE POWER HOUSE
A TALE OF SOME VERY YOUNG MEN
AND A VERY YOUNG INDUSTRY
BY
SYDNEY SANDYS
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY
STANLEY L. WOOD
SECOND EDITION
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_Colonial Library_
_First Published ... October 14th, 1909_
_Second Edition ... November 1909_
DEDICATED
IN ALL DEFERENCE
TO
THE MEMORY OF THAT VERY GREAT ENGLISHMAN
GEORGE STEPHENSON
ENGINEER
INVENTOR OF THE FIRST LOCOMOTIVE, AND OF
THE TOOLS TO CONSTRUCT IT
FIGHTER OF MEN AND CIRCUMSTANCES
PIONEER OF THE RAILWAY
PREFACE
I have endeavoured to show you the engineer, in two phases, as I have
met him: it is for you, gentlemen with the votes, to decide which you
prefer; for you have to have one of them, and his numbers are
increasing at a high rate of acceleration.
JACK CARSTAIRS
OF THE POWER HOUSE
CHAPTER I
A young engineer stood at the gates of the electric power house yard
watching the sun set. It was the middle of June, in the north of
Scotland, where the summer days are very long and very beautiful.
The sun sank slowly behind a little wooded hill, throwing into strong
relief a clump of fir trees at the summit, and making lanes of golden
light along the sparkling rushing river where the silver salmon leapt
in sportive joy. As the last edge of the sun disappeared behind the
hill, a sudden hush seemed to descend on all the land. The power
house was about a mile from the little town that nestled at the foot
of the hills. It was a bare, brick building standing alone on the
river-bank in the middle of a large tract of waste moorland. Inside,
a stalwart, bearded highlander sat on a box eating his "piece," and
drinking tea from a can; he and the young engineer at the door were
the only occupants of the place. There was no machinery running, a
battery was doing the work, for the needs of this little town in
summer time were very small.
The young man at the door gazed around him enchanted with the beauty
of the evening; the sudden hush that fell on everything seemed to
strike him too. He felt subdued with a great awe, the great and
awful majesty of Nature seemed thrust upon him suddenly; only the
faint rustle of the long grass near the water served to make the
stillness more intense; some crisis in Nature seemed impending.
Suddenly a strange note struck his ear, and immediately afterwards
all the usual sounds of life started afresh; a robin and a thrush
commenced to sing simultaneously, several birds started chirping all
around, a salmon splashed heavily in the river, the distant moo of a
cow was borne in upon his ears, the Scotsman inside moved his box
with a harsh creak: all these things seemed to start off at once, as
though some tension were removed, some crisis past.
The engineer looked in the direction of the sound that had at first
broken the stillness and perceived a young girl, with a basket on her
arm, raking over the heaps of ashes outside the boiler-house in
search of stray bits of coal or coke.
He looked at her intently, with an unusual interest. There was a
gipsy camp not far off, and some members of the tribe were usually
hovering round the works for what they could pick up; as a rule they
were very young and very dirty. This girl seemed about seventeen,
and somewhat clean; every movement showed graceful, even lines. He
strolled towards her.
"Looking for coal?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," she answered.
She stood up and looked him in the eyes steadily.
He looked at her steadily too, and so they stood; brown eyes gazing
into grey. He wondered greatly at the singular clearness of hers,
big, and of a marvellous shade of dark brown, the white absolutely
clear; the colour like some beautifully tinted crystal. He noticed
eyes, and he gazed into hers for some time, dispassionately, as
something inanimate, noting their marvellous perfection.
He smiled with pleasure, and instantly noted a gleam of pleasure in
her eyes also. Then he shifted his gaze and took in a general
impression of the face. It was remarkably beautiful, every feature
was even and in perfect harmony. The eyebrows were delicately
pencilled lines of deepest black. The eyelashes unusually long, they
drooped downwards, and as he looked at her, the whole head took a
gentle bend downwards in natural and graceful modesty before the open
admiration in his eyes.
"You won't find much there. Come over here," he said. He led the
way to the coal heap. She followed in silence.
"Help yourself," he said grandly, with a wave of the arm, giving away
what didn't belong to him. As a general rule he was consistently
conscientious in these details, but under the influence of those eyes
he cast honesty to the four winds of heaven.
"Thank you, sir," she said, and stooped to fill her basket.
The graceful movements and even poise of her figure appealed to him
immensely. He was somewhat of an athlete, and he noted with pleasure
the firm fulness of the arms (which were bare to the elbow), and the
throat and neck (which were quite unprotected). Her jet black hair
hung down below her waist in heavy, wavy tresses. Her short black
skirt (faded to almost a light green) showed a neat ankle and fair
proportion of shapely leg. He stood back and watched her closely.
The skin, where it was visible about the face and throat, was rather
dark, probably dirty, he thought, yet it did not seem offensive,
though he was usually fastidious in such things. He took life very
seriously did this young man, very seriously indeed; he was bent on
making his fortune, his fortune and a name--nothing less. He was
nineteen; older than his years in many things, younger in a lot.
The gipsy girl stood up. "Thank you, sir," she said again, and moved
haltingly towards the gate, glancing up at him with her big brown
eyes and dropping them again as she caught his.
"Don't go!" he said, stepping forward. "Put that basket down and
come in and have a look at the engines. Have you ever seen a dynamo?
An electric machine, you know. Thing that makes the light for those
big lamps in the street."
"I've seen them at the shows."
"Shows?" he repeated, questioningly.
"Roundabouts," she explained.
"Oh!" he said. "That's nothing. Come in here!"
She put down the basket and followed him with a look of pleasure.
She glanced furtively at the roof as they passed through the doorway,
and stepped quickly close up to him, her eyes rolled widely round in
obvious apprehension. He looked at her with amusement.
She caught his eye and smiled too. "Lovely," she said, as she
glanced round the clean and well-kept little engine-room. "Lovely,"
she repeated, as her eyes were held by the bright lacquered copper
switches and instruments set on the enamelled slate switchboard.
"It's like a church."
He looked at her quickly. "Have you ever been to church?"
"I've been inside and I've looked in through the windows," she
answered.
"What do you do on Sundays?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"I work on Sundays, the same as any other day," he said.
"It's wicked to work on Sunday," she said.
"Or any other time," he added, smiling.
"Gipsies don't do much work," she admitted, smiling too.
"I think I'll turn gipsy."
"You'll go a long way before you see gipsies your colour," she said,
glancing at his fresh face and light brown hair.
He held out his hand suddenly. "Look here! Tell my fortune, will
you?"
She took him by the wrist and gazed at his palm earnestly for some
minutes seeming to feel his pulse all the while.
"Good," she said, "very good," and dropping his hand, moved to the
door.
He looked at her curiously, the fun had faded from her face, the
liquid eyes seemed heavily shaded with sorrow. He stepped after her.
"Do you people really believe what you say?" he asked.
"Yes. Good, very good--for you," she answered, and passed through
the door. With the sky overhead and the air of heaven on her face,
she altered at once. "Thank you, sir, for the coal." She smiled
brightly.
"Don't mention it," he said. "Come over again, will you? I want to
talk to you." He looked into her eyes and she flushed with pleasure
under the tan, or dirt, whichever it was.
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a cake of chocolate
(that was one of the things in which he was younger than his years).
"I say, do you eat chocolate?"
She took it shyly.
He watched her bite a piece off and noticed the even regularity of
her teeth, and the perfect shape of her mouth, though the lips were
somewhat full.
"When will you come again? To-morrow? Oh! I forgot! To-morrow I
shall be on all night. Will you come over early in the morning, or
any time between midnight and eight o'clock in the morning? I'll
bring you down some chocolate, if you like it."
"Thank you, sir."
"Will you come?"
"Yes," she answered, and her head took a gentle droop downwards, half
averted, the long lashes swept her cheek and a rich red flushed
beneath the russet brown of her skin.
He looked at her with pleasure, he felt his own colour rising a
little too. He experienced a strange thrill, he felt older somehow,
a sense of responsibility, of protection.
She turned and went away, glancing back over her shoulder as she went.
He went inside, and spoke to the Scotsman. "We'll put the engine on
now, Mac." He busied himself with the engine and the switchboard.
The girl was lost to sight and memory, but a sense, a something
remained.
Next day the young engineer went on duty at midnight; he passed the
gipsy camp on his way; four caravans stood silent and dark, and five
ragged tents showed faint and ghostly in the moonlight, a fire
smouldered in one corner. At the works he relieved another young man
like himself, and the bearded highlander. They put on their hats and
coats and bade him good-night, and he was left alone, all alone in
the dimly lighted engine room with nothing running, everything still,
except for the ghostly, uncanny rattle of the steam condensing in the
now idle steam pipes.
Going into the little room which served as office, mess room, and
test room combined, he took off his hat and coat and rolled back his
shirt sleeves. He was a well built young man, standing just on six
feet in his boots, with regular, handsome features and strong,
prominent chin and nose; the arms that he exposed to view were
substantial and very muscular, the hands were spread by the use of
hand tools, they were not pretty, but very strong and serviceable.
He walked briskly out and carefully looked all round--the plant, the
switchboard, the engines, the recording instrument, the battery and
boilers; he opened the furnace doors and gazed in at the fires to see
that they were properly "banked;" then he went round with a
scribbling block and took the meter readings, carefully entering them
in the log book; then he opened the door and stepped out into the
northern summer night.
He looked round on the fair prospect with extreme pleasure, the hills
all round with the mountains in the background, the irregular patches
of wood, the few straggling houses showing white and distinct in the
moonlight, the little town close by with its few twinkling lights;
all spoke to him of peace and pleasure yet strangely, too, of
ambition. He would own one of those houses on the hillside as a
summer resort. Time would tell, he had no doubt, he was quite
confident, he felt it in him. He worked while other fellows played.
Worked! Lord! Yes! he stoked boilers and drove engines, he cleaned
brass work and did navvies' work, all for ten shillings per week. He
smiled, the idea did not depress him in the least.
Suddenly the figure of a girl appeared round the corner of the
building. The gipsy girl, he knew her figure at once. He knew she
would come, but he had not expected her at this hour.
She advanced slowly, shyly; as she turned the corner she had been
active, full of life; she seemed to droop as she caught sight of him
standing alone in his shirt sleeves in the moonlight. She came close
up and stood before him.
"I've come," she said.
She raised her eyes and looked into his--they seemed all alight,
veritably to sparkle like gems.
He was rather taken aback, but did not show it; his features were
impassive, he also felt a tingling of the pulses, and his eyes showed
that as he looked into hers.
"Come inside," he said; he led the way, he wanted time to think.
"This way," he continued. She followed him, a pace to the rear.
He led the way into the little office and pulled out a chair. "Sit
down," he said.
She sat down, somewhat uncomfortably, somewhat nervously, as one who
was not used to it.
Going to his coat hanging on the wall he took a packet of chocolate
from it. She watched him with a sort of dog-like observance.
"Here you are," he said. He handed her the chocolate, drew another
chair out, and sat down facing her.
"What have you been doing all day?"
"Gathering sticks," she answered. He noticed that she did not speak
with her mouth full, it seemed a natural refinement, perhaps because
she observed him carefully finish munching a piece of chocolate
before he put the question to her--anyhow she did the same.
They sat and looked at each other in silence for some minutes. He
was observing her very closely; he noticed that her hands were clean,
comparatively; they were not large and very well shaped, it was
obvious that she did not do much work; everything about her denoted
natural grace and, it seemed to him, refinement; but ever and anon
her eyes rolled widely round, taking in everything; in this confined
atmosphere, sitting on this made-to-order chair, she was obviously
not at ease.
He drew his chair up closer to her and looked into her eyes. "You're
very beautiful. Are all gipsy girls beautiful?"
She flushed, gave her head a little toss, slightly imperious. "My
mother is the Queen of the gipsies."
"Then you are a princess. You look it. Tell me what you do all day."
"Nothing," she answered, simply.
"That's good," he laughed.
"What do you do?" she asked.
"Everything," he said, and laughed again.
"Where do you come from?"
"England, the south of England, Gloucestershire. Have you been
there?"
"Yes," she answered. "I've been through Gloucestershire and
Somersetshire and Devonshire and Warwickshire and Staffordshire.
I've been all round England and Scotland."
His eyes lighted up. "Have you been to Cheltenham?"
"Yes," she said, and told him about it and the country round; she
seemed to have observed everything. They talked of the counties and
the people, the fields and the woods, the birds and beasts, till she
stood up and pushed the chair back.
"I don't like this--let's go out and sit on the wall by the river."
So they went outside and sat on the little low wall with the smooth
cement top that marked the tunnel where the water pipes went into the
works.
They sat down side by side, eating chocolates and saying nothing,
looking at the east and watching the sky begin to lighten with the
first faint indication of dawn. All was hushed, and silent the river
at their feet swirled past in glassy, rapid smoothness, on the
opposite bank the sedges stirred and rustled stealthily, just moved
by the scarcely perceptible breeze.
They sat there for a long time, exchanging occasional remarks and
lapsing long between replies. The spirit of the night, the silent,
pensive night, seemed on the girl and he did not want to talk. The
cloak of peace was around her; she was at one with nature; she
laughed in the sunshine and wept in the rain. To the young engineer
the silence of the night had a very different message; this universal
peace and stillness spoke to him, somehow, of strife, vigorous
strife, of great difficulties attempted and overcome, of progress,
eternal progress; he made many resolves of what he would do, and the
more he had done, the more, he felt, he would be able to enjoy these
moments of rest and reflection. Some day he would marry, and this
was the sort of girl he would like, a refined and educated edition of
this; some one with a soul, a mind, and a body, not a mere
clothes-horse. Her remarks had shown a natural refinement, a depth
of feeling and thought that exactly suited his own, she appreciated
nature and that was the foundation of all things to him.
The dawn was rapidly brightening; on the opposite side of the river a
stoat poked an inquiring nose through the long grass at the top of
the bank. Silently the girl gripped his arm and pointed to it,
together they watched it come cautiously into full view sniffing the
air; very slowly, very cautiously, it made its way, its head
upraised, moving with a graceful swaying motion from side to side; it
was the caution of the pursuer and not of the pursued, there was no
terror in it. The young engineer watched it in fascination, then it
disappeared again in the grass.
"The stoat gets a better time than the rabbit," he propounded, after
a thoughtful pause.
"Rabbits!" she said, in disgust, "rabbits are good to eat, that's
all. Everything kills rabbits, they play and play and never
think--I've watched them for hours and hours."
He jumped up. "I must go and have a look round inside now." He
looked at her steadily with approval, and more; there was a light in
her eyes as she looked up at him too.
"Will you come over to-morrow night?" he asked. There was a touch of
suspense in his voice.
"Yes," she said.
"Good-bye then," he held out his hand.
She took it somewhat shyly.
He held her rather long, looking at her thoughtfully, he seemed in
doubt, then he slowly released her hand and turned away. "Good-bye
till to-morrow then," he said.
"Good-bye," she answered.
Next night he was outside before half-past twelve, waiting. He saw
her leave the camp and come towards him springing lightly from tuft
to tuft over the rough ground.
"Hullo!" she said, and looked up at him, her wondrous eyes beaming
pleasure.
"How are you?" he answered, gravely, shaking hands. The limitations
of the Englishman bound him fast. "Come inside," he continued.
She drew back with a little expression of repugnance. "I don't like
houses," she said.
"I've got some sweets in there. Come in and get them, and then we'll
go outside again."
She followed him meekly, and he took her into the little office and
tilted the contents of four different little bags on to a clean
newspaper.
"There you are!" he said.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, with childish glee.
He shovelled them into the bags again and handed them to her.
"There you are, those are for you; now we'll go outside."
"You take some too." She opened the bags and held them out to him.
"Thanks," he answered, gravely selecting two or three from each
packet.
They walked in silence to the door, then he paused under the lamp.
"Look here, you never told my fortune. Finish it, will you?"
She stopped and looked at the hand he held out under the light. "I
don't know very much yet. You're very strong."
"Fairly," he agreed, doubling up his biceps. "You said I had a good
fortune. How do you know that?"
"By the feel," she answered. She took him by the wrist again and
seemed lost in wonder. "Think of what you'd like," she said.
He shut his eyes and conjured up his favourite vision. A great
industrial centre; a huge machinery shop; teeming workmen, strong and
greasy; and himself in the centre, thinking, feeling, living for it
all.
"Oh!" she said.
He opened his eyes to find her gazing at him in open wonder and
astonishment.
"Have you ever had a wild rabbit in your hands and felt its heart
beat?"
"Can't say that I have."
"I have. And a weasel and a stoat with their heads tied. And cats
and dogs and birds and all sorts. You feel like a dog, a trained
fighting dog when he's going to fight--and win."
He smiled, somewhat indulgently. "Very probably," he said. "I'm a
bit of a sportsman, football, and that sort of thing, you know. I've
got a pistol in there; I put in time shooting rats along the river
bank when I'm by myself and not reading."
"Come on down by the river bank now and I'll show you some birds'
nests. I found them to-day."
"Wait till it gets lighter," he answered. "We'll climb up that hill
and watch the sun rise."
So they started off together across the intervening space of
moorland, the tall athletic young man and the slender graceful girl,
and the great silver moon looked down at it all with a parental
smile, as he has on countless such scenes since the birth of man.
"I'll race you," the engineer said.
"All right," she answered, and broke into a run, bounding lightly
over the rough ground like a young deer. But the trained athlete
kept pace with her easily, he did not pass her, but kept a pace
behind; she glanced back and sprinted faster; still he hung on her
rear till they were within a hundred yards of the hill.
"A final spurt," he said, and she bounded away again. He could have
passed her then, too, but he did not.
"I won," she said.
"Yes, you won," he agreed, looking at her with marked approval. Her
head was thrown back a little and her breast heaved steadily, taking
great deep long, breaths. She was slightly flushed and her eyes
sparkled brightly. They had run a quarter of a mile, and without a
pause they went straight up the hill taking it quickly and easily.
It took them a quarter of an hour to get to the top, up the zigzag,
stony pathway through the pine wood. She led the way and brought him
out to a little clearing at the head of a miniature precipice.
"There!" she said, and pointed up the valley of the river straight at
the lightening dawn.
"Grand!" he ejaculated, and they sat down side by side on the bed of
soft brown pine needles where the ground sloped gradually towards the
cliff. The deep gloom of the pine wood closed behind them like a
curtain; down below, at their feet, they could see the tops of the
trees in the gorge; out in front spread the beautiful valley with the
silent river threading its way down the heart of it.
They sat and gazed in silence, listening to the indistinct rustle of
nocturnal life in the wood behind them, and the air above: a rustle
of leaves, a faint crackle of twigs, a little scream, and some
woodland tragedy was past and gone, some tiny life was sped.
An owl hooted above them many times, long-drawn, awe-inspiring,
suited to the night.
"That's a brown owl," she said.
"How do you know it's not a barn owl?" he asked.
She looked at him in wonder. "Why! it's a different tune."
"Tune?" he repeated, in amusement. "I didn't know there was any
difference," he added, apologetically.
"Listen!" she commanded, holding his arm suddenly. There was a
flutter of wings in a tree not far away, a little agonized scream,
then all was silent. "That's a weasel, or a stoat got a bird," she
explained.
"Weasels don't climb trees," he said.
"Don't they?" she asked, in amused sarcasm.
"I didn't know," he admitted, meekly.
The dawn was brightening rapidly, lighting up all the valley, turning
the sombre river to a thread of silver, throwing out the white
farmhouses into strong relief, stirring birds and beasts to a new
life.
They stood up and gazed over it enchanted.
"Look at that man!" she said.
He followed the direction of her finger. "I can't see a man."
"There in the yard, carrying a pail."
"Good Lord! I can see a bit of a black dot, that is all."
She laughed with amusement. "A black dot," she repeated. "What's
the matter with your eyes?"
He looked into her marvellous orbs with wonder and admiration. "I'm
usually considered to have good eyes," he said, "but they're not in
it with yours. You must be related to the golden eagle."
"I've seen a golden eagle's nest, and killed one too."
He pulled out his watch. "By Jove! I must get back to the works,
somebody will be stealing the dynamos, or the coal," he added,
looking at her with a sudden smile.
She smiled too and they disappeared into the wood, down the stony
paths and across the bit of moorland. He stopped at the gate of the
works and held out his hand.
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
He held her hand, looking into her eyes. "You'll come again
to-morrow?"
"Yes," she answered, steadily looking at him with her wonderful eyes.
Still retaining his grip of her hand, he pulled her gently towards
him.
She came, somewhat reluctantly; the colour overspread her face.
There was doubt in her eyes. He passed his disengaged arm round her
neck and kissed her on her full red lips.
A wild wonder sprang to her eyes. "Gipsies don't kiss," she said, as
she gazed at him.
"Don't they?" he said, "then I'll do it again in case you forget,"
and he did, a long kiss. He looked at her in astonished admiration,
the deep colour that mantled on her cheek, and the vivid light in her
eyes made a picture the like of which he had never seen.
She turned away and bounded off across the moorland to her people's
camp. He watched her with bright eyes, she turned and waved a hand
to him then disappeared among the caravans. He went into the little
works very thoughtful for he knew that he was violently in love with
this beautiful girl--this child of nature, and he seemed up against a
blank wall.
He paced the little engine room slowly, chin on breast, gazing
unseeing at the tiles on the floor. "I'll tell her not to come
again," he said to himself. For he was a very conscientious and a
very ambitious young man.
That was decided. He threw back his shoulders and raised his head
with a feeling of relief. Going out into the boiler house, he opened
the furnace doors, and taking a fire rake in his hands, pushed back
the banked fires and spread them over the grates, he sprinkled a few
shovels full of coal over them, opened the dampers, blew down the
gauge glasses, and went into his little office again to read.
Mostly he read technical works, but the book he picked up now
contained the life story of George Stephenson. There was a full page
portrait in it too: this fascinated the young engineer--he gazed at
it long and earnestly. To him it seemed the face of the greatest of
all Englishmen, of all men; statesmen, soldiers, philosophers, none
of them had left such a monument behind them, none had done so much
for civilization as this great man whose features he gazed upon.
"And he was a fighter, too," he said to himself. "Beat the prize
fighter bully of his village, and without training. He must have
been always fit and lived very straight and clean." He put down the
book and went outside.
The sun was now bright and powerful, but still low down in the sky.
The young engineer gazed all around at the fairy scene, enchanted
with the beauty of the landscape; yet he carried in his mind's eye
still the frontispiece of the book, a strong, sturdy figure, and a
firm, composed, yet kindly face. The picture seemed to haunt him.
"The ideal engineer," he said to himself, "would never get angry,
only think, think, deeper and deeper. He would be absolutely firm,
but not a brute. The engineer must handle men as well as material,
and this north country collier did it!" He felt his biceps. "A
great engineer of to-day has laid it down that physical fitness is
the essential ground work of engineering success."
"Why not me too?" he asked himself.
Next night the gipsy girl appeared earlier than usual, he was not
outside, and she ventured timidly in, walking on tip-toe, her eyes
glancing quickly all round her. She advanced to the foot of the
switchboard steps and stayed there.
He saw her then and went down to speak to her. She held out her
hand. He took it gravely. She looked up at him underneath her long
lashes, then her eyes drooped, the colour mounted to her cheek, she
let her hand rest limply in his. He looked at her steadily for a
minute, holding her hand, then he drew her towards him and kissed her.
"You like kissing," he said. She looked up at him with all her soul
in her wonderful dark eyes.
"Yes--you," she said, simply.
"Go and sit down, I've got some work to do yet. My coat's hanging up
in the office there. There's some sweets in the pocket, take them
out."
She went like an obedient child.
In ten minutes' time he went to her. "We'll go up on the hill
again," he said, "and you shall tell me what all the sounds and
squeaks and all that we hear in the wood mean."
So they started off, and at the edge of the wood a dusky shape
scampered off from the grass and disappeared into the gloom.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Badger," she answered, promptly, in some surprise.
They commenced the ascent of the steep, stony path.
"Supposing I broke my leg, what would you do?" he asked.
"Carry you," she said.
"Think you could?"
She laughed, and going close up to him, put her arms round him and
lifted him easily.
"Well done," he said.
They went to the top and sat down again in the old place, the little
clearing, overlooking the valley. They sat for some time in silence.
"Who are you going to marry?" she asked.
He looked at her sharply. "Poor little devil," he thought, "is it
possible--" Then he looked into her eyes very steadily, rather
sadly. "I haven't any idea who I shall marry, yet," he said.
"Probably some girl that I shall meet at home, some girl who lives in
a house about the same size that my father lives in. A girl who
reads and writes, and perhaps plays the piano and sings, who can look
after a house and manage servants and see that everything is looked
after properly. That is," he added, thoughtfully, "if I can ever
make enough money to keep such a girl."
She was silent, and he thought perhaps he had been too brutal.
"I hope that she will be as beautiful and graceful as you, but one
can't have everything."
"What does your father do?" she asked, and her tone was one of
interested inquiry simply.
"He's a parson."
"Keeps a church?"
"Exactly, or the church keeps him."
"I can play the fiddle and concertina and sing," she said.
"Can you?" he asked, in surprise.
"Yes, father says I'm good."
"I've no doubt you are," he said, with some amusement. He wondered
what the gipsy standard of music was.
Suddenly he noticed her raise her head, listening intently, he
watched her with interest; the delicate nostrils quivered, she seemed
to be smelling something.
"There's someone in the wood," she said.
"All right. Let 'em stop there."
"Come into the dark," she whispered. She moved silently into the
shadow of the pine trees.
He was getting up to follow her when a rough looking man in a round
fur cap, a suit with big poacher pockets to the coat and gaiters
protecting his trousers, and carrying a big stick under his arm, came
out into the moonlight.
"So I've caught you, have I?"
"What do you mean?" The young engineer's tone was angry, imperious.
"You knows, you an' that girl. I seen her go away." Without more
ado, he rushed viciously at the engineer and lashed out a sweeping
blow with his bludgeon.
The young athlete sprang nimbly aside, and as the gipsy turned to
make a second onslaught, the girl came out of the darkness of the
wood behind and sprang on his back like a wild cat, pulling him over
backwards and wrenching the stick from his grasp. She threw it to
the engineer. "Take that," she said, "and watch him."
The gipsy, cursing and spitting like an angry cat, lashed out with
his feet and caught the girl in the ribs.
With a little sob, like a punctured balloon, she sank down, a
huddled, helpless heap. The gipsy lashed out again at her and then
scrambled to his feet.
The engineer stood over him. "You swine," he said, and he brought
the stick down over the man's shoulders for all he was worth. It was
ash and very stout; there was not much "give" in it. He gave a
coughing gasp, then closed with his assailant.
They wrestled fiercely. The gipsy was shorter and not so heavy, but
exceedingly strong; he strove to work the engineer backwards towards
the cliff, his hands sought his throat.
The girl sat up. "Mind the edge," she screamed. "Throw him over."
The engineer had dropped the stick, he passed his forearm across the
gipsy's throat and forced his head backwards so that to save his neck
or his back the man had to relax his grip. Instantly the engineer
dealt him a severe blow on the chin with his fist.
The gipsy staggered backwards.
The latent savagery of the chimpanzee and the fierce deep passion of
the sportsman who had been "fouled" were aroused side by side in the
breast of the young engineer. He sprang forward again and struck the
falling man another furious blow; he seemed to yield easily; it was
almost like striking the empty air. There was not that sense of
springy resistance which is the whole source of pleasure in a blow
well delivered and reaching well home.
With a sudden chilling of the blood he realized that the man was over
the edge, falling downwards on to the trees. He felt sick with
horror and tried to throw himself back, only to discover that the
impetus of his own forward progress was too much for him. He slowed
up and hung for (it seemed to him) many minutes just balanced, then
gradually tilted forwards towards the tops of the trees that showed
down below in the faint light of the rising dawn. He seemed to be
moving very slowly--slowly, forwards. He glanced out over the valley
below him and got a clear impression of the view; he saw an owl flit
past between himself and the tree tops; he heard it hoot, its long
drawn, melancholy hoot. Then he felt a sudden jerk behind, something
pulled him backwards, he felt his centre of gravity shift till his
legs had control of his body again. Then the blood rushed from his
heart with a mighty bound; he sank down on the soft bed of the
weather-browned pine needles.
"Good God!"
The girl leaned over him, her eyes alight. "I thought I was over
too," she said.
"I thought that brute had killed you," he said.
She stretched herself and suddenly relaxed with a little gasp. "I'm
all right. I've got a pain, that's all."
The horror of the whole situation was suddenly borne in upon him.
"Holy God!" he said. "That's man killed."
"I hope so," she said.
"Hush!" he said, "you mustn't say that. If he is, I'm a murderer."
"Then I hope he's not."
"Who is he?" he asked.
"My sweetheart--the man I'm going to marry--if he's alive," she
answered, simply.
"Oh! Great God in heaven!" he said, and he held out his hands to the
rising sun, gazing out on the smiling valley and beautiful hills in
the peaceful stillness of the early dawn.