The vicarage at Chilcombe, Jack's home, was a fairly large,
well-built house with plenty of ground round it, forming a complete
rectangle. Two sides of it (bordering the road) were bounded by
seven-foot walls, a third side was a thick, tall hedge, and the
fourth (furthest from the house) was a brook, or river--a sort of
cross, a big brook or a small river--deeply bordered with willow
trees and blackberry bushes. Two close wooden gates in the
seven-foot wall opened on to a small brown-gravel drive, which led by
a single short curve through a shrubbery of laurel bushes to the
front entrance porch. A big room at the other side of the house
opened out by French windows on to a lawn. There was a big chestnut
tree in one corner of this lawn, with a seat round it; in the summer
there were usually two or three hammock chairs spread out in the
shade of it also. Jack was lounging in one of these latter the
morning after his arrival, while his mother did knitting in a more
sedate-looking but less comfortable chair at his side, when Mrs
Bevengton and Bessie came round the corner of the house. Mrs
Bevengton was the doctor's wife, and Bessie was her daughter. Bessie
was fairly tall and distinctly plump--"fatty" Jack used to call her
when he was younger; she was not really fat, though not angularly
hard; there was no superfluous tissue about her. She could play
tennis all day long, run with the beagles, or row two or three miles
on the river without getting "done up." She had a good pink colour
and dimples on each cheek which were nearly always in evidence, for
she smiled at most things. Her hair was light brown and curly; it
was always straying out of place and framing her happy, smiling face
in little light brown curves.
Bessie said, "How are you Jack?" and Jack answered, "First-class.
How are you?"
Mrs Bevengton looked at him critically. "What are you doing now,
Jack?" she asked.
"Earning ten bob a week, Mrs Bevengton," he answered, with just a
flicker of a smile. The doctor's wife was inclined to be a
materialist in worldly matters.
Bessie's dimples burst into renewed prominence, and a frizzy curl
strayed out from over her forehead. She said nothing, but her blue
eyes danced in the sunlight as she glanced round the three faces in
front of her, and endeavoured to suppress the rebellious curl.
Mrs Carstairs looked severe. "How absurdly you talk, Jack."
"The truth is usually absurd, mater."
Mrs Bevengton continued to regard him with a critical, calculating
eye.
"That's just a start, of course?" she said.
"Well, I hope it's not the finish, Mrs Bevengton."
Mrs Bevengton looked at Bessie, then back again at Jack. He seemed
very steady-looking and confident; she had only a vague notion of
what he was doing, but had an impression that electrical engineering
was a safe sort of thing, displacing the Church as the thing to put
the fool of the family into. Still, the Carstairs so far had not
"got on."
"I suppose it's a good er--profession, isn't it, Jack?"
Jack looked at his hands which would have compared favourably with a
young carpenter's. "Fairly good, I think," he said, "for the right
men. About the same as doctoring, only more pleasant--to the young
mind at least."
Mrs Carstairs smiled approval.
The doctor's wife was puzzled. He spoke too soberly for a
Carstairs--and nineteen. She looked at Mrs Carstairs. "When does
Phillip leave?"
"Oh, not for six weeks yet."
Jack looked at Bessie. "Come on, Bessie! I'll give you a game of
tennis. Expect you'll beat me easily now. Haven't had a game since
last summer."
"Don't they play in Scotland?"
"Oh, yes, they play, but I don't."
So they played, and it was very close, but Bessie did not win.
"I believe you've been practising," she said.
"No, I haven't," he answered. "Come on down to the brook and see if
that old trout is still there."
"That old trout," was an ancient retainer of the Carstairs family,
weighing some two to two and a half pounds. Six successive sons had
tried to catch him: bright red worms, "dopping" blue bottles,
artificial flies, gentles and green caterpillars had been tried in
vain; the veteran shook his head and slowly winked the other eye as
he lazily flapped his tail in the gentle current, regarding the
tempting baits and eager faces peering over the blackberry bushes
with easy unconcern. Twice they had waded through the shallows,
three abreast, with butterfly nets, after frightening him from his
deep hole, but without success: once, indeed, with the aid of wire
netting, was the speckled warrior landed, high and dry; but after
performing a joyous war-dance, hand in hand, round the panting,
kicking champion, the means were voted underhand and mean--not
sporting--so by unanimous consent he was consigned to the deep again,
never afterwards, by fair means or foul, to be lured thence. In
later days he reigned supreme, monarch of all he surveyed, for many
yards on either side of the willow tree, his seat. It was considered
the correct thing, when on holidays, to feed him with worms and
gentles and other tit-bits.
So, rackets in hands, they strolled down to the brook and peeped
cautiously over the top of a blackberry bush, down into a deep hole
under the roots of an overhanging willow tree; silently they pressed
forward, for the bush had grown and obscured the view more than it
used to. Suddenly there was a slip, a little scream, a sound of
tearing dress material, a splash, and Bessie was in the stream.
Jack knew that Bessie could not swim, one of the few athletic
accomplishments she had not acquired. The water was six or seven
feet deep for two or three hundred yards on either side of the hole,
which was nine or ten feet deep, the banks were very steep.
Without a second's pause, Jack burst his way through the bushes and
into the stream; the brambles clung to him and let him down gently.
He found Bessie floundering hopelessly, head under water, one leg
elevated in the air, held securely by a tangle of brambles, so
keeping her in an inverted position.
He grabbed an overhanging branch of the willow tree with one hand and
reached down for Bessie's hair with the other. He succeeded in
raising her head above water. She clutched his arm frantically,
half-unconscious, she had quite lost her reason.
"Steady! Steady!" he said, soothingly. "Kick your leg free."
She was unable to comprehend, so he gave a vigorous tug at her; the
brambles yielded pliantly, but did not let go.
"Damn the thing," he said. He tugged again, and the fresh green
willow branch broke off short at the rotten old trunk. Bessie's head
sank under water again, and she clutched him in a despairing grasp;
he "trod water" vigorously and tried to pull her clear of the
bramble; then he tried to get free of her grasp so that he might get
at the bramble at close quarters, but she clung to him in despairing
energy, and she was very strong. Twice he lifted her head out of
water and let her get a breath, but the effort drove him very deep
down himself, and he was beginning to feel the strain.
He looked round him in search of inspiration. The water was running
very placidly and calmly past him, all dappled with round spots of
sunlight coming through the leaves of the trees. A little way off,
his mother and Bessie's mother sat quietly chatting in the shade of
the chestnut tree, a cow grazed peacefully very near the opposite
bank; he could hear the steady "munch" of her jaws; a willow wren
trilled out a pretty little warble on a tree near by; and Bessie was
drowning. Jack wondered what to do. It never occurred to him to
shout for help, he never shouted for help--he was not built that way.
"Her grip will relax when she gets unconscious," he said to himself,
and thinking so, he pulled her head deeper under water and tugged to
get free of her grip. This time he succeeded, and instantly hauled
himself up the bank by means of the entangled leg and set it free.
It was very simple; two interlaced briars formed a stirrup, that was
all. He raised the foot and it was free at once. Then he dropped
back into the water and getting under her, raised her head, and swam
with her down stream where the bank shelved down; getting out and
laying her on the grass, he applied his rudimentary knowledge of
artificial resuscitation; he saw a gentle heaving of the breast, then
picked her up and hurried towards the house.
Mrs Bevengton saw him coming and ran to meet him.
"Whatever is the matter?" she said. She was very pale, but not
hysterical. Jack noted her behaviour with approval.
"Bessie fell into the brook, got her head fixed under water for some
time; she's breathing alright." He hurried on into the house with
her.
The doctor was immediately sent for while Mrs Bevengton administered
all she knew, and in half an hour Bessie was sitting up in bed,
Jack's bed, drinking hot beef tea. She smiled genially. "I'm sorry
to give you all this trouble, Mrs Carstairs," she said.
That evening Jack's sailor uncle paid a surprise visit--his were
nearly always surprise visits; he came and went like the sea breeze,
fresh, boisterous, and invigorating. As they sat smoking after
dinner and commenting on the morning's catastrophe, Commander John
Carstairs, R.N., looked across at his nephew and namesake through the
smoke.
"You didn't shout?" he asked.
"It didn't occur to me."
"Like to bully through on your own, eh?
"That's it, I suppose."
"You ought to have put that boy in the service, Hugh."
"Er--yes, perhaps so."
"How would you have liked it, Jack?"
"Oh, first-class, I think. However 'what is, is best,' you know,
'the moving finger writes,' etc. I'm going to make money."
The sailor's merry blue eyes became thoughtful, and so, even the
casual observer must have been struck by the sense of power the whole
man conveyed. The face was clean shaven and of an even pink-red all
over, the jaw very strong and square, the cheek bones high and the
nose prominent, the mouth a straight line, the eyes deep set and not
too close together as deep-set eyes usually are; in repose they
looked stern and hard, when he smiled they were the most kindly
looking in all the world; his figure, particularly the shoulders and
chest, gave one the impression that he swung heavy-weight Indian
clubs for many hours each day.
"The service makes men, but not millionaires," he remarked, and his
own personality seemed the proof of the assertion.
The Rev. Hugh chimed in. "It's better to be a man than a
millionaire."
The sailor smiled again. "Nature has done that for Jack," he said.
Dr Bevengton (who stayed to dinner) broke in. "It's possible to be
both, I imagine."
Jack Carstairs puffed slowly at one of his father's cigars. "The
line of demarcation between a man and a fool is rather hard to draw,
I think."
The sailor laughed uproariously.
The parson's eyes twinkled merrily.
Dr Bevengton seemed more surprised than amused. "How?" he asked.
"Well, I've heard both a man and a fool defined in so very many
different ways. One of our Scotch labourers assured me that a man
who couldn't take a half tumbler of whisky neat was 'nae man at a'.'
Then one frequently hears such terms as 'an ass who plays football,'
or 'a fool who reads Shakespeare.'"
The three older men regarded the solemn-faced youngster with much
amusement.
"What do you propose to do about it then, Jack?" the sailor asked.
"Please myself," Jack answered.
The sailor slapped his knee. "Well done!" he said. "By Jove, that's
good! What about the girl?" he asked, suddenly.
"What girl?"
Commander Carstairs looked towards the ceiling. "Upstairs," he said.
"Oh, she'll be alright, thanks," the doctor answered.
"Be about again soon, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes. To-morrow."
"Then you'll have a chance before you go back, Jack, to prove
yourself a man or a fool."
The sailor smiled genially at his nephew, and his nephew regarded him
in solemn silence. The doctor coughed, so did the parson.
The sea develops to a remarkable degree the English trait of
persistence. Nothing short of a twelve-inch shell would have
diverted Jack's uncle from his "chaff."
"In these cases, Jack, there's nothing like striking when the iron's
hot," he continued.
The doctor and the parson were distinctly ill at ease, the sailor was
happy, the young engineer quite calm. He puffed away slowly at his
cigar while the sailor looked laughingly into his eyes.
"I perceive, uncle," Jack said, at length, "that it's possible to be
a fool and a man at the same time."
All three men burst into a hearty laugh, the sailor leading.
Next day Bessie was about again, and Jack met her on the lawn. Her
dimples were as deep as ever and her hair as rebellious. She held
out her hand, "Thanks very much for pulling me out, Jack," she said.
"Oh! it's alright," he answered.
God, in His wisdom, has denied speech to the English, but has
specially endowed them with feeling.
They played tennis again and went down and looked at the place where
she fell in.
"Did you have a job to get me out?" she asked.
"Oh, fair!" he answered.
So time passed away and the ten days were soon gone. Jack visited
all his old haunts and friends and saw a good deal of Bessie. Their
relations were changing, they were merging into man and woman, the
incident of the brook seemed to have hastened it. Jack saw a
difference in her; she seemed a trifle shy at times, and he never
failed to notice it. He noticed, too, that she seemed to defer to
him more, and not dispute, as they always used to. When he was going
away, he said good-bye to her alone, and as he shook hands he noticed
a look in her eyes that surprised him. She blushed slightly.
"I'm sorry I'm going back," he said.
"So am I," she answered. She seemed distinctly sad.
One evening, before his uncle had left, they had all spent the
evening with the doctor. As the men sat alone smoking, his uncle had
questioned Jack about his work. Jack remembered that the doctor had
listened with marked interest.
"They call me an Improver," Jack had explained. "Certainly, I've
improved lots of things since I've been there, and wrecked others.
'Improver wanted for Central Station in Scotland, must have workshop
training and theoretical knowledge, good opportunity to gain a
thorough insight into Central Station work. Salary (they called it
salary) ten shillings per week.' That's how the advertisement ran.
They are correct in describing the insight to be gained as
'thorough.' My first job was to sweep out the engine room and to do
it thoroughly, then I had to clean the switchboard, thoroughly too,
then, as I had shown my ability, I was allowed to wipe down the
engine, thoroughly. Now I stoke boilers and drive engines and
operate the switchboard--all for the same pay, while the latest comer
sweeps the floor, etc."
The doctor, Jack had noticed, looked considerably down in the mouth.
The sailor only laughed. "That'll do you good," he had said.
All these things Jack thought over after he had left Bessie, and the
train was speeding him northward.