THE JUGGLER'S LAST FEAT.
After the shout of applause this time fell a little shower of coppers.
The Negro, with as much rapidity as he had before shown
deliberateness, placed the heavier stone on the piece of board and
shot it still further behind him by the force of the mere muscles of
his jaws.
"He's about done now," said the landlord of the Hanover to the air.
Leigh was no longer near, and no one else within hail seemed worthy of
a prosperous licensed victualler's speech outside his own bar and
house. Inside the portals he was a publican, outside he was a private
being with individual existence, rights and tastes, an impressively
large waistcoat and watch-chain to match, and an opinion of himself
out of all proportion with even his waistcoat or watch-chain. When
half a man is concealed from you behind a counter, his individuality
can never impress you nearly so much as when he stands forth
disenthralled from sole to crown. The ordinary man glides into his
most private aspect when he slips behind the door of his own home; the
publican when he emerges from his house.
The Negro now took up the two stones and placing the less on the
greater and the greater on the white ledge of wood jerked them both
together over his head, as easily as he had thrown the light one by
itself.
Then he made a gesture for silence. All the spectators were more than
attentive, all except Oscar Leigh, who with the air of one in a trance
of perplexity and wonder stole glances at the exquisite line of the
girl's cheek and forehead; no more of her face could be seen from his
position. She was bent forward and breathless with excitement. She had
often seen feats of strength and dexterity before, many more wonderful
than Sam's; but she had never until now stood in the arena with the
performer. The propinquity was fascinating, the presence horrible, the
situation novel, exciting, confounding.
Black Sam drew the two stones towards him with his huge unhandsome
feet, and stooped down, holding the piece of wood still in his mouth.
He moved his feet a little this way, a little that, selecting their
final resting place with care. He passed the cubes back between his
legs and, setting one on the other, sat on the upper of the two,
looked up and expanding his chest drew a full breath. The people could
not now take their gaze off him if they tried. Still Oscar Leigh had
no eyes for him. He watched the girl as though his life, the fate of
his soul, depended on not losing sight of her for an instant. "She
must have seen me, and yet she does not notice me! Are her presence
here and her indifference to my presence the result of magic--of real
magic, not charlatan tricks?" he thought.
Black Sam lifted his body a couple of inches, resting his entire
weight on his feet then passing his hands back he slid them under the
lower cube, and raised both hands from the ground, the lower cube
resting on the palms. With back bent like a bow he thrust out his
head, holding the piece of board in his mouth parallel to the horizon,
then he swung his body, first forward, then backward, and with a
prodigious effort and violent thrust of his arms and head between his
legs, threw the two cubes up into the air, straightened himself like a
flash, stepped back a pace and, still holding the piece of white board
in his enormous mouth parallel to the horizon, caught the two cubes on
it as they fell.
There was a loud cry of exultation. Hanbury forgot the girl by his
side, forgot everything but the black man and his feat and shouted:
"Well done by----, Nigger!"
Dora started as though she had been stung. She had more horror of an
oath than of a serpent or a blow. She had never heard one so near her
before. The words men utter with no thought behind them beyond the
desire for emphasis had to her a meaning, not only a meaning through
the reason but through the imagination. When she heard the oath her
imagination became filled with the spectacle of an august and outraged
Presence. Profanity was more horrible to her than almost any other
crime. It was a deliberate impiety, a daring and blasphemous
insolence.
Hanbury became conscious of the girl's presence by her abrupt
withdrawal of her hand from his arm. He turned his eyes, flashing with
admiration of the Negro's dexterity and strength. "Wasn't that good?"
he asked Dora joyously.
She looked bewildered, and glanced hastily round as though seeking a
way of escape. She opened her mouth to speak, but no word came.
"What is it?" he asked in alarm. "Are you not well, Dora?"
"Oh, Jack, how dreadful! You terrify me!"
"I--I--I," he cried swiftly, and in sore and sudden perplexity and
dismay. He had shouted out the oath without consciousness that he
spoke. In a moment his words came back upon his ears and he
recollected her dread. He flushed with confusion and remorse. "Oh,
Dora, I beg your pardon, I am miserably ashamed of myself. There is no
excuse for me; it was the act of a blackguard--worse still, Dora, of a
cad. Pray, pray forgive me."
"I--I am frightened now," she said turning pale and swaying slightly
to and fro. She looked at the entrance to Welbeck Place; it was by
this time choked up with a dense crowd of people watching the
performance.
"Would you like to go away dear? You look ill. Oh, pray forgive me!
What I said was forced from me by the excitement of the moment. It was
only the result of a bad habit. There was no meaning in my words."
She began to recover her equanimity. To force a way through that crowd
would be very disagreeable to her. She replaced her hand on Hanbury's
arm saying: "No. Let us stay and see this out. I am all right again. I
am very foolish, Jack. Try to forgive me, Jack."
"Forgive you, my darling! Forgive you for what? The only thing I can't
forgive you for is tolerating a beast like me."
"Hush, Jack! Don't speak of it again. I am quite well now, and you are
the dearest Jack in the world, only don't say that dreadful thing any
more, it makes me quite ill. It may be silly, but I cannot help
myself. What is the Negro going to do now? Look!"
"I don't know. I don't care. I only care for you, about you, and here
I have distressed you, shocked you. It is horrible. You feared to stay
lest the Nigger should use strong language, and now it is I, your
protector, who offends against good manners and good morals, and
outrages your ears!" He had drawn her close to him by the hand that
lay on his arm and was pouring his words in a low voice into her ears,
his eyes blazing with earnestness, his face working with solicitude
and remorse.
"There, Jack, it is all over and forgiven long ago. If you want to
please me, let the matter rest. I am much interested in the
performance. I never saw anything like it before. Tell me what he is
doing now? I cannot make out. What does he mean by throwing himself
down in that way and lying still? What are the people laughing at? Is
he ill? Is he hurt? Why doesn't someone go to him? What do these
foolish people mean by laughing? The man is hurt? Look, look! They
cannot see. They are all in front of him. Look there! What is that
oozing under his face? Go, see, help him, Jack. Look under his face on
the ground! That is Blood!"
John Hanbury did not move. He too had seen something was wrong. He too
saw the swelling pool of bright scarlet blood under the black face of
the Negro now lying at full length. Still, he did not move. He had
grown deadly pale and cold and limp. His head felt light, the colour
faded out of objects, and everything became a white and watery blue.
The light shivered and then grew faint and far away. Sounds waxed
thin, attenuated, confused.
"I can't go, Dora. I am not well. I always faint at the sight of
blood," and he staggered back, dragging her with him until he leaned
against the blank wall of Forbes's bakery. She disengaged her arm from
his, and sought to support him with both her hands. His legs suddenly
bent under him, and he slipped from her grasp and fell with legs
thrust out across the flagway, and back drooping sideway and forward
partly supported by the wall.
At that moment Oscar Leigh stepped back from his post on the curb, and
uncovering his head, bowed lowly to Dora, and said: "I beg your
pardon. Will you allow me to assist you?"
In her haste, confusion, anxiety, Dora glanced but casually at the
speaker, saying: "It is not I who want assistance, but he."
"I would assist even my rival for your sake," he said humbly, bowing
low and remaining bent before her. "I did not hope to meet you again
so soon. I did not think it would be my good luck to meet you once
more to-day until I called at Grimsby Street."
The girl looked at Hanbury's recumbent form with anxiety and dread,
and then in dire perplexity at the hunchback who had just raised his
uncovered head: "If you will be so good as to help me I shall be very
much obliged. Oh! I am terrified. But I do not know what you mean by
saying you met me to-day. I have, I think, never seen you until now.
What shall I do? Is there a doctor here?"
"He has only fainted. Never seen me before! Never at Eltham yesterday!
Not to-day! Not this morning, Miss Grace, am I mad."
"You are mistaken. I never saw you before. My name is not Grace. My
name is Ashton, and this is Mr. John Hanbury. Oh! will no one help
me?"
The crowd had by this time gathered closely round the prostrate Negro.
No one but Leigh was near Miss Ashton and Hanbury.
Leigh seized Hanbury and drew him away from the wall. "The best thing
we can do is to lay him flat. So! The others are too busy with the
Nigger, and we are better off without a crowd, they would only keep
the air away. Pray, forgive and forget what I said, Miss Ashton. I was
sure you were Miss Grace, a lady I know, whom I met yesterday and this
morning. Such a likeness never was before, but I can see a little
difference now; a difference now that you look at me and speak." He
had placed the young man flat on his back, and was gazing up into the
face of the girl with a look half of worship, half of fear.
She could not see or hear clearly. "Oh! can nothing be done for him?"
she cried pitiously. She fell upon her knees beside the prostrate man,
and raised his head in her arms.
"Don't do that. Do not raise his head. Have no fear. I will fetch some
brandy. Here, bathe his forehead with this. I will be back in a
moment." He handed her a small silver flask of eau-de-cologne from
which he had screwed the top, and then hastened away.
He skirted the crowd and rushed into the Hanover, crying out "Brandy!"
The place was deserted. No one in front of the counter. No one in the
bar. With strength and agility, for which none would give him credit,
he seized the top of the counter in his long arms, and drew himself up
on it, and jumped into the bar, clutched a bottle of brandy from a
shelf, and with a glass in his other hand was back over the counter
again in a minute, and hurrying to where Dora knelt beside the
insensible Hanbury. Leigh knocked the head off the bottle with a blow
of his stick, shook out half the brandy to carry away the splinters,
and poured some of what was left into the glass.
"Can you open his mouth? Let me try. Raise his head now." He knelt
down and endeavoured to force the spirit into Hanbury's mouth. "Now,
please, stand up. Leave him to me. You are not strong." She hesitated
to rise. "Oh, pray get up! You will only make yourself ill. He will be
quite well in a few minutes."
The girl rose. She was trembling violently. She placed one hand
against the wall to steady herself. Her breath came short and sharp.
Leigh forced the mouth open and moistened them with brandy and
moistened the temples also. Dora, weak and pale and terrified, with
lips apart, looked out of dilated eyes down on the swooning man.
In a few seconds he showed signs of life. His eyelids flickered, his
chest heaved, his colour began to return, he sighed and raised his
hand. Leigh lifted his head higher and forced more of the brandy into
his mouth. Then he got up, and stood waiting the result. Gradually
Hanbury came to himself, and with the joint aid of Leigh and Dora
tottered to his feet.
"There, take some more of this," said Leigh holding out the glass to
Hanbury. The latter passed his hand across his eyes to collect his
faculties and clear his vision.
"I must have fainted," he whispered. "Is the man dead? I fainted twice
before when I saw blood. Once at the gymnasium. Is he dead?"
"Swallow the stuff," said Leigh. "It will put you right." He looked
around. The crowd bearing in its core the form of the Negro, was
moving through the archway at the bottom of Welbeck Place into the
Mews. "I don't know whether he is really dead or not. It looks like
it. Do you feel better?"
"Thank you, I feel quite well again. Would you mind fetching a cab.
Dora, I am very sorry for my miserable weakness. I could not help it.
I am everlastingly disgraced. Would you be kind enough to fetch a
cab?"
The request was addressed to Leigh, who glanced with pity and worship
at Dora, and said, without looking away:
"Yes; I'll go for a cab. You are not able to walk yet. Stay here till
I come back. Will you have more?" He turned and held out the neckless
bottle to Hanbury.
"No, thank you."
Leigh threw the bottle and glass into the road and hastened off on his
errand. He had no thought of serving Hanbury. If the young man had
been alone Leigh would have left him where he stood until the
convalescent was strong enough to shift for himself. But he was under
a double spell, the spell of the extraordinary likeness between this
girl, Miss Ashton, and that other girl, Miss Grace, and the spell of
Miss Ashton's beauty. As a rule his thought was clear, and sharp, and
particular; now it was misty, dim, glorious, vague. Edith Grace had,
at first sight, wrought a charm upon him such as he had never known'
before; Dora Ashton renewed and heightened the charm and carried it to
an intolerable yearning and rapture. He was beside himself.
"Dora," said Hanbury, after a little while and much thought, "Will you
promise me one thing?" He looked around. They were quite alone. The
crowd had followed the bearers of the Negro into the mews, through
which there was a short cut to an hospital.
"Yes, if I can do what you ask, Jack."
"Say nothing to a soul about my fainting. You will not tell your
father or mother, or my mother? I was able to keep the other occasions
quiet. If this got about I should have to clear out of London. I'd be
the laughing stock of the clubs. That man need not know more than he
has seen."
"But he will return with the cab. You can ask him not to say anything
about it."
"Come, Dora," he said, with sudden and feverish energy, "let us go. I
feel a horrible repugnance to this place."
"But the man with the cab? He will be here in a minute," she said,
looking at him in pain and surprise. Surely he was selfish.
"No, no. Not a second. I feel as if I should faint again. There isn't
a cab-rank within a mile, and he cannot be back for half-an-hour.
Come, Dora."
She took his proffered arm with a view to giving, not receiving, aid,
and he hurried her along Chetwynd Street until he met the first cross
road leading north; into this he hastened, casting a quick glance
behind, and finding to his great relief that he was not followed.
After a couple of hundred yards he reduced the pace, and said: "I am
afraid, Dora, I have been going too fast for you; but I would not wish
for anything that my name should get into the newspapers in connection
with this miserable affair and place. It would be bad enough to have a
fellow's name connected with such a place as Chetwynd Street; but to
have it published that a fellow fainted there because he saw a Nigger
drop dead, would be against a fellow for life. It would be worse than
an accusation of crime--it would make a man ridiculous."
"And I wonder," said the girl, looking up quietly at him, "how my name
would look in print connected with this miserable affair and place,
and that Negro and _you?_"
He stopped short, dropped her arm, and looked at her with an
expression of alarm and apology. "Dora, Dora. I beg your pardon. I
most sincerely beg your pardon. There is something wrong with me
to-day. I never thought of that. You would not, Dora, be very much put
out if you saw your name connected with mine in print? Our engagement
is not public, but there is no reason it should not."
"Under these circumstances? I should most surely not like the
publicity of the papers. But I did not think of that until you spoke
of your own name."
He looked at her as she walked now slowly by his side. He felt cut to
the quick, and the worst of it was he experienced no resentment, was
not cheered and sustained by anger. He had allowed consideration for
his own personal risk to swallow up all consideration for everyone
else, Dora Ashton included. If a line of soldiers were drawn across
this wretched street with levelled rifles, and his moving towards them
would draw their fire into his breast, he would there and then have
marched up to them rather than that harm should touch Dora.
It was in accordance with Dora's wishes the engagement between them
had not been announced. She had views which in the main he shared and
admired. She was intensely independent. Why should the world know they
were pledged to one another? It was no affair of the world's. But to
have her name bracketed with his in newspapers and _then_ their
engagement announced, would be hideous, unbearable to her.
He would freely give his life to save her from hurt, but to be laughed
at--Oh! Any man who was half a man would rather die heroically than be
laughed at. To be the subject of amusing paragraphs in the sly evening
papers! To be ironically complimented on his nerve--Oh! To become a
by-word! To hear men at the clubs chuckle and whisper "Nigger!" and
then chuckle again and say louder some word that had nothing to do
with the matter! To be asked significantly if he felt better, and
recommended tonics and a bracing climate! Oh! To see the hall-porter
smile! To be asked by the waiter if he wished his coffee black! Oh!
Oh! Oh!
"There's a cab at the end of the street," she said.
"So there is--a four-wheeler, too." He started at her voice, and then
called the cab. "I cannot tell you how much I am ashamed of myself,
for the third time to-day," he said to her.
"Of fainting?" she asked coldly, chillily.
"I could not help that. No! Not--not of fainting. I was ashamed of the
fainting a few minutes ago. I was not thinking of that now. It was
wrong of me to faint, no doubt."
"You could not help it, you know," she said coldly still.
"I could not help it then, but I should have taken precautions against
anything of the kind by familiarizing myself with unpleasant and
trying sights. No man ought to be a----"
"Woman," she said, finishing the sentence for him with an icy laugh.
His want of consideration had exasperated her.
"Yes," he said gravely, "no man ought to be a woman."
"But which is it more like a woman, to faint at a hideous sight or run
away from a paltry unpleasantness?"
His face grew very dark. He did not answer.
At this moment, the four-wheeler he had called drew up. Hanbury opened
the door, and handed her in. He was about to follow when she stopped
him with a gesture. "It now occurs to me that you had better go back
and see that man who was so good to me, and whom you sent for the cab
for yourself." Her eyes were flashing angrily now.
"Why?" he asked with the door in his hand.
"Well, I just recollect that I gave him your name and my own. You had
better see him if you want to keep our names out of the papers. Drive
on."