_THE FAILURE_
"There goes the failure of the family, yet I like him, there's real grit
in him if it was brought out."
The speaker was Sir Lester Dyke, and the remark was made to his
daughter, Winifred.
"The failure" did not seem unhappy, he walked across the field with a
free and easy stride, whistling softly to himself, enjoying the beauties
of nature, taking in everything at a glance, drinking deep of the many
good things that mother earth provided for the entertainment of mankind.
To look at him seemed to give a great denial to Sir Lester's remark.
Failure was not written on his face, he was apparently an active, well
bred, strong, able bodied young man, and yet Jack Redland was a failure,
for he had done nothing to advance himself in life, and had tried his
hand at many things without success. His brothers had done well in life,
his two sisters had married rich men, and were more or less happy,
according to the lot of such people. His father left him exactly two
thousand pounds and he spent it in a year. How he had lived since that
time no one knew, but he was always well dressed and never seemed in
want of money.
As all the Redlands had done well in life, "the failure" stood out more
conspicuously. Had his many friends been questioned they would have
endorsed Sir Lester's remarks concerning him.
His family concern this story in no wise, it is with him we have to
deal. It suffices to say that his father was an old friend of Sir Lester
Dyke's, who had a small estate in Sussex and a house at Brighton.
Jack Redland was a frequent visitor at The Downs, where he was always
made welcome, despite his failures. Perhaps it was Winifred's
championship of him had much to do with her father's partiality. She was
his only child and he adored her. Sir Lester had just given Jack a few
words of advice, administered in somewhat strong doses, in the hope that
it would act as a tonic and brace him up to contemplate some decisive
line of action that would obliterate past failures. The recipient of the
tonic did not seem to be troubled by it. During the five-and-twenty
years of his life he had accepted a vast amount of advice, which could
not have been of the right sort, as it failed to produce any effect.
Advice is cheap, much cheaper than practical assistance, and, therefore,
easier to part with. Some people consider themselves born advisers, they
little know what bores they are. Jack was a difficult subject to bore,
he was a patient listener, because he never showed in any way that his
thoughts were elsewhere as his adviser rambled on in dreary discourse.
Maiden ladies of a certain age with grievances, found him sympathetic;
they thought it wonderful he possessed such a knowledge of the sex. Men
with hobbies ran them hard at Jack's expense, but he did not mind it in
the least. His temper was even, his outlook on life full of hope, and a
blind belief in his lucky star, which advanced near to the borders of
fatalism. He never doubted that he had been sent into the world to serve
some useful purpose, but what it was he had been unable, up to now, to
discover.
He did not consider himself a failure in the same light as others
regarded him. Because he had tried several things and succeeded in none
was not his fault, it was rather his misfortune, because he had not come
across the right thing; when he did he felt sure of succeeding.
His education was of the ordinary kind. He went to a good private
boarding school and when he left did not go to college, had he done so
he would have been no better off. He played cricket well, was, in fact,
much in request in the county team, he rode well, shot splendidly,
played tennis, croquet, golf, or any other game that happened to be
suggested, and Sir Lester said no fault could be found with anything he
did in the way of sport. If he succeeded in these things why not in
business? that was the question that as yet remained unanswered. He had
plenty of energy, rode hard in the hunting field, was a qualified
gentleman jockey, and had won many races. This was one source of income
which he did not despise. All this was very well in its way, but for a
young man without means it did not afford a very good prospect in life.
The Downs was within easy distance of Brighton, and Jack Redland often
walked from the famous seaside resort to Sir Lester's and back. He did
so because he liked walking, for he was never short of the choice of a
mount, any of his Brighton friends were only too willing to oblige him
when they found he improved the manners of their horses.
It was a beautiful day, towards the end of May, and the country was
resplendent in living green. Myriads of primroses clustered under the
trees, and peeped out from nooks and corners in the banks. The birds
sang joyously, heralding the coming of June, already teaching their
young how to fly, in haste to be rid of them and rear more.
As he reached the bend round by the plantation, he turned and waved his
hat to Sir Lester and Winifred, the former shook his stick at him, which
caused him to smile, the latter kissed her hand to him, which made him
look serious.
He was very fond of Winifred, and he admired her father, whose
friendship he greatly valued. He had known Winifred since she was a
little girl, now she was eighteen, and fast developing into a lovely
woman. Once he did not see her for a year or more, that was when she was
at school, in France, and when he met her he wondered at the change in
her. It was then he learned she was no longer a child and could not be
teased and have her hair pulled with impunity. She laughed at him when
he spoke to her in such a different tone, and her bantering soon put him
at his ease.
Out of sight of the house he sat down on a bank and idly pulled a
buttonhole of primroses. His thoughts were with Sir Lester and Winifred,
and he commenced to wonder whether the baronet was right when he told
him it was entirely his own fault he did not get on in the world, and
that it was high time he turned his mind and his hands to something
useful. His numerous accomplishments had, so far, been of very little
use to him. One of his sisters occasionally gave him a helping hand or
he would have been in a very bad way indeed. At first he declined to
accept money from her, but she overcame his reluctance by pointing out
that she had no children, and had more money than she cared to spend
upon herself.
"If you assure me it comes out of your private purse I will take it as a
loan," he said, "but I will not accept a copper from Harry, he's a
prig."
"He is my husband," she replied, quietly, "and you must not call him
names. He is very good to me, very liberal, and I have nothing to
grumble about. Please take the money, Jack, and when you are short again
do not be afraid to ask for more; I know you will repay it some day, if
ever I require it."
This was, however, a most unsatisfactory way of living, and he had no
desire to trespass upon her bounty. What was he to do? The answer was
difficult. He would be of no use in an office. As the manager of an
estate he might find it a congenial employment, but he doubted his
ability to succeed.
"Something is sure to turn up," he muttered, "but the right thing is a
deuced long time in coming my way."
Hearing footsteps in the lane he looked up and saw a gypsy woman, with a
basket on her arm, filled with bunches of primroses. She was young, and
not ill looking. Many of her tribe wandered about the Sussex lanes, and
he merely regarded her with ordinary interest. She saw him through the
hedge, and stopped.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Money, my child is ill," she said.
"Where is your husband?"
"I do not know, I do not care. He has left me, but I have the child. He
is in Brighton, he will die if I cannot get money, I must have it."
"I am sorry for you," he said. "Money is scarce with me, but I can let
you have a few shillings."
"God bless you, kind gentleman."
It occurred to him her story might be untrue, and he looked at her
suspiciously. She saw his glance, and with the quickness of her race
knew why he hesitated.
"I have told you the truth, my child is very ill, he is all I have in
the world."
He pushed his way through the hedge, and stood before her. She looked
into his face with sad, black eyes, in which there was no boldness.
"Here is five shillings for you, I am as badly off as yourself for
money."
She curtseyed as she accepted it, and said:
"You do not look like a poor man."
"I am; I am a failure," he said, smiling.
She shook her head.
"Your turn will come. May I look at your hand?"
He laughed again as he said:
"I have no faith in fortune telling."
"I do not wish to tell your fortune, I can read your hand if you will
let me."
He held out his hand, and for some minutes she regarded it silently.
They made a picturesque group under the budding trees, with the birds
peeping down and twittering in surprise, and the primroses glistening
all around.
"There are riches in store for you, there are dangers to be met with in
a far off land. You will live long but there are years of strife before
you. It is a good hand, the lines are true, it is not the hand of a man
who will fail when the time comes."
He was interested, although he did not believe her story.
"Then there is no luck in store for me in England?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"None until you return," she replied.
"And where must I go? To what land must I journey to gain these riches?"
"That I cannot tell, you must trust to fate."
"I am not likely to leave England."
"You will, and before long."
"You speak positively."
"I am sure of what I say."
"You are going to Brighton, it is a long walk. Go to Hassocks, that will
be nearer; here is another half-crown, you can take the train from
there."
He did not wait for her thanks, but struck out across country, he knew
his way well.
The five or six miles to Brighton were nothing to him, and he arrived
there in time for dinner.
He had modest apartments in the Old Steyne overlooking the gardens, in a
very quiet house where there were no other lodgers, and his modest
requirements were easily met.
He preferred to live at Brighton, probably because it was within easy
distance of Sir Lester Dyke's residence, and he had many opportunities
of seeing Winifred. He walked to Hove in the evening, and sat down in a
quiet spot overlooking the sea. His meeting with the gypsy woman
impressed him more than he imagined. It was curious she should be coming
down the lane as he rested there, he did not remember having met any
gypsies so near The Downs before. Sir Lester had a decided objection to
them, called them poachers, and worse names, and would have none of them
on his land, or in the lanes if he could help it. The woman seemed
superior to the majority of her class, and he believed her story about
the child.
The sound of the sea, the swish of the incoming tide influenced him and
he wondered if the woman's words would come true and that he might
possibly find riches in a foreign land. He cared very little for money
for himself, but there were possibilities attaching to the possession of
it that he cared for very much indeed. Again he saw Sir Lester shaking
his stick, and Winifred kissing her hand. The stick was to urge him on,
the kiss to call him back.
England; what ties were there to hold him here? He had never
contemplated the prospect of leaving his homeland until the gypsy woman
had spoken; he saw in her words the hand of fate, in which he placed his
trust.
The sea breeze fanned his face, the music of the waves fascinated him as
they had never done before, they called to him and he felt inclined to
place faith in their summons. The sun sank, the air grew chilly, but
still he sat on watching the lights of the fishing smacks as they
appeared, one by one, out at sea.
Surely it was time for him to bestir himself, do something to earn his
living, instead of idling along in pleasurable ease, if not affluence.
He had read of men who had gone out to far distant countries and come
back rich. They braved dangers and privations, why should not he, had he
less courage? He thought not.
He walked along the parade, still wondering if the gypsy's words would
come true. That depended upon himself, he could at any rate give them a
chance by going abroad.
By the time he reached his lodgings he had made up his mind to try his
luck elsewhere, but where?
He meant to consult Sir Lester Dyke and hear what he had to say, his
advice would at any rate be worth listening to. Then there was Winifred,
how would she take it, would it grieve her much to lose her old
playmate?
He felt the wrench on his side would be severe. The girl was more to him
than he imagined, the mere thought of leaving her had roused other
sentiments; during his absence she might marry, and on his return home
find her the mother of children. He had no right to expect anything
else, not even to ask her to wait for him, because he had no prospects
in life, no home to offer her, was not even certain of making one. Sir
Lester liked him, but would resent, and properly so, any approach to his
daughter on such a subject.
If he went abroad he must risk everything, even the chance of finding
Winifred still at home with her father on his return. Of one thing he
was certain, if he left England he would not come back a failure.