Produced by David Clarke, Katie Hernandez and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
THE BLACK POODLE
&c.
[Illustration: 'IT'S MY BINGO, FOR ALL THAT!']
THE BLACK POODLE
_AND OTHER TALES_
BY
F. ANSTEY
AUTHOR OF 'VICE VERSA' ETC.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
72 FIFTH AVENUE.
1896.
PREFACE.
The Author begs to state that the stories which are collected in this
volume made their first appearance in 'Belgravia,' the 'Cornhill
Magazine,' the 'Graphic,' 'Longman's Magazine,' 'Mirth,' and 'Temple
Bar,' respectively, and he takes this opportunity of expressing his
thanks to those Editors to whose courtesy he is indebted for permission
to reprint them.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE BLACK POODLE 1
THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE 46
THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON 69
THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM 93
A TOY TRAGEDY 115
AN UNDERGRADUATE'S AUNT 149
THE SIREN 168
THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES 182
A FAREWELL APPEARANCE 232
ACCOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE 256
_THE BLACK POODLE._
[Illustration: I]
I have set myself the task of relating in the course of this story,
without suppressing or altering a single detail, the most painful and
humiliating episode in my life.
I do this, not because it will give me the least pleasure, but simply
because it affords me an opportunity of extenuating myself which has
hitherto been wholly denied to me.
As a general rule I am quite aware that to publish a lengthy explanation
of one's conduct in any questionable transaction is not the best means
of recovering a lost reputation; but in my own case there is one to whom
I shall never more be permitted to justify myself by word of mouth--even
if I found myself able to attempt it. And as she could not possibly
think worse of me than she does at present, I write this, knowing it can
do me no harm, and faintly hoping that it may come to her notice and
suggest a doubt whether I am quite so unscrupulous a villain, so
consummate a hypocrite, as I have been forced to appear in her eyes.
The bare chance of such a result makes me perfectly indifferent to all
else: I cheerfully expose to the derision of the whole reading world the
story of my weakness and my shame, since by doing so I may possibly
rehabilitate myself somewhat in the good opinion of one person.
Having said so much, I will begin my confession without further delay:--
My name is Algernon Weatherhead, and I may add that I am in one of the
Government departments; that I am an only son, and live at home with my
mother.
We had had a house at Hammersmith until just before the period covered
by this history, when, our lease expiring, my mother decided that my
health required country air at the close of the day, and so we took a
'desirable villa residence' on one of the many new building estates
which have lately sprung up in such profusion in the home counties.
We have called it 'Wistaria Villa.' It is a pretty little place, the
last of a row of detached villas, each with its tiny rustic carriage
gate and gravel sweep in front, and lawn enough for a tennis court
behind, which lines the road leading over the hill to the railway
station.
I could certainly have wished that our landlord, shortly after giving us
the agreement, could have found some other place to hang himself in than
one of our attics, for the consequence was that a housemaid left us in
violent hysterics about every two months, having learnt the tragedy from
the tradespeople, and naturally 'seen a somethink' immediately
afterwards.
Still it is a pleasant house, and I can now almost forgive the landlord
for what I shall always consider an act of gross selfishness on his
part.
In the country, even so near town, a next-door neighbour is something
more than a mere numeral; he is a possible acquaintance, who will at
least consider a new-comer as worth the experiment of a call. I soon
knew that 'Shuturgarden,' the next house to our own, was occupied by a
Colonel Currie, a retired Indian officer; and often, as across the low
boundary wall I caught a glimpse of a graceful girlish figure flitting
about amongst the rose-bushes in the neighbouring garden, I would lose
myself in pleasant anticipations of a time not far distant when the
wall which separated us would be (metaphorically) levelled.
I remember--ah, how vividly!--the thrill of excitement with which I
heard from my mother on returning from town one evening that the Curries
had called, and seemed disposed to be all that was neighbourly and kind.
I remember, too, the Sunday afternoon on which I returned their
call--alone, as my mother had already done so during the week. I was
standing on the steps of the Colonel's villa waiting for the door to
open when I was startled by a furious snarling and yapping behind, and,
looking round, discovered a large poodle in the act of making for my
legs.
He was a coal-black poodle, with half of his right ear gone, and absurd
little thick moustaches at the end of his nose; he was shaved in the
sham-lion fashion, which is considered, for some mysterious reason, to
improve a poodle, but the barber had left sundry little tufts of hair
which studded his haunches capriciously.
I could not help being reminded, as I looked at him, of another black
poodle which Faust entertained for a short time, with unhappy results,
and I thought that a very moderate degree of incantation would be enough
to bring the fiend out of this brute.
He made me intensely uncomfortable, for I am of a slightly nervous
temperament, with a constitutional horror of dogs and a liability to
attacks of diffidence on performing the ordinary social rites under the
most favourable conditions, and certainly the consciousness that a
strange and apparently savage dog was engaged in worrying the heels of
my boots was the reverse of reassuring.
The Currie family received me with all possible kindness: 'So charmed to
make your acquaintance, Mr. Weatherhead,' said Mrs. Currie, as I shook
hands. 'I see,' she added pleasantly, 'you've brought the doggie in with
you.' As a matter of fact, I had brought the doggie in at the ends of my
coat-tails, but it was evidently no unusual occurrence for visitors to
appear in this undignified manner, for she detached him quite as a
matter of course, and, as soon as I was sufficiently collected, we fell
into conversation.
I discovered that the Colonel and his wife were childless, and the
slender willowy figure I had seen across the garden wall was that of
Lilian Roseblade, their niece and adopted daughter. She came into the
room shortly afterwards, and I felt, as I went through the form of an
introduction, that her sweet fresh face, shaded by soft masses of dusky
brown hair, more than justified all the dreamy hopes and fancies with
which I had looked forward to that moment.
She talked to me in a pretty, confidential, appealing way, which I have
heard her dearest friends censure as childish and affected, but I
thought then that her manner had an indescribable charm and fascination
about it, and the memory of it makes my heart ache now with a pang that
is not all pain.
Even before the Colonel made his appearance I had begun to see that my
enemy, the poodle, occupied an exceptional position in that household.
It was abundantly clear by the time I took my leave.
He seemed to be the centre of their domestic system, and even lovely
Lilian revolved contentedly around him as a kind of satellite; he could
do no wrong in his owner's eyes, his prejudices (and he was a
narrow-minded animal) were rigorously respected, and all domestic
arrangements were made with a primary view to his convenience.
I may be wrong, but I cannot think that it is wise to put any poodle
upon such a pedestal as that. How this one in particular, as ordinary a
quadruped as ever breathed, had contrived to impose thus upon his
infatuated proprietors, I never could understand, but so it was--he even
engrossed the chief part of the conversation, which after any lull
seemed to veer round to him by a sort of natural law.
I had to endure a long biographical sketch of him--what a Society paper
would call an 'anecdotal photo'--and each fresh anecdote seemed to me to
exhibit the depraved malignity of the beast in a more glaring light, and
render the doting admiration of the family more astounding than ever.
'Did you tell Mr. Weatherhead, Lily, about Bingo' (Bingo was the
poodle's preposterous name) 'and Tacks? No? Oh, I _must_ tell him
that--it'll make him laugh. Tacks is our gardener down in the village
(d'ye know Tacks?). Well, Tacks was up here the other day, nailing up
some trellis-work at the top of a ladder, and all the time there was
Master Bingo sitting quietly at the foot of it looking on, wouldn't
leave it on any account. Tacks said he was quite company for him. Well,
at last, when Tacks had finished and was coming down, what do you think
that rascal there did? Just sneaked quietly up behind and nipped him in
both calves and ran off. Been looking out for that the whole time! Ha,
ha!--deep that, eh?'
I agreed with an inward shudder that it was very deep, thinking
privately that, if this was a specimen of Bingo's usual treatment of the
natives, it would be odd if he did not find himself deeper still
before--probably _just_ before--he died.
'Poor faithful old doggie!' murmured Mrs. Currie; 'he thought Tacks was
a nasty burglar, didn't he? he wasn't going to see Master robbed, was
he?'
'Capital house-dog, sir,' struck in the Colonel. 'Gad, I shall never
forget how he made poor Heavisides run for it the other day! Ever met
Heavisides of the Bombay Fusiliers? Well, Heavisides was staying here,
and the dog met him one morning as he was coming down from the
bath-room. Didn't recognise him in "pyjamas" and a dressing-gown, of
course, and made at him. He kept poor old Heavisides outside the landing
window on the top of the cistern for a quarter of an hour, till I had to
come and raise the siege!'
Such were the stories of that abandoned dog's blunderheaded ferocity to
which I was forced to listen, while all the time the brute sat opposite
me on the hearthrug, blinking at me from under his shaggy mane with his
evil bleared eyes, and deliberating where he would have me when I rose
to go.
This was the beginning of an intimacy which soon displaced all ceremony.
It was very pleasant to go in there after dinner, even to sit with the
Colonel over his claret and hear more stories about Bingo, for
afterwards I could go into the pretty drawing-room and take my tea from
Lilian's hands, and listen while she played Schubert to us in the summer
twilight.
The poodle was always in the way, to be sure, but even his ugly black
head seemed to lose some of its ugliness and ferocity when Lilian laid
her pretty hand on it.
On the whole I think that the Currie family were well disposed towards
me; the Colonel considering me as a harmless specimen of the average
eligible young man--which I certainly was--and Mrs. Currie showing me
favour for my mother's sake, for whom she had taken a strong liking.
As for Lilian, I believed I saw that she soon suspected the state of my
feelings towards her and was not displeased by it. I looked forward with
some hopefulness to a day when I could declare myself with no fear of a
repulse.
But it was a serious obstacle in my path that I could not secure Bingo's
good opinion on any terms. The family would often lament this
pathetically themselves. 'You see,' Mrs. Currie would observe in
apology, 'Bingo is a dog that does not attach himself easily to
strangers'--though for that matter I thought he was unpleasantly ready
to attach himself to _me_.
I did try hard to conciliate him. I brought him propitiatory buns--which
was weak and ineffectual, as he ate them with avidity, and hated me as
bitterly as ever, for he had conceived from the first a profound
contempt for me and a distrust which no blandishments of mine could
remove. Looking back now, I am inclined to think it was a prophetic
instinct that warned him of what was to come upon him through my
instrumentality.
Only his approbation was wanting to establish for me a firm footing with
the Curries, and perhaps determine Lilian's wavering heart in my
direction; but, though I wooed that inflexible poodle with an assiduity
I blush to remember, he remained obstinately firm.
Still, day by day, Lilian's treatment of me was more encouraging; day by
day I gained in the esteem of her uncle and aunt; I began to hope that
soon I should be able to disregard canine influence altogether.
Now there was one inconvenience about our villa (besides its flavour of
suicide) which it is necessary to mention here. By common consent all
the cats of the neighbourhood had selected our garden for their evening
reunions. I fancy that a tortoiseshell kitchen cat of ours must have
been a sort of leader of local feline society--I know she was 'at home,'
with music and recitations, on most evenings.
My poor mother found this interfered with her after-dinner nap, and no
wonder, for if a cohort of ghosts had been 'shrieking and squealing,' as
Calpurnia puts it, in our back garden, or it had been fitted up as a
_creche_ for a nursery of goblin infants in the agonies of teething, the
noise could not possibly have been more unearthly.
We sought for some means of getting rid of the nuisance: there was
poison of course, but we thought it would have an invidious appearance,
and even lead to legal difficulties, if each dawn were to discover an
assortment of cats expiring in hideous convulsions in various parts of
the same garden.
Firearms, too, were open to objection, and would scarcely assist my
mother's slumbers, so for some time we were at a loss for a remedy. At
last, one day, walking down the Strand, I chanced to see (in an evil
hour) what struck me as the very thing--it was an air-gun of superior
construction displayed in a gunsmith's window. I went in at once,
purchased it, and took it home in triumph; it would be noiseless, and
would reduce the local average of cats without scandal--one or two
examples, and feline fashion would soon migrate to a more secluded spot.
I lost no time in putting this to the proof. That same evening I lay in
wait after dusk at the study window, protecting my mother's repose. As
soon as I heard the long-drawn wail, the preliminary sputter, and the
wild stampede that followed, I let fly in the direction of the sound. I
suppose I must have something of the national sporting instinct in me,
for my blood was tingling with excitement; but the feline constitution
assimilates lead without serious inconvenience, and I began to fear that
no trophy would remain to bear witness to my marksmanship.
But all at once I made out a dark indistinct form slinking in from
behind the bushes. I waited till it crossed a belt of light which
streamed from the back kitchen below me, and then I took careful aim and
pulled the trigger.
This time at least I had not failed--there was a smothered yell, a
rustle--and then silence again. I ran out with the calm pride of a
successful revenge to bring in the body of my victim, and I found
underneath a laurel, no predatory tom-cat, but (as the discerning reader
will no doubt have foreseen long since) the quivering carcase of the
Colonel's black poodle!
I intend to set down here the exact unvarnished truth, and I confess
that at first, when I knew what I had done, I was _not_ sorry. I was
quite innocent of any intention of doing it, but I felt no regret. I
even laughed--madman that I was--at the thought that there was the end
of Bingo at all events; that impediment was removed, my weary task of
conciliation was over for ever!
But soon the reaction came; I realised the tremendous nature of my deed,
and shuddered. I had done that which might banish me from Lilian's side
for ever! All unwittingly I had slaughtered a kind of sacred beast, the
animal around which the Currie household had wreathed their choicest
affections! How was I to break it to them? Should I send Bingo in with a
card tied to his neck and my regrets and compliments? That was too much
like a present of game. Ought I not to carry him in myself? I would
wreathe him in the best crape, I would put on black for him--the Curries
would hardly consider a taper and a white sheet, or sackcloth and ashes,
an excessive form of atonement--but I could not grovel to quite such an
abject extent.
I wondered what the Colonel would say. Simple and hearty as a general
rule, he had a hot temper on occasions, and it made me ill as I thought,
would he and, worse still, would _Lilian_ believe it was really an
accident? They knew what an interest I had in silencing the deceased
poodle--would they believe the simple truth?
I vowed that they _should_ believe me. My genuine remorse and the
absence of all concealment on my part would speak powerfully for me. I
would choose a favourable time for my confession; that very evening I
would tell all.
Still I shrank from the duty before me, and as I knelt down sorrowfully
by the dead form and respectfully composed his stiffening limbs, I
thought that it was unjust of Fate to place a well-meaning man, whose
nerves were not of iron, in such a position.
Then, to my horror, I heard a well-known ringing tramp on the road
outside, and smelt the peculiar fragrance of a Burmese cheroot. It was
the Colonel himself, who had been taking out the doomed Bingo for his
usual evening run.
I don't know how it was exactly, but a sudden panic came over me. I held
my breath, and tried to crouch down unseen behind the laurels; but he
had seen me, and came over at once to speak to me across the hedge.
He stood there, not two yards from his favourite's body! Fortunately it
was unusually dark that evening.
'Ha, there you are, eh?' he began heartily; 'don't rise, my boy, don't
rise.' I was trying to put myself in front of the poodle, and did not
rise--at least, only my hair did.
'You're out late, ain't you?' he went on; 'laying out your garden, hey?'
I could not tell him that I was laying out his poodle! My voice shook
as, with a guilty confusion that was veiled by the dusk, I said it was a
fine evening--which it was not.
'Cloudy, sir,' said the Colonel, 'cloudy--rain before morning, I think.
By the way, have you seen anything of my Bingo in here?'
This was the turning point. What I _ought_ to have done was to say
mournfully, 'Yes, I'm sorry to say I've had a most unfortunate accident
with him--here he is--the fact is, I'm afraid I've _shot_ him!'
But I couldn't. I could have told him at my own time, in a prepared form
of words--but not then. I felt I must use all my wits to gain time and
fence with the questions.
'Why,' I said with a leaden airiness, 'he hasn't given you the slip, has
he?'
'Never did such a thing in his life!' said the Colonel, warmly; 'he
rushed off after a rat or a frog or something a few minutes ago, and as
I stopped to light another cheroot I lost sight of him. I thought I saw
him slip in under your gate, but I've been calling him from the front
there and he won't come out.'
No, and he never _would_ come out any more. But the Colonel must not be
told that just yet. I temporised again: 'If,' I said unsteadily, 'if he
had slipped in under the gate, I should have seen him. Perhaps he took
it into his head to run home?'
'Oh, I shall find him on the doorstep, I expect, the knowing old scamp!
Why, what d'ye think was the last thing he did, now?'
I could have given him the very latest intelligence; but I dared not.
However, it was altogether too ghastly to kneel there and laugh at
anecdotes of Bingo told across Bingo's dead body; I could not stand
that! 'Listen,' I said suddenly, 'wasn't that his bark? There again; it
seems to come from the front of your house, don't you think?'
'Well,' said the Colonel, 'I'll go and fasten him up before he's off
again. How your teeth are chattering--you've caught a chill, man--go
indoors at once and, if you feel equal to it, look in half an hour later
about grog time, and I'll tell you all about it. Compliments to your
mother. Don't forget--about grog time!' I had got rid of him at last,
and I wiped my forehead, gasping with relief. I would go round in half
an hour, and then I should be prepared to make my melancholy
announcement. For, even then, I never thought of any other course, until
suddenly it flashed upon me with terrible clearness that my miserable
shuffling by the hedge had made it impossible to tell the truth! I had
not told a direct lie, to be sure, but then I had given the Colonel the
impression that I had denied having seen the dog. Many people can
appease their consciences by reflecting that, whatever may be the
effect their words produce, they did contrive to steer clear of a
downright lie. I never quite knew where the distinction lay, morally,
but there _is_ that feeling--I have it myself.
Unfortunately, prevarication has this drawback, that, if ever the truth
comes to light, the prevaricator is in just the same case as if he had
lied to the most shameless extent, and for a man to point out that the
words he used contained no absolute falsehood will seldom restore
confidence.
I might of course still tell the Colonel of my misfortune, and leave him
to infer that it had happened after our interview, but the poodle was
fast becoming cold and stiff, and they would most probably suspect the
real time of the occurrence.
And then Lilian would hear that I had told a string of falsehoods to her
uncle over the dead body of their idolised Bingo--an act, no doubt, of
abominable desecration, of unspeakable profanity in her eyes!
If it would have been difficult before to prevail on her to accept a
bloodstained hand, it would be impossible after that. No, I had burnt my
ships, I was cut off for ever from the straightforward course; that one
moment of indecision had decided my conduct in spite of me--I must go on
with it now and keep up the deception at all hazards.
It was bitter. I had always tried to preserve as many of the moral
principles which had been instilled into me as can be conveniently
retained in this grasping world, and it had been my pride that, roughly
speaking, I had never been guilty of an unmistakable falsehood.
But henceforth, if I meant to win Lilian, that boast must be
relinquished for ever! I should have to lie now with all my might,
without limit or scruple, to dissemble incessantly, and 'wear a mask,'
as the poet Bunn beautifully expressed it long ago, 'over my hollow
heart.' I felt all this keenly--I did not think it was right--but what
was I to do?
After thinking all this out very carefully, I decided that my only
course was to bury the poor animal where he fell and say nothing about
it. With some vague idea of precaution I first took off the silver
collar he wore, and then hastily interred him with a garden-trowel and
succeeded in removing all traces of the disaster.
I fancy I felt a certain relief in the knowledge that there would now be
no necessity to tell my pitiful story and risk the loss of my
neighbours' esteem.
By-and-by, I thought, I would plant a rose-tree over his remains, and
some day, as Lilian and I, in the noontide of our domestic bliss, stood
before it admiring its creamy luxuriance, I might (perhaps) find courage
to confess that the tree owed some of that luxuriance to the long-lost
Bingo.
There was a touch of poetry in this idea that lightened my gloom for the
moment.
I need scarcely say that I did not go round to Shuturgarden that
evening. I was not hardened enough for that yet--my manner might betray
me, and so I very prudently stayed at home.
But that night my sleep was broken by frightful dreams. I was
perpetually trying to bury a great gaunt poodle, which would persist in
rising up through the damp mould as fast as I covered him up.... Lilian
and I were engaged, and we were in church together on Sunday, and the
poodle, resisting all attempts to eject him, forbade our banns with
sepulchral barks.... It was our wedding-day, and at the critical moment
the poodle leaped between us and swallowed the ring.... Or we were at
the wedding-breakfast, and Bingo, a grizzly black skeleton with flaming
eyes, sat on the cake and would not allow Lilian to cut it. Even the
rose-tree fancy was reproduced in a distorted form--the tree grew, and
every blossom contained a miniature Bingo, which barked; and as I woke I
was desperately trying to persuade the Colonel that they were ordinary
dog-roses.
I went up to the office next day with my gloomy secret gnawing my bosom,
and, whatever I did, the spectre of the murdered poodle rose before me.
For two days after that I dared not go near the Curries, until at last
one evening after dinner I forced myself to call, feeling that it was
really not safe to keep away any longer.
My conscience smote me as I went in. I put on an unconscious easy
manner, which was such a dismal failure that it was lucky for me that
they were too much engrossed to notice it.
I never before saw a family so stricken down by a domestic misfortune as
the group I found in the drawing-room, making a dejected pretence of
reading or working. We talked at first--and hollow talk it was--on
indifferent subjects, till I could bear it no longer, and plunged boldly
into danger.
'I don't see the dog,' I began. 'I suppose you--you found him all right
the other evening, Colonel?' I wondered as I spoke whether they would
not notice the break in my voice, but they did not.
'Why, the fact is,' said the Colonel, heavily, gnawing his grey
moustache, 'we've not heard anything of him since: he's--he's run off!'
'Gone, Mr. Weatherhead; gone without a word!' said Mrs. Currie,
plaintively, as if she thought the dog might at least have left an
address.
'I wouldn't have believed it of him,' said the Colonel; 'it has
completely knocked me over. Haven't been so cut up for years--the
ungrateful rascal!'
'Oh, Uncle!' pleaded Lilian, 'don't talk like that; perhaps Bingo
couldn't help it--perhaps some one has s-s-shot him!'
'Shot!' cried the Colonel, angrily. 'By heaven! if I thought there was a
villain on earth capable of shooting that poor inoffensive dog,
I'd----Why _should_ they shoot him, Lilian? Tell me that! I--I hope you
won't let me hear you talk like that again. _You_ don't think he's shot,
eh, Weatherhead?'
I said--Heaven forgive me!--that I thought it highly improbable.
'He's not dead!' cried Mrs. Currie. 'If he were dead I should know it
somehow--I'm sure I should! But I'm certain he's alive. Only last night
I had such a beautiful dream about him. I thought he came back to us,
Mr. Weatherhead, driving up in a hansom cab, and he was just the same as
ever--only he wore blue spectacles, and the shaved part of him was
painted a bright red. And I woke up with the joy--so, you know, it's
sure to come true!'
It will be easily understood what torture conversations like these were
to me, and how I hated myself as I sympathised and spoke encouraging
words concerning the dog's recovery, when I knew all the time he was
lying hid under my garden mould. But I took it as a part of my
punishment, and bore it all uncomplainingly; practice even made me an
adept in the art of consolation--I believe I really was a great comfort
to them.
I had hoped that they would soon get over the first bitterness of their
loss, and that Bingo would be first replaced and then forgotten in the
usual way; but there seemed no signs of this coming to pass.
The poor Colonel was too plainly fretting himself ill about it; he went
pottering about forlornly--advertising, searching, and seeing people,
but all of course to no purpose, and it told upon him. He was more like
a man whose only son and heir had been stolen, than an Anglo-Indian
officer who had lost a poodle. I had to affect the liveliest interest in
all his inquiries and expeditions, and to listen to, and echo, the most
extravagant eulogies of the departed, and the wear and tear of so much
duplicity made me at last almost as ill as the Colonel himself.
I could not help seeing that Lilian was not nearly so much impressed by
my elaborate concern as her relatives; and sometimes I detected an
incredulous look in her frank brown eyes that made me very uneasy.
Little by little, a rift widened between us, until at last in despair I
determined to know the worst before the time came when it would be
hopeless to speak at all. I chose a Sunday evening as we were walking
across the green from church in the golden dusk, and then I ventured to
speak to her of my love. She heard me to the end, and was evidently very
much agitated. At last she murmured that it could not be, unless--no, it
never could be now.
'Unless what?' I asked. 'Lilian--Miss Roseblade, something has come
between us lately: you will tell me what that something is, won't you?'
'Do you want to know _really_?' she said, looking up at me through her
tears. 'Then I'll tell you: it--it's Bingo!'
I started back overwhelmed. Did she know all? If not, how much did she
suspect? I must find out that at once! 'What about Bingo?' I managed to
pronounce, with a dry tongue.
'You never l-loved him when he was here,' she sobbed; 'you know you
didn't!'
I was relieved to find it was no worse than this.
'No,' I said candidly; 'I did not love Bingo. Bingo didn't love _me_,
Lilian; he was always looking out for a chance of nipping me somewhere.
Surely you won't quarrel with me for that!'
'Not for that,' she said; 'only, why do you pretend to be so fond of him
now, and so anxious to get him back again? Uncle John believes you, but
_I_ don't. I can see quite well that you wouldn't be glad to find him.
You could find him easily if you wanted to!'
'What do you mean, Lilian?' I said hoarsely. '_How_ could I find him?'
Again I feared the worst.
'You're in a Government office,' cried Lilian and if you only chose, you
could easily g-get G-Government to find Bingo! What's the use of
Government if it can't do that? Mr. Travers would have found him long
ago if I'd asked him!'
Lilian had never been so childishly unreasonable as this before, and yet
I loved her more madly than ever; but I did not like this allusion to
Travers, a rising barrister, who lived with his sister in a pretty
cottage near the station, and had shown symptoms of being attracted by
Lilian.
He was away on circuit just then, luckily, but at least even he would
have found it a hard task to find Bingo--there was comfort in that.
'You know that isn't just, Lilian,' I observed 'But only tell me what
you want me to do?'
'Bub--bub--bring back Bingo!' she said.
'Bring back Bingo!' I cried in horror. 'But suppose I _can't_--suppose
he's out of the country, or--dead, what then, Lilian?'
'I can't help it,' she said; 'but I don't believe he _is_ out of the
country or dead. And while I see you pretending to Uncle that you cared
awfully about him, and going on doing nothing at all, it makes me think
you're not quite--quite _sincere_! And I couldn't possibly marry any one
while I thought that of him. And I shall always have that feeling unless
you find Bingo!'
It was of no use to argue with her; I knew Lilian by that time. With her
pretty caressing manner she united a latent obstinacy which it was
hopeless to attempt to shake. I feared, too, that she was not quite
certain as yet whether she cared for me or not, and that this condition
of hers was an expedient to gain time.
I left her with a heavy heart. Unless I proved my worth by bringing back
Bingo within a very short time, Travers would probably have everything
his own way. And Bingo was dead!
However, I took heart. I thought that perhaps if I could succeed by my
earnest efforts in persuading Lilian that I really was doing all in my
power to recover the poodle, she might relent in time, and dispense with
his actual production.
So, partly with this object, and partly to appease the remorse which now
revived and stung me deeper than before, I undertook long and weary
pilgrimages after office hours. I spent many pounds in advertisements; I
interviewed dogs of every size, colour, and breed, and of course I took
care to keep Lilian informed of each successive failure. But still her
heart was not touched; she was firm. If I went on like that, she told
me, I was certain to find Bingo one day--then, but not before, would her
doubts be set at rest.
I was walking one day through the somewhat squalid district which lies
between Bow Street and High Holborn, when I saw, in a small theatrical
costumier's window, a handbill stating that a black poodle had 'followed
a gentleman' on a certain date, and if not claimed and the finder
remunerated before a stated time, would be sold to pay expenses.
I went in and got a copy of the bill to show Lilian, and although by
that time I scarcely dared to look a poodle in the face, I thought I
would go to the address given and see the animal, simply to be able to
tell Lilian I had done so.
The gentleman whom the dog had very unaccountably followed was a certain
Mr. William Blagg, who kept a little shop near Endell Street, and called
himself a bird-fancier, though I should scarcely have credited him with
the necessary imagination. He was an evil-browed ruffian in a fur cap,
with a broad broken nose and little shifty red eyes, and after I had
told him what I wanted, he took me through a horrible little den,
stacked with piles of wooden, wire, and wicker prisons, each quivering
with restless, twittering life, and then out into a back yard, in which
were two or three rotten old kennels and tubs. 'That there's him,' he
said, jerking his thumb to the farthest tub; 'follered me all the way
'ome from Kinsington Gardings, _he_ did. Kim out, will yer?'
And out of the tub there crawled slowly, with a snuffling whimper and a
rattling of its chain, the identical dog I had slain a few evenings
before!
At least, so I thought for a moment, and felt as if I had seen a
spectre; the resemblance was so exact--in size, in every detail, even to
the little clumps of hair about the hind parts, even to the lop of half
an ear, this dog might have been the 'doppel-gaenger' of the deceased
Bingo. I suppose, after all, one black poodle is very like any other
black poodle of the same size, but the likeness startled me.
I think it was then that the idea occurred to me that here was a
miraculous chance of securing the sweetest girl in the whole world, and
at the same time atoning for my wrong by bringing back gladness with me
to Shuturgarden. It only needed a little boldness; one last deception,
and I could embrace truthfulness once more.
Almost unconsciously, when my guide turned round and asked,' Is that
there dawg yourn?' I said hurriedly, 'Yes, yes--that's the dog I want,
that--that's Bingo!'
'He don't seem to be a puttin' of 'isself out about seeing you again,'
observed Mr. Blagg, as the poodle studied me with a calm interest.
'Oh, he's not exactly _my_ dog, you see,' I said; 'he belongs to a
friend of mine!'
He gave me a quick furtive glance. 'Then maybe you're mistook about
him,' he said: 'and I can't run no risks. I was a goin' down in the
country this 'ere werry evenin' to see a party as lives at Wistaria
Willa,--he's been a hadwertisin' about a black poodle, _he_ has!'
'But look here,' I said, 'that's _me_.'
He gave me a curious leer. 'No offence, you know, guv'nor,' he said,
'but I should wish for some evidence as to that afore I part with a
vallyable dawg like this 'ere!'
'Well,' I said, 'here's one of my cards; will that do for you?'
He took it and spelt it out with a pretence of great caution, but I saw
well enough that the old scoundrel suspected that if I had lost a dog at
all, it was not this particular dog. 'Ah,' he said, as he put it in his
pocket, 'if I part with him to you, I must be cleared of all risks. I
can't afford to get into trouble about no mistakes. Unless you likes to
leave him for a day or two, you must pay accordin', you see.'
I wanted to get the hateful business over as soon as possible. I did not
care what I paid--Lilian was worth all the expense! I said I had no
doubt myself as to the real ownership of the animal, but I would give
him any sum in reason, and would remove the dog at once.
And so we settled it. I paid him an extortionate sum, and came away with
a duplicate poodle, a canine counterfeit which I hoped to pass off at
Shuturgarden as the long-lost Bingo.
I know it was wrong--it even came unpleasantly near dog-stealing--but I
was a desperate man. I saw Lilian gradually slipping away from me, I
knew that nothing short of this could ever recall her, I was sorely
tempted, I had gone far on the same road already, it was the old story
of being hung for a sheep. And so I fell.
Surely some who read this will be generous enough to consider the
peculiar state of the case, and mingle a little pity with their
contempt.
I was dining in town that evening and took my purchase home by a late
train; his demeanour was grave and intensely respectable; he was not the
animal to commit himself by any flagrant indiscretion--he was gentle and
tractable, too, and in all respects an agreeable contrast in character
to the original. Still, it may have been the after-dinner workings of
conscience, but I could not help fancying that I saw a certain look in
the creature's eyes, as if he were aware that he was required to
connive at a fraud, and rather resented it.
If he would only be good enough to back me up! Fortunately, however, he
was such a perfect facsimile of the outward Bingo, that the risk of
detection was really inconsiderable.
When I got him home, I put Bingo's silver collar round his
neck--congratulating myself on my forethought in preserving it, and took
him in to see my mother. She accepted him as what he seemed, without the
slightest misgiving; but this, though it encouraged me to go on, was not
decisive, the spurious poodle would have to encounter the scrutiny of
those who knew every tuft on the genuine animal's body!
Nothing would have induced me to undergo such an ordeal as that of
personally restoring him to the Curries. We gave him supper, and tied
him up on the lawn, where he howled dolefully all night, and buried
bones.
The next morning I wrote a note to Mrs. Currie, expressing my pleasure
at being able to restore the lost one, and another to Lilian, containing
only the words, 'Will you believe _now_ that I am sincere?' Then I tied
both round the poodle's neck and dropped him over the wall into the
Colonel's garden just before I started to catch my train to town.
* * * * *
I had an anxious walk home from the station that evening; I went round
by the longer way, trembling the whole time lest I should meet any of
the Currie household, to which I felt myself entirely unequal just then.
I could not rest until I knew whether my fraud had succeeded, or if the
poodle to which I had entrusted my fate had basely betrayed me; but my
suspense was happily ended as soon as I entered my mother's room. 'You
can't think how delighted those poor Curries were to see Bingo
again,'she said at once; 'and they said such charming things about you,
Algy--Lilian, particularly--quite affected she seemed, poor child! And
they wanted you to go round and dine there and be thanked to-night, but
at last I persuaded them to come to us instead. And they're going to
bring the dog to make friends. Oh, and I met Frank Travers; he's back
from circuit again now, so I asked him in too, to meet them!'
I drew a deep breath of relief. I had played a desperate game--but I had
won! I could have wished, to be sure, that my mother had not thought of
bringing in Travers on that of all evenings--but I hoped that I could
defy him after this.
The Colonel and his people were the first to arrive; he and his wife
being so effusively grateful that they made me very uncomfortable
indeed; Lilian met me with downcast eyes, and the faintest possible
blush, but she said nothing just then. Five minutes afterwards, when she
and I were alone together in the conservatory, where I had brought her
on pretence of showing a new begonia, she laid her hand on my sleeve
and whispered, almost shyly, 'Mr. Weatherhead--Algernon! Can you ever
forgive me for being so cruel and unjust to you?' And I replied that,
upon the whole, I could.
We were not in that conservatory long, but, before we left it, beautiful
Lilian Roseblade had consented to make my life happy. When we re-entered
the drawing-room, we found Frank Travers, who had been told the story of
the recovery, and I observed his jaw fall as he glanced at our faces,
and noted the triumphant smile which I have no doubt mine wore, and the
tender dreamy look in Lilian's soft eyes. Poor Travers, I was sorry for
him, although I was not fond of him. Travers was a good type of the
rising young Common Law barrister; tall, not bad-looking, with keen dark
eyes, black whiskers, and the mobile forensic mouth, which can express
every shade of feeling, from deferential assent to cynical incredulity;
possessed, too, of an endless flow of conversation that was decidedly
agreeable, if a trifle too laboriously so, he had been a dangerous
rival. But all that was over now--he saw it himself at once, and during
dinner sank into dismal silence, gazing pathetically at Lilian, and
sighing almost obtrusively between the courses. His stream of small talk
seemed to have been cut off at the main.
'You've done a kind thing, Weatherhead,' said the Colonel. 'I can't tell
you all that dog is to me, and how I missed the poor beast. I'd quite
given up all hope of ever seeing him again, and all the time there was
Weatherhead, Mr. Travers, quietly searching all London till he found
him! I shan't forget it. It shows a really kind feeling.'
I saw by Travers's face that he was telling himself he would have found
fifty Bingos in half the time--if he had only thought of it; he smiled a
melancholy assent to all the Colonel said, and then began to study me
with an obviously depreciatory air.
'You can't think,' I heard Mrs. Currie telling my mother, 'how really
_touching_ it was to see poor dear Bingo's emotion at seeing all the old
familiar objects again! He went up and sniffed at them all in turn,
quite plainly recognising everything. And he was quite put out to find
that we had moved his favourite ottoman out of the drawing-room. But he
_is_ so penitent, too, and so ashamed of having run away; he hardly
dares to come when John calls him, and he kept under a chair in the hall
all the morning--he wouldn't come in here either, so we had to leave him
in your garden.'
'He's been sadly out of spirits all day,' said Lilian; 'he hasn't bitten
one of the tradespeople.'
'Oh, _he's_ all right, the rascal!' said the Colonel, cheerily; 'he'll
be after the cats again as well as ever in a day or two.'
'Ah, those cats!' said my poor innocent mother. 'Algy, you haven't tried
the air-gun on them again lately, have you? They're worse than ever.'
I troubled the Colonel to pass the claret; Travers laughed for the first
time. 'That's a good idea,' he said, in that carrying 'bar-mess' voice
of his; 'an air-gun for cats, ha, ha! Make good bags, eh, Weatherhead?'
I said that I did, _very_ good bags, and felt I was getting painfully
red in the face.
'Oh, Algy is an excellent shot--quite a sportsman,' said my mother. 'I
remember, oh, long ago, when we lived at Hammersmith, he had a pistol,
and he used to strew crumbs in the garden for the sparrows, and shoot at
them out of the pantry window; he frequently hit one.'
'Well,' said the Colonel, not much impressed by these sporting
reminiscences, 'don't go rolling over our Bingo by mistake, you know,
Weatherhead, my boy. Not but what you've a sort of right after
this--only don't. I wouldn't go through it all twice for anything.'
'If you really won't take any more wine,' I said hurriedly, addressing
the Colonel and Travers, 'suppose we all go out and have our coffee on
the lawn? It--it will be cooler there.' For it was getting very hot
indoors, I thought.
I left Travers to amuse the ladies--he could do no more harm now; and
taking the Colonel aside, I seized the opportunity, as we strolled up
and down the garden path, to ask his consent to Lilian's engagement to
me. He gave it cordially. 'There's not a man in England,' he said, 'that
I'd sooner see her married to after to-day. You're a quiet steady young
fellow, and you've a good kind heart. As for the money, that's neither
here nor there; Lilian won't come to you without a penny, you know. But
really, my boy, you can hardly believe what it is to my poor wife and me
to see that dog. Why, bless my soul, look at him now! What's the matter
with him, eh?'
To my unutterable horror I saw that that miserable poodle, after begging
unnoticed at the tea-table for some time, had retired to an open space
before it, where he was now industriously standing on his head.
We gathered round and examined the animal curiously, as he continued to
balance himself gravely in his abnormal position. 'Good gracious, John,'
cried Mrs. Currie, 'I never saw Bingo do such a thing before in his
life!'
'Very odd,' said the Colonel, putting up his glasses; 'never learnt that
from _me_.'
'I tell you what I fancy it is,' I suggested wildly. 'You see, he was
always a sensitive, excitable animal, and perhaps the--the sudden joy of
his return has gone to his head--_upset_ him, you know.'
They seemed disposed to accept this solution, and indeed I believe they
would have credited Bingo with every conceivable degree of sensibility;
but I felt myself that if this unhappy animal had many more of these
accomplishments I was undone, for the original Bingo had never been a
dog of parts.
'It's very odd,' said Travers, reflectively, as the dog recovered his
proper level, 'but I always thought that it was half the _right_ ear
that Bingo had lost?'
'So it is, isn't it?' said the Colonel. 'Left, eh? Well, I thought
myself it was the right.'
My heart almost stopped with terror--I had altogether forgotten that. I
hastened to set the point at rest. 'Oh, it _was_ the left,' I said
positively; 'I know it because I remember so particularly thinking how
odd it was that it _should_ be the left ear, and not the right!' I told
myself this should be positively my last lie.
'_Why_ odd?' asked Frank Travers, with his most offensive Socratic
manner.
'My dear fellow, I can't tell you,' I said impatiently; 'everything
seems odd when you come to think at all about it.'
'Algernon,' said Lilian later on, 'will you tell Aunt Mary and Mr.
Travers, and--and me, how it was you came to find Bingo? Mr. Travers is
quite anxious to hear all about it.'
I could not very well refuse; I sat down and told the story, all my own
way. I painted Blagg, perhaps, rather bigger and blacker than life, and
described an exciting scene, in which I recognised Bingo by his collar
in the streets, and claimed and bore him off then and there in spite of
all opposition.
I had the inexpressible pleasure of seeing Travers grinding his teeth
with envy as I went on, and feeling Lilian's soft, slender hand glide
silently into mine as I told my tale in the twilight.
All at once, just as I reached the climax, we heard the poodle barking
furiously at the hedge which separated my garden from the road. 'There's
a foreign-looking man staring over the hedge,' said Lilian; 'Bingo
always _did_ hate foreigners.'
There certainly was a swarthy man there, and, though I had no reason for
it then, somehow my heart died within me at the sight of him.
'Don't be alarmed, sir,' cried the Colonel, 'the dog won't bite
you--unless there's a hole in the hedge anywhere.'
The stranger took off his small straw hat with a sweep. 'Ah, I am not
afraid,' he said, and his accent proclaimed him a Frenchman, 'he is not
enrage at me. May I ask, is it pairmeet to speak wiz Misterre Vezzered?'
I felt I must deal with this person alone, for I feared the worst; and,
asking them to excuse me, I went to the hedge and faced the Frenchman
with the frightful calm of despair. He was a short, stout little man,
with blue cheeks, sparkling black eyes, and a vivacious walnut-coloured
countenance; he wore a short black alpaca coat, and a large white cravat
with an immense oval malachite brooch in the centre of it, which I
mention because I found myself staring mechanically at it during the
interview.
'My name is Weatherhead,' I began, with the bearing of a detected
pickpocket. 'Can I be of any service to you?'
'Of a great service,' he said emphatically; 'you can restore to me ze
poodle vich I see zere!'
Nemesis had called at last in the shape of a rival claimant. I staggered
for an instant; then I said, 'Oh, I think you are under a mistake--that
dog is not mine.'
'I know it,' he said; 'zere 'as been leetle mistake, so if ze dog is not
to you, you give him back to me, _hein_?'
'I tell you,' I said, 'that poodle belongs to the gentleman over there.'
And I pointed to the Colonel, seeing that it was best now to bring him
into the affair without delay.