A surprise was in store for Mrs. Hulver the next morning in the shape
of a telegram from her son. He had arrived at Bangalore, and he
proposed taking three days' leave to pay his mother a visit at once.
Her head was fairly turned with delight, and she hurried off to tell
the good news to her young mistress. She thrust the telegram into
Eola's hand.
"Read it, miss. You will have to go through it two or three times
before you can take it all in; at least, I had to do so; but then I'm
flurried; and as William--that was my second--used to say: 'Flurry
never fires straight!'"
"Can we manage to put him up?" asked Eola, wondering whether she ought
to offer her pretty spare room to the young corporal.
"Quite easily, miss. A camp bed in my sitting-room will do nicely."
"Are you sure that you would not like the spare room for him----"
Mrs. Hulver interrupted her with a gesture of horror.
"A common soldier in the spare room, miss! and the room just done up,
too! No, indeed! A missionary may use it if he is a friend of the
house; but Dr. Wenaston should not stoop any lower. With the new
curtains and carpet the room is fit for the Governor himself. As
William--that was my third--used to say: 'The finest trappings in the
world don't alter the breed of a horse.' My son may look very smart in
his corporal's uniform, but for all that he's only the son of a man in
the ranks."
Eola's delicate sense of hospitality was not satisfied. With the spare
room empty she felt that the door should not be shut against an
Englishman, whose character was perfectly respectable, but whose rank
differed from her own.
"If it is inconvenient to you to have him in the sitting-room, I should
be very pleased to let him use the spare room," she said.
Mrs. Hulver drew herself up with pride. "I know my place, miss," she
replied, severely, as much as to say: "and you ought to know yours."
She continued: "Even if I could bring myself to let him use the spare
room, I should know all the time that it would not be good for him. As
William--that was my first--used to say: 'Pride is a plant that needs
neither water nor manure; it will grow fast enough by itself.' My son
William will make himself comfortable you may be sure; and his pride
will not be fostered by the camp bed, for it's a little ricketty, to
say nothing of being a bit hard. My sitting-room will be like a palace
to the boy after the barracks. I'm not sure that I ought to let him
sleep there."
"Where else could you put him?" asked Eola in wonder, for she knew the
limitations of the house.
"In a corner of the back verandah," replied Mrs. Hulver promptly. "It
would be very convenient to have him there."
"The night wind might give him fever."
"That's true, miss. As William--that was my third--used to say, when I
rated him for leaning a little too far towards his failing:
'Conveniences have their inconveniences and comforts their crosses.'
Well, you mustn't keep me here gossiping or I shan't be ready for young
William when he arrives. He's due at three o'clock this very
afternoon."
She bustled away, too full of William the second, junior, to note the
smile with which Eola received the intimation that it was she who was
detaining Mrs. Hulver.
At twelve o'clock Wenaston came in. He was earlier than usual. As a
rule he did not appear till the lunch bell rang at one. Eola seated in
the verandah looked up as she heard his step.
"Well? What's the news? How are things going?" she asked.
"Badly! very badly! Only a quarter of the boys returned this morning.
It will take a week or ten days to regain their confidence, and the
loss of time will have an effect on my results. I would not have
believed that so much feeling could have existed over the matter had I
not seen its consequences."
"Did you hear how he got home yesterday?"
"Not without accident. You know, perhaps, that he came here after
leaving college at Mrs. Hulver's invitation."
"She told me that he had lunched with her," Eola replied. "I was glad
to think that the poor fellow had had a good midday dinner. She said
that it was the first hot meal he had eaten since he left the boat at
Bombay."
"It wasn't to give him food that she asked him in. She heard through
the servants that a party of the boys were lying in wait to
rough-handle him on his way home; and this was her way of preventing
mischief."
"I wonder they dared to think of such a thing!" said Eola, with some
indignation.
"They not only thought of it but they nearly succeeded in carrying out
their design. Ananda left Mrs. Hulver's room in the afternoon, she
having made sure that the boys were tired of waiting and had dispersed.
At her advice he did not take the direct road home, but went round by a
path not often used. Near his house he was obliged to walk along the
road and as bad luck would have it, he met two of my boys--men they
might more properly be called. They rushed at him with their sticks.
He sprinted for home and escaped with a cut or two over the head."
"Of course he will prosecute the boys for assault," said Eola.
"He would do so if this were British territory; but being a native
state, he, as a Christian, has no civil rights, no standing in a court
of law. He can gain no redress; he hasn't even the power to bind them
over to keep the peace."
"Have you written to Mr. Alderbury?"
"I wrote yesterday morning, and I have just had his reply by wire. He
wants me to send Ananda to him at once. He has an opening for him and
can find him employment before long. Meanwhile he will be glad to have
him as his guest at the mission bungalow."
"You must see Ananda and tell him so; it will be a little consolation
for the poor fellow, perhaps."
"There's just my difficulty," replied Wenaston in perplexity. "It
isn't safe for him to show his face outside his father's premises."
"They are not ill-treating him inside the house, I hope," said Eola,
with sudden anxiety.
"Nothing beyond humiliating him as much as possible by giving him the
services of a sweeper, and cutting off the supplies of food. If it
goes no further I don't think any bodily harm can happen to him as long
as he stays at home."
"Mr. Alderbury must come and advise him."
"He says in his wire that he can't pay us another visit just yet. We
must do our best without him. I ought to go to Ananda's house, I
suppose, since he can't come to me."
"It won't take you long; not more than five minutes to get to the house
if you go in the car."
"It isn't the time I am thinking of but the welfare of the college and
my covenant with the Maharajah. I undertook not to meddle in any
religious matters."
Eola laid her hand on her brother's arm. "Leave it to me," she said,
"I will undertake to let Ananda know. Keep clear of the affair and get
your pupils back as quickly as you can."
"You ought not to go to Pantulu's house," he rejoined quickly, as his
eyes rested on her in doubt. "I don't know what sort of a reception
you will get. You must not run any risk of rousing unpleasantness that
I could not overlook."
"I promise you I will not run any risk nor get myself into trouble. I
can manage, I think, to have your message delivered without going
myself to Ananda's house. Will you tell me exactly what it is?"
"I have no other instructions than what are contained in the telegram.
I shall have a letter to-morrow giving me more particulars. Meanwhile
Ananda should be privately warned that he must be ready to leave not
later than to-morrow evening by the night mail."
"Shall we lend him the car?"
"There again the difficulty occurs of assistance being rendered by me
to an out-caste member of an important caste family, a member who is
under the ban of the family's displeasure. No; he had better go by
rail. The native chauffeur would sell the secret for a couple of
rupees. I can't drive him myself; I haven't the time, and it would be
risky."
"Mr. Alderbury will have to come and take Ananda away himself," said
Eola, unconsciously ready to believe that a visit was necessary.
"If so he must not do it from this house," said Wenaston decisively.
"But before anything can be settled as to ways and means, we must
communicate with Ananda and find out what his wishes are."
"The simplest way is to write a letter."
"But it would be difficult to deliver it. It would never reach his
hand."
Wenaston lunched and returned to the college. The boys were assembled
in the playing-field, and his spirits revived somewhat when he noted
that at the summons of the bell they entered the class rooms in greater
numbers than in the morning. He had an interview with the
Vice-principal before afternoon school began. At four o'clock he came
into the verandah for tea.
"Have you done anything about communicating with Ananda?" he asked of
Eola.
"Nothing beyond writing him a letter."
"Impossible to get it conveyed to him!" he exclaimed. "You mustn't go
any further with the business. I have been talking to Rama Krishna, my
Vice, and he implores me to remain strictly neutral for the sake of the
school if for nothing else. He says that if I intend to help Ananda I
may be able to do so later; but that at present I must be rigidly
neutral."
"It seems rather hard not to lend a helping hand," said Eola, whose
pity was roused. "I can't quite reconcile my conscience to a course of
total inaction. Whatever the Vice may say--and he is a heathen--we
ought not to withhold any assistance that may be in our power to give
him."
"Rama Krishna assures me again and again that I can best help Ananda by
remaining neutral. I shall only provoke the town as well as the family
to open hostilities."
"Does he show any animosity towards Ananda?"
"None whatever. His life at the English University taught him
tolerance. He recommends me to get the boys back at all costs as soon
as possible. A mission agent like Alderbury is the right person to
give the help required, and it is unfortunate that he cannot come just
now. He argues that the missionary is paid to make converts and to
help them; and the natives recognise the fact. Because he is paid to
proselytise, they are ready to tolerate more from him than from an
unpaid agent. It is equally well known that I am paid to teach and not
to proselytise. This is a country that expects nothing more from a man
than what he is paid for. Anything done in excess of the purchased
duty must have, in public opinion, some hidden motive."
"Can't people understand that your motive in helping Ananda is a
religious one?"
"No; and it seems impossible to convince them otherwise. Even the
Vice, though he knows me so well, had a suspicion that there was a
mercenary motive underlying my desire to assist Ananda. He suspected
that I was working for a reward from Alderbury or for a bribe from the
family. I think he inclined to the latter theory; but he was careful
to hide his suspicions as they were not complimentary to me."
"I hope you undeceived him."
"I pretended not to see which way his thoughts leaned. What have you
done with your letter?"
"I gave it to Mrs. Hulver. I explained the case to her, thinking she
might contrive to have it conveyed somehow to Ananda without discovery."
Wenaston rose at once. "It won't do," he said. "There must be no
communication between this house and Ananda's. I'll see Mrs. Hulver
myself and tell her my wishes. She must understand definitely what
they are."
He passed through the house towards the back verandah into which Mrs.
Hulver's room opened.
"Poor Ananda!" thought Eola. "Will he have the courage to hold out? I
am afraid my courage would melt away before such a fire of persecution
as he seems to be meeting."
Wenaston presented himself at the door of Mrs. Hulver's sitting room.
She met him with a broad smile of pleasure. Just behind her stood a
man in uniform, the mother's smile reflected on his face.
"This is William, my son, sir. He has just arrived from Bangalore.
He's the very image of his father. Stand forward and let Dr. Wenaston
look at you."
She pushed the shy awkward young soldier forward. He stood at
attention as if confronting his colonel and lifted his hand in a
military salute.
"Very glad to see you, Smith. So he is like his father is he?" he said.
"They are as like as two peas, sir, in every respect but one. My son
takes after his grandmother on my side in his complexion. He is darker
than his father, who was very fair. But as William--that was my
first--used to say if any one remarked on his being dark: 'Human blood
is all of one colour no matter what sort of a skin may cover it.'"
"I hope you had a good voyage out," said the Principal. "Sit down,
Smith, I have come to speak to your mother. Mrs. Hulver, Miss Wenaston
entrusted you with a letter to deliver to Mr. Ananda. Will you kindly
give it back to me."
Mrs. Hulver produced the letter and handed it to Wenaston, glancing at
him with a natural curiosity which brought forth an explanation.
"You learned from Miss Wenaston what this letter contained?"
"Yes, sir; it was to show Mr. Ananda a way out of his troubles. He has
got himself into rather a tight corner. As William--that was my
second--used to say: 'Think twice before you tie a knot that you can't
undo.'"
"I want you to understand my position fully, Mrs. Hulver. I am not
able, I am sorry to say, to give Mr. Ananda any protection from the
towns-people nor from his family. Assistance on my part would be
looked upon as a breaking of my covenant with the Maharajah when he
sanctioned my appointment to the college. I hope that you will be
careful not to do anything which will compromise me in this matter."
"You may rely on me, sir, for not burning my own fingers nor setting
your house on fire by meddling with other people's candles. I am sorry
for the poor young man, but after all he has brought it on himself. As
William--that was my third--used to say (he was the one who changed his
religion to marry me): 'If you sow brambles you must expect to tread on
thorns.' Mr. Ananda told me all about himself as he sat here waiting
till those young imps of budmashes had gone home. I heard in the
bazaar this morning that he had been set upon near his own house; but
he managed to get in without being much hurt."
"Yes; that was so. You pick up all the news in the market."
"Yes, sir," replied Mrs. Hulver complacently. She prided herself on
possessing an accurate knowledge of the daily events of the town and
Ramachetty was well aware that one of the roads to her favour was by
way of the gossip that was reliable. Woe betide the unfortunate
servant, however, who carried false news!
"What do they say in the town about the school?" asked Wenaston.
"That the boys will all be back by the end of the week. Don't you
worry, sir, over those little budmashes. The school is known to be the
best in the State under your superintendence. You have no need to run
after pupils. They will run after you if you bide your time. As
William--that was my third--used to say when I went into the garden to
call him in to dinner: 'No occasion for the cook to hunt up the hungry;
they won't fail to be where the food is when they're empty.'"
"Anyway I must be careful to see that nothing is done to give offence
to the parents of the boys," said Wenaston, anxious to press home his
orders.
"I understand, sir. We are to let Mr. Ananda alone. It shall be as
you wish, of course. I pity him, I'm sure; but all the same, I would
rather not be mixed up with his change of religion. It's turning out a
bigger job than he thought. As William--that was my second--used to
say: 'When a man bites off a bigger bit than he can chew, he can't look
for any assistance from other men's teeth.'"
The school bell rang and Wenaston, punctuality itself, turned away to
obey its call. Mrs. Hulver hastened to add her last word which, as
usual, was the reflected wisdom of one of the departed.
"As William--that was my third--used to say after I had scolded him for
leaning a little too far over towards his weakness: 'A stormy morning
brings a clear evening, Maria, me dear, so perhaps your breath has not
been wasted.' Everything will come right in the end if you give it
time." Then, as Wenaston hurried away, she turned to her son.
"William, you sit in the back verandah whilst I change my dress. We'll
take a walk in the town and look at the boutiques in the bazaar."
Twenty minutes later Mrs. Hulver issued from her bedroom a very
different figure from the white clothed housekeeper, who with cook and
butler behind her, went marketing in the morning. Even William,
junior, who had just come from London, was impressed by the glossy
purple silk that "stood by itself," the white lace scarf and floral
bonnet; to say nothing of the odds and ends of glittering jewellery
that adorned her ample bust.
Mother and son, in purple silk and scarlet uniform, presented a patch
of colour on the green landscape that was arresting to the most
careless eye. The sensation created in the town was considerable. It
was a kind of triumphal progress. Being fluent in the native language
she explained who the stranger was, introducing him to the merchants
sitting behind their stalls and to the few Eurasians who lived in
Chirapore.
Bopaul, sauntering along the street, was attracted by the sight of a
British soldier, and stopped to inquire his name. Mrs. Hulver hastened
to explain with maternal pride and returned the compliment by asking
about the identity of the questioner. The sun touched the horizon
before she thought of home.
"Time to be going back, William. As your father used to say: 'Keep
time as if it was your best friend, and take care you don't kill it or
waste it or lose it."