"Oh, lucky Jim!
How I envy hi-im!
Oh-h, Lucky Jim--
"Get up, old sportsman! It's time for `scoff.'" And the singer thus
breaking off from song to prose, dives his head into the tent door, and
apostrophises about six-foot-one of recumbent humanity.
"All right, Jack! A fellow isn't dead that it requires all that
infernal row to wake him," retorts Justin Spence, rather testily, for
his dreams in the heat of the blazing forenoon have been all of love and
roses, and the brusque awakening from such to the rough delights of a
prospector's camp in the wilds of sultry Mashunaland, is likely not to
supply a soothing contrast.
His partner takes no notice of the passing ill-humour save for a light
laugh, as he returns to his former occupation, the superintending and
part assisting at, a certain cooking process under the shade of a tree,
effected by a native boy and now nearly completed. A tent and a small
waggon supply the residential quarters, the latter for the "boys," who
turn in on the ground underneath it--the former for their masters. A
"scherm" of chopped boughs encloses the camp, and within this the
donkeys are safeguarded at night: a case of learning wisdom by
experience, for already two of these useful little animals have fallen a
prey to lions through being left thus unprotected. Just outside this is
a partially sunken shaft, surmounted by a rude windlass.
"What have we got for `scoff,' Jack?" says Justin Spence, yawning lazily
as he withdraws his dripping hands from the calabash wash-basin, and
saunters across to the scene of culinary operations. "Oh, Lord!" giving
a sniff or two as a vile and carrion-like effluvium strikes upon his
nostrils. "There's one of those beastly stink-ants around somewhere.
Here, Sixpence!" calling to one of a trio of Mashuna boys lounging
beneath the shade of the waggon aforesaid. "_Hamba petula_ stink-ant--
what the deuce is the word, Jack? _'Iye_, yes, that's it _Bulal'iye_.
Comprenny? Well, clear then. _Hamba_. Scoot."
A splutter of bass laughter went up from the natives at this lucid
direction, which, however, the other man soon made clear.
"Oh, never mind about the stink-ant," he said. "Why, man, it's all in
the day's work. You must get used to these little trifles, or you'll
never do any good at prospecting."
"Oh, damn prospecting! I hate it," returned Justin, stretching his
graceful length upon the ground. "Ladle out the scoff and let's fall
to. I want to have another smoke."
"Oh, Lucky Jim!
How I envy him--"
resumed Jack Skelsey, while engaged in the above occupation.
"So do I, Jack, or anybody else to whom that word `lucky' can be said to
apply--and I'm afraid whoever that is it'll never be us."
"You never can tell, old man. Luck generally strikes a chap when least
expected."
"Then now's the time for it to strike me; right now, Jack."
"Oh, I don't know we've much to grouse about, Spence. It's beastly hot
up here, and we're sweating our souls out all for nothing. But after
all, it's better than being stuck away all one's life in a musty old
office, sometimes not even seeing the blessed light of day for a week at
a time, if it happens to be foggy--a miserable jet of gas the only
substitute for yonder jolly old sun. Rather! I've tried it and you
haven't. See?"
Nobody could have looked upon that simple camp without thoroughly
agreeing with the speaker. It was hot certainly, but there were trees
which afforded a cool and pleasant shade: while around for many a mile
stretched a glorious roll of bush veldt--all green and golden in the
unclouded sunlight--and the chatter of monkeys, the cackle of the wild
guinea-fowl, the shrill crow of the bush pheasant together with the
gleam of bright-winged birds glancing overhead, bespoke that this
beautiful wilderness was redundant with life. The two men lounging
there, with bronzed races and chests, their shirtsleeves turned up from
equally bronzed wrists, looked the picture of rude health: surely if
ever there was such a thing as a free life--open--untrammelled--this was
it.
The day was Sunday, which may account for the lazy way in which we found
one at any rate of the pair, spending the morning. For they had made it
a rule to do no work on that day, not, we fear, from any particularly
religious motive, but acting on the thoroughly sound and wholesome plan
of taking one day in seven "off." A thoroughly sound and wholesome
appetite had they too. When they had done, Skelsey remarked:
"Shall we go and have a shoot?"
The other, who was tugging at a knot in the strings of his tobacco bag,
looked up quickly.
"Er--no. At least I won't go," he said rather nervously. "Er--I think
I'll ride over to Blachland's."
"All right, old chap. Let's go there instead."
This did not suit Spence at all. "Don't know whether you'd care for it,
Jack. The fact is, Blachland's away."
"I see-ee!" rejoined Skelsey, significantly. "Oh-h, l-lucky Jim! How I
envy hi-im--" he hummed.
"You know you always swear you hate talking to women," said Spence
eagerly, as though anxious to apologise for or explain his
unfriendliness. "So I thought it only fair to warn you as to what you
had to expect."
"I see-ee!" repeated the other with a laugh and a wink. "Who's this?"
shading his eyes and gazing out over the veldt. "Jonah back already?"
A native was approaching, a clothed native; in fact one of their boys.
He had been despatched to a trading store, a trifling distance of
twenty-five miles away, to procure certain supplies, and now as he
reappeared, he was bearing on his head a prodigious load.
"Now we shan't be long!" ejaculated Skelsey, "and good biz too, for the
grog was running most confoundedly low. Jonah is therefore for once a
welcome sight."
The load on being investigated was found to consist of a case of whisky
and sundry unconsidered trifles in the grocery line. When this had been
overhauled the boy, fumbling in the pockets of his greasy cord jacket,
fished out a greasier bundle all rolled up in newspaper.
"The mail, by George!" cried Skelsey. "English mail too. Here you are,
Spence. It's all for you, confound it," he added disappointedly.
"Well, that jolly blue envelope bears a striking family likeness to our
old friend the dun. Never mind, old chap, you're out of that brute's
reach anyway."
Justin was probably of the same opinion, for he looked dubiously at the
suspicious enclosure, and put it aside, beginning upon his other two
mail letters. Yet, when half through these something moved him to tear
open the other. A glance at its contents--then he started and grew
pale. What was this? His hands trembled, and a mist seemed to come
between his eyes and the paper, as he held it in front of him, striving
to master the contents. Was it real? Heavens! no! Some fool must have
been putting up a practical joke on him. It was impossible. It could
not be.
"No bad news I hope, old chap?"
His partner's voice, anxious, sympathetic, sounded quite far away.
"No--no. Oh no--not bad news," he answered unsteadily. "I'll tell you
bye-and-bye. Here, Sixpence! Hurry up and get in my horse.
_Tshetsha_--d'you hear! _Tshetsha_!"
Skelsey watched him furtively and wondered. However, he made no further
remark.
"Well, so long, Jack," said Spence, as he led forth his horse. His
partner had further observed that his hands shook during the process of
saddling up--and that he seemed in a desperate hurry to be off. "I'll
be back to-night, but after dark, I expect."
"No, you won't," thought Skelsey to himself. "Spence _is_ making a
bally fool of himself in that quarter. There'll be a gorgeous bust-up
one of these days." Then aloud:
"So long, Spence. Remember me to the beautiful Mrs B."
"No more of this life," thought Spence to himself as he rode along. A
very different one now threw wide its alluring portals before him. He
would leave all his share in the joint outfit to Jack Skelsey. He was a
good fellow was Jack--
"Oh, l-lucky Jim!
How I envy hi-im--"
Justin laughed aloud, lightheartedly, gleefully, as his chum's favourite
song arose fainter and fainter behind him. And then his chum's strange
prediction, uttered scarcely half an hour ago, recurred to his mind.
"`Luck generally strikes a man when least expected!' By Jove! Jack was
right."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
We have said that Blachland had undergone a stormy time of it
domestically, by reason of this new and sudden absence. But Hermia's
grievance was not a genuine one. So little indeed was it genuine that
she was conscious of a distinct feeling of relief when he announced it.
But side by side with this was an inherent instinct to deceive herself,
since there was no other object on which to practise deception: to
deceive herself into the idea that she really was a very ill-used
person. He neglected her shamefully, she had declared. She had not
bargained for leading this utterly lonely life when she decided to
accompany him to this remote corner of the earth. Well, again let him
take care. There were others who appreciated her if he did not. To
which he had replied equably:--
"Meaning Spence," and had gone on with his preparations.
It was this very imperturbability which had always dominated Hermia.
She knew their relationship was dangerously near a rupture, and was not
quite sure within her heart of hearts that she desired such. But a
short while since, she emphatically did not; now it might be otherwise.
Yet it was impracticable, for the first essential to her mind was
comfort and liberty unstinted. Justin Spence was as poor as the
proverbial church mouse, else why should he be out there prospecting?
She knew that every cent he had in the world was drawn from an
allowance--not a large one either--and that allowances are the most
precarious of all means of subsistence, in that they depend solely upon
the will and caprice of the allower. It was a thousand pities. If only
he were well off, she would not have hesitated. She was perfectly sick
of this uncivilised, lonely life. She longed for the world again.
Justin adored her. Her will would be his law. Ah, why was he not
independent and well off?
She looked back over her past, but it caused her no qualms. She looked
back on a period of passion and love, but the retrospect only served to
emphasise the subsequent disillusionment. To be content with the love
of one--no, that was not in her. New life, new love--the new wine of
life! That was to live indeed.
She looked around on the glowing veldt, shimmering in the afternoon
heat. Away on yonder rise a line of black objects was moving. She got
out the binocular, a clear and powerful glass, and the objects seemed
about fifty yards away--a score of sable antelope moving through the low
bush, some of them magnificent specimens of that noble buck, and she
could clearly distinguish the great scimitar-like horns and black hides,
so markedly defined. Yes, this was a grand country for men, but for
women, debarred from all outdoor sport and excitement, why it was a
living grave. And then, as she looked, suddenly the leaders of the line
threw up their heads, stopped short, snuffing the air, and then the
whole line turned about and trotted back in the direction from which
they had come.
What had alarmed the animals? Sweeping the glass round carefully it
revealed another object, a man on horseback, and her heart gave a great
bound of delight.
"It is. It's Justin," she exclaimed half aloud. "The dear boy! How
glad I am. But--what on earth--? What a hurry he's in!"
For the advancing rider was coming along at something like a hard
gallop, which was no pace at which to push a horse on a sweltering day
like this. Then Hermia began a little piece of acting. She went into
the house, and arranging herself on an old wicker couch covered with a
leopard skin rug, began to read.
"Missis--Baas riding this way. Tink it Baas Spence." This from the
grinning woolly head of Tickey, inserted through the open doorway.
Hermia rose, stretched herself, and the book still in her hand came and
stood in the doorway. Then she stretched herself again and thus he
found her.
"Why, Justin? Who would have thought of seeing you?" This with round,
astonished eyes.
"But--aren't you glad to, dearest?" He was looking her up and down, a
tremor of love in his voice, a world of hungry passionate adoration in
his gaze.
"You know I am, dear love. Come inside."
She had put out her hand to him, and he, still holding it, needed no
second bidding. Once within, however, he seized her splendid form--its
lines the more seductive through the thin, summer transparency of her
light attire--in a strong and passionate embrace.
"Justin, Justin, let me go!" she urged. "Really, you are getting
perfectly unmanageable." And she accompanied her words with a warning
gesture towards the door of the inner room. The young man laughed
aloud.
"No fear," he said. "You're all alone again as usual."
"How do you know that?"
"Never mind how. I do know, and it wasn't you who told me. But"--
becoming suddenly reproachful--"why didn't you?"
"Oh, I didn't want to distract you from your work, for one thing. You
have been neglecting it far too much of late. Hilary says you'll never
make a prospector."
"Oh, damn Hilary! He doesn't know everything."
"Ssh--" with a hand over his mouth. "You mustn't use swear words. And
now, you dear ridiculous boy, what are you looking so absurdly happy
about?"
"Ah, that'll come in time. I'm not going to tell you all at once," he
retorted, suddenly becoming mysterious. "But, Hermia my darling, it's
like new life to see you again."
She smiled softly, her dark eyes into his blue ones. It was like new
life to her, this passionate and whole-hearted adoration. And he was so
handsome too; the sunbrowned face with its refined features, the tall,
well-knit figure, stirred the animal side of her, and she found herself
contrasting him with the absent one. Hilary was really getting old and
prosaic and satirical. He had no more sentiment left in him than a
cuttlefish--was the result of the mental contrast which she drew.
Whereas this one--it did occur to her that he, too, would one day lose
the buoyancy and fire of youth, or even that this might come to be
diverted on some object other than herself; but for the first, it was
far enough off in all conscience--for the second, she had too much pride
in her own powers to give it a thought.
"Ah, yes," she answered. "You think so now, but--you wouldn't always.
Remember, Justin, I am older than you--well, only a little. But at any
rate I have seen far more of the world--of life--than you can possibly
have done. But what's the use of talking? We shall have to part sooner
or later."
They had dropped down on the couch, and were seated side by side, he
holding both her hands.
"But why shall we have to part sooner or later?" he asked, and the lack
of lugubriousness with which he echoed her words struck her at the time.
"Well, Justin, just look at things in the face. Isn't love in a cottage
a synonym for the very height of absurdity? What about its Mashunaland
equivalent--love in a prospector's camp?"
He laughed aloud. There was something so happy and buoyant in his laugh
that it struck her too.
"Yes, it strikes you as funny, doesn't it?" she said. "Well, it is."
"So it is," he answered. "I quite agree. Now look here, Hermia.
Supposing it were not a case of love in a prospector's camp, but love in
all the wide world--in any part of it that pleased you--no matter
where--the brightest parts of it, where everything combined to make life
all sunshine for you, while you made life all sunshine for me? What
then?"
"Now you're getting beyond me, Justin. Suppose you explain."
"Yes. That's all right. I will. No more prospecting for me, no need
for that or anything else--only to enjoy life--with you. Look at this."
He put into her hand the communication he had received in camp--the
sight of which had caused him that great and sudden agitation, and which
had moved his comrade so anxiously to utter a hope that it contained no
bad news. Bad news! The news that it imparted was not exactly that he
was a millionaire, but that all unexpectedly he had succeeded to a
goodly heritage, just stopping short of five figures as a yearly income.
"Now, have we got to part sooner or later?" he cried triumphantly,
watching the astonishment and then gladness which overspread her face.
"Look, we have all the world before us, and need care for nobody. Come
with me, Hermia my darling, my one love. Leave all this and come with
me, and see what love really means."
She did not immediately answer. She was looking him through with her
large eyes, and was thinking. She looked back upon her life, and it
seemed all behind her. Here was an opportunity of renewing it. Should
she take him at his word, or should she play him a little longer? No,
that was not advisable under the circumstances. It was now or never.
It was strike while the iron is hot--and it was hot enough now in all
conscience, she thought, as she looked at his pleading earnest face.
"Justin, my love, I believe I will take you at your word. Only it must
be immediately or not at all. Shall I ever regret it, I wonder?" And
again she looked him through with a fine expression of great and
troubled seriousness.
"Never, darling," he cried enraptured. "That old fossil doesn't
appreciate you. I will show you what appreciation means. You will go
with me at once--to-morrow--never to part?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Ha-ha-haa!" laughed a jackal, questing after prey away in the gloaming
shades of the now dusking veldt.
"Ha-ha-haa!" laughed his mate.