The sight was a fair crumpler after the outrageous slander that had
been put upon me by this elderly inebriate and his accomplice. I sat
up at once, prepared to bully him down a bit. Although I was not sure
that I engaged his attention, I told him that his reading could be
very well done without and that he might take himself off. At this he
became silent and regarded me solemnly.
“Why did Charing Cross the Strand? Because three rousing cheers,” said
he.
Of course he had the wheeze all wrong and I saw that he should be in
bed. So with gentle words I lured him to his own chamber. Here, with a
quite unexpected perversity, he accused me of having kept him up the
night long and begged now to be allowed to retire. This he did with
muttered complaints of my behaviour, and was almost instantly asleep.
I concealed the constable’s cap in one of his boxes, for I feared that
he had not come by this honestly. I then returned to my own room,
where for a long time I meditated profoundly upon the situation that
now confronted me.
It seemed probable that I should be shopped by Mrs. Effie for what she
had been led to believe was my rowdyish behaviour. However dastardly
the injustice to me, it was a solution of the problem that I saw I
could bring myself to meet with considerable philosophy. It meant a
return to the quiet service of the Honourable George and that I need
no longer face the distressing vicissitudes of life in the back blocks
of unexplored America. I would not be obliged to muddle along in the
blind fashion of the last two days, feeling a frightful fool. Mrs.
Effie would surely not keep me on, and that was all about it. I had
merely to make no defence of myself. And even if I chose to make one I
was not certain that she would believe me, so cunning had been the
accusations against me, with that tiny thread of fact which I make no
doubt has so often enabled historians to give a false colouring to
their recitals without stating downright untruths. Indeed, my
shameless appearance in the garb of a cow person would alone have cast
doubt upon the truth as I knew it to be.
Then suddenly I suffered an illumination. I perceived all at once that
to make any sort of defence of myself would not be cricket. I mean to
say, I saw the proceedings of the previous day in a new light. It is
well known that I do not hold with the abuse of alcoholic stimulants,
and yet on the day before, in moments that I now confess to have been
slightly elevated, I had been conscious of a certain feeling of
fellowship with my two companions that was rather wonderful. Though
obviously they were not university men, they seemed to belong to what
in America would be called the landed gentry, and yet I had felt
myself on terms of undoubted equality with them. It may be believed or
not, but there had been brief spaces when I forgot that I was a
gentleman’s man. Astoundingly I had experienced the confident ease of
a gentleman among his equals. I was obliged to admit now that this
might have been a mere delusion of the cup, and yet I wondered, too,
if perchance I might not have caught something of that American spirit
of equality which is said to be peculiar to republics. Needless to say
I had never believed in the existence of this spirit, but had
considered it rather a ghastly jest, having been a reader of our own
periodical press since earliest youth. I mean to say, there could
hardly be a stable society in which one had no superiors, because in
that case one would not know who were one’s inferiors. Nevertheless, I
repeat that I had felt a most novel enlargement of myself; had, in
fact, felt that I was a gentleman among gentlemen, using the word in
its strictly technical sense. And so vividly did this conviction
remain with me that I now saw any defence of my course to be out of
the question.
I perceived that my companions had meant to have me on toast from the
first. I mean to say, they had started a rag with me--a bit of
chaff--and I now found myself rather preposterously enjoying the
manner in which they had chivied me. I mean to say, I felt myself
taking it as one gentleman would take a rag from other gentlemen--not
as a bit of a sneak who would tell the truth to save his face. A
couple of chaffing old beggars they were, but they had found me a
topping dead sportsman of their own sort. Be it remembered I was still
uncertain whether I had caught something of that alleged American
spirit, or whether the drink had made me feel equal at least to
Americans. Whatever it might be, it was rather great, and I was
prepared to face Mrs. Effie without a tremor--to face her, of course,
as one overtaken by a weakness for spirits.
When the bell at last rang I donned my service coat and, assuming a
look of profound remorse, I went to the drawing-room to serve the
morning coffee. As I suspected, only Mrs. Effie was present. I believe
it has been before remarked that she is a person of commanding
presence, with a manner of marked determination. She favoured me with
a brief but chilling glance, and for some moments thereafter affected
quite to ignore me. Obviously she had been completely greened the
night before and was treating me with a proper contempt. I saw that it
was no use grousing at fate and that it was better for me not to go
into the American wilderness, since a rolling stone gathers no moss. I
was prepared to accept instant dismissal without a character.
She began upon me, however, after her first cup of coffee, more mildly
than I had expected.
“Ruggles, I’m horribly disappointed in you.”
“Not more so than I myself, Madam,” I replied.
“I am more disappointed,” she continued, “because I felt that Cousin
Egbert had something in him----”
“Something in him, yes, Madam,” I murmured sympathetically.
“And that you were the man to bring it out. I was quite hopeful after
you got him into those new clothes. I don’t believe any one else could
have done it. And now it turns out that you have this weakness for
drink. Not only that, but you have a mania for insisting that other
men drink with you. Think of those two poor fellows trailing you over
Paris yesterday trying to save you from yourself.”
“I shall never forget it, Madam,” I said.
“Of course I don’t believe that Jeff Tuttle always has to have it
forced on him. Jeff Tuttle is an Indian. But Cousin Egbert is
different. You tore him away from that art gallery where he was
improving his mind, and led him into places that must have been
disgusting to him. All he wanted was to study the world’s masterpieces
in canvas and marble, yet you put a cabman’s hat on him and made him
ride an antelope, or whatever the thing was. I can’t think where you
got such ideas.”
“I was not myself. I can only say that I seemed to be subject to an
attack.” And the Tuttle person was one of their Indians! This
explained so much about him.
“You don’t look like a periodical souse,” she remarked.
“Quite so, Madam.”
“But you must be a wonder when you do start. The point is: am I doing
right to intrust Cousin Egbert to you again?”
“Quite so, Madam.”
“It seems doubtful if you are the person to develop his higher
nature.”
Against my better judgment I here felt obliged to protest that I had
always been given the highest character for quietness and general
behaviour and that I could safely promise that I should be guilty of
no further lapses of this kind. Frankly, I was wishing to be shopped,
and yet I could not resist making this mild defence of myself. Such I
have found to be the way of human nature. To my surprise I found that
Mrs. Effie was more than half persuaded by these words and was on the
point of giving me another trial. I cannot say that I was delighted at
this. I was ready to give up all Americans as problems one too many
for me, and yet I was strangely a little warmed at thinking I might
not have seen the last of Cousin Egbert, whom I had just given a
tuckup.
“You shall have your chance,” she said at last, “and just to show you
that I’m not narrow, you can go over to the sideboard there and pour
yourself out a little one. It ought to be a lifesaver to you, feeling
the way you must this morning.”
“Thank you, Madam,” and I did as she suggested. I was feeling
especially fit, but I knew that I ought to play in character, as one
might say.
“Three rousing cheers!” I said, having gathered the previous day that
this was a popular American toast. She stared at me rather oddly, but
made no comment other than to announce her departure on a shopping
tour. Her bonnet, I noted, was quite wrong. Too extremely modish it
was, accenting its own lines at the expense of a face to which less
attention should have been called. This is a mistake common to the
sex, however. They little dream how sadly they mock and betray their
own faces. Nothing I think is more pathetic than their trustful
unconsciousness of the tragedy--the rather plainish face under the
contemptuous structure that points to it and shrieks derision. The
rather plain woman who knows what to put upon her head is a woman of
genius. I have seen three, perhaps.
I now went to the room of Cousin Egbert. I found him awake and
cheerful, but disinclined to arise. It was hard for me to realize that
his simple, kindly face could mask the guile he had displayed the
night before. He showed no sign of regret for the false light in which
he had placed me. Indeed he was sitting up in bed as cheerful and
independent as if he had paid two-pence for a park chair.
“I fancy,” he began, “that we ought to spend a peaceful day indoors.
The trouble with these foreign parts is that they don’t have enough
home life. If it isn’t one thing it’s another.”
“Sometimes it’s both, sir,” I said, and he saw at once that I was not
to be wheedled. Thereupon he grinned brazenly at me, and demanded:
“What did she say?”
“Well, sir,” I said, “she was highly indignant at me for taking you
and Mr. Tuttle into public houses and forcing you to drink liquor, but
she was good enough, after I had expressed my great regret and
promised to do better in the future, to promise that I should have
another chance. It was more than I could have hoped, sir, after the
outrageous manner in which I behaved.”
He grinned again at this, and in spite of my resentment I found myself
grinning with him. I am aware that this was a most undignified
submission to the injustice he had put upon me, and it was far from
the line of stern rebuke that I had fully meant to adopt with him, but
there seemed no other way. I mean to say, I couldn’t help it.
“I’m glad to hear you talk that way,” he said. “It shows you may have
something in you after all. What you want to do is to learn to say no.
Then you won’t be so much trouble to those who have to look after
you.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, “I shall try, sir.”
“Then I’ll give you another chance,” he said sternly.
I mean to say, it was all spoofing, the way we talked. I am certain he
knew it as well as I did, and I am sure we both enjoyed it. I am not
one of those who think it shows a lack of dignity to unbend in this
manner on occasion. True, it is not with every one I could afford to
do so, but Cousin Egbert seemed to be an exception to almost every
rule of conduct.
At his earnest request I now procured for him another carafe of iced
water (he seemed already to have consumed two of these), after which
he suggested that I read to him. The book he had was the well-known
story, “Robinson Crusoe,” and I began a chapter which describes some
of the hero’s adventures on his lonely island.
Cousin Egbert, I was glad to note, was soon sleeping soundly, so I
left him and retired to my own room for a bit of needed rest. The
story of “Robinson Crusoe” is one in which many interesting facts are
conveyed regarding life upon remote islands where there are
practically no modern conveniences and one is put to all sorts of
crude makeshifts, but for me the narrative contains too little
dialogue.
For the remainder of the day I was left to myself, a period of peace
that I found most welcome. Not until evening did I meet any of the
family except Cousin Egbert, who partook of some light nourishment
late in the afternoon. Then it was that Mrs. Effie summoned me when
she had dressed for dinner, to say:
“We are sailing for home the day after to-morrow. See that Cousin
Egbert has everything he needs.”
The following day was a busy one, for there were many boxes to be
packed against the morrow’s sailing, and much shopping to do for
Cousin Egbert, although he was much against this.
“It’s all nonsense,” he insisted, “her saying all that truck helps to
‘finish’ me. Look at me! I’ve been in Europe darned near four months
and I can’t see that I’m a lick more finished than when I left Red
Gap. Of course it may show on me so other people can see it, but I
don’t believe it does, at that.” Nevertheless, I bought him no end of
suits and smart haberdashery.
When the last box had been strapped I hastened to our old lodgings on
the chance of seeing the Honourable George once more. I found him
dejectedly studying an ancient copy of the “Referee.” Too evidently he
had dined that night in a costume which would, I am sure, have
offended even Cousin Egbert. Above his dress trousers he wore a
golfing waistcoat and a shooting jacket. However, I could not allow
myself to be distressed by this. Indeed, I knew that worse would come.
I forebore to comment upon the extraordinary choice of garments he had
made. I knew it was quite useless. From any word that he let fall
during our chat, he might have supposed himself to be dressed as an
English gentleman should be.
He bade me seat myself, and for some time we smoked our pipes in a
friendly silence. I had feared that, as on the last occasion, he would
row me for having deserted him, but he no longer seemed to harbour
this unjust thought. We spoke of America, and I suggested that he
might some time come out to shoot big game along the Ohio or the
Mississippi. He replied moodily, after a long interval, that if he
ever did come out it would be to set up a cattle plantation. It was
rather agreed that he would come should I send for him. “Can’t sit
around forever waiting for old Nevil’s toast crumbs,” said he.
We chatted for a time of home politics, which was, of course, in a
wretched state. There was a time when we might both have been won to a
sane and reasoned liberalism, but the present so-called government was
coming it a bit too thick for us. We said some sharp things about the
little Welsh attorney who was beginning to be England’s humiliation.
Then it was time for me to go.
The moment was rather awkward, for the Honourable George, to my great
embarrassment, pressed upon me his dispatch-case, one that we had
carried during all our travels and into which tidily fitted a quart
flask. Brandy we usually carried in it. I managed to accept it with a
word of thanks, and then amazingly he shook hands twice with me as we
said good-night. I had never dreamed he could be so greatly affected.
Indeed, I had always supposed that there was nothing of the
sentimentalist about him.
So the Honourable George and I were definitely apart for the first
time in our lives.
It was with mingled emotions that I set sail next day for the foreign
land to which I had been exiled by a turn of the cards. Not only was I
off to a wilderness where a life of daily adventure was the normal
life, but I was to mingle with foreigners who promised to be quite
almost impossibly queer, if the family of Flouds could be taken as a
sample of the native American--knowing Indians like the Tuttle person;
that sort of thing. If some would be less queer, others would be even
more queer, with queerness of a sort to tax even my _savoir
faire_, something which had been sorely taxed, I need hardly say,
since that fatal evening when the Honourable George’s intuitions had
played him false in the game of drawing poker. I was not the first of
my countrymen, however, to find himself in desperate straits, and I
resolved to behave as England expects us to.
I have said that I was viewing the prospect with mingled emotions.
Before we had been out many hours they became so mingled that, having
crossed the Channel many times, I could no longer pretend to ignore
their true nature. For three days I was at the mercy of the elements,
and it was then I discovered a certain hardness in the nature of
Cousin Egbert which I had not before suspected. It was only by
speaking in the sharpest manner to him that I was able to secure the
nursing my condition demanded. I made no doubt he would actually have
left me to the care of a steward had I not been firm with him. I have
known him leave my bedside for an hour at a time when it seemed
probable that I would pass away at any moment. And more than once,
when I summoned him in the night to administer one of the remedies
with which I had provided myself, or perhaps to question him if the
ship were out of danger, he exhibited something very like irritation.
Indeed he was never properly impressed by my suffering, and at times
when he would answer my call it was plain to be seen that he had been
passing idle moments in the smoke-room or elsewhere, quite as if the
situation were an ordinary one.
It is only fair to say, however, that toward the end of my long and
interesting illness I had quite broken his spirit and brought him to
be as attentive as even I could wish. By the time I was able with his
assistance to go upon deck again he was bringing me nutritive wines
and jellies without being told, and so attentive did he remain that
I overheard a fellow-passenger address him as Florence Nightingale.
I also overheard the Senator tell him that I had got his sheep,
whatever that may have meant--a sheep or a goat--some domestic animal.
Yet with all his willingness he was clumsy in his handling of me; he
seemed to take nothing with any proper seriousness, and in spite of my
sharpest warning he would never wear the proper clothes, so that I
always felt he was attracting undue attention to us. Indeed, I should
hardly care to cross with him again, and this I told him straight.
Of the so-called joys of ship-life, concerning which the boat
companies speak so enthusiastically in their folders, the less said
the better. It is a childish mind, I think, that can be impressed by
the mere wabbly bulk of water. It is undoubtedly tremendous, but
nothing to kick up such a row about. The truth is that the prospect
from a ship’s deck lacks that variety which one may enjoy from almost
any English hillside. One sees merely water, and that’s all about it.
It will be understood, therefore, that I hailed our approach to the
shores of foreign America with relief if not with enthusiasm. Even
this was better than an ocean which has only size in its favour and
has been quite too foolishly overrated.
We were soon steaming into the harbour of one of their large cities.
Chicago, I had fancied it to be, until the chance remark of an
American who looked to be a well-informed fellow identified it as New
York. I was much annoyed now at the behaviour of Cousin Egbert, who
burst into silly cheers at the slightest excuse, a passing steamer, a
green hill, or a rusty statue of quite ungainly height which seemed to
be made of crude iron. Do as I would, I could not restrain him from
these unseemly shouts. I could not help contrasting his boisterousness
with the fine reserve which, for example, the Honourable George would
have maintained under these circumstances.
A further relief it was, therefore, when we were on the dock and his
mind was diverted to other matters. A long time we were detained by
customs officials who seemed rather overwhelmed by the gowns and
millinery of Mrs. Effie, but we were at last free and taken through
the streets of the crude new American city of New York to a hotel
overlooking what I dare say in their simplicity they call their Hyde
Park.