There are times when all Nature seems to smile, yet when to the
sensitive mind it will be faintly brought that the possibilities are
quite tremendously otherwise if one will consider them pro and con. I
mean to say, one often suspects things may happen when it doesn’t look
so.
The succeeding three days passed with so ordered a calm that little
would any but a profound thinker have fancied tragedy to lurk so near
their placid surface. Mrs. Effie and Mrs. Belknap-Jackson continued to
plan the approaching social campaign at Red Gap. Cousin Egbert and the
Mixer continued their card game for the trifling stake of a shilling a
game, or “two bits,” as it is known in the American monetary system.
And our host continued his recreation.
Each morning I turned him out in the smartest of fishing costumes and
each evening I assisted him to change. It is true I was now compelled
to observe at these times a certain lofty irritability in his
character, yet I more than half fancied this to be queerly assumed in
order to inform me that he was not unaccustomed to services such as I
rendered him. There was that about him. I mean to say, when he sharply
rebuked me for clumsiness or cried out “Stupid!” it had a perfunctory
languor, as if meant to show me he could address a servant in what he
believed to be the grand manner. In this, to be sure, he was so oddly
wrong that the pathos of it quite drowned what I might otherwise have
felt of resentment.
But I next observed that he was sharp in the same manner with the
hairy backwoods person who took him to fish each day, using words to
him which I, for one, would have employed, had I thought them merited,
only after the gravest hesitation. I have before remarked that I did
not like the gleam in this person’s eyes: he was very apparently a not
quite nice person. Also I more than once observed him to wink at
Cousin Egbert in an evil manner.
As I have so truly said, how close may tragedy be to us when life
seems most correct! It was Belknap-Jackson’s custom to raise a view
halloo each evening when he returned down the lake, so that we might
gather at the dock to oversee his landing. I must admit that he
disembarked with somewhat the manner of a visiting royalty, demanding
much attention and assistance with his impedimenta. Undoubtedly he
liked to be looked at. This was what one rather felt. And I can fancy
that this very human trait of his had in a manner worn upon the
probably undisciplined nerves of the backwoods josser--had, in fact,
deprived him of his “goat,” as the native people have it.
Be this as it may, we gathered at the dock on the afternoon of the
third day of our stay to assist at the return. As the native log craft
neared the dock our host daringly arose to a graceful kneeling posture
in the bow and saluted us charmingly, the woods person in the stern
wielding his single oar in gloomy silence. At the moment a most poetic
image occurred to me--that he was like a dull grim figure of Fate that
fetches us low at the moment of our highest seeming. I mean to say, it
was a silly thought, perhaps, yet I afterward recalled it most
vividly.
Holding his creel aloft our host hailed us:
“Full to-day, thanks to going where I wished and paying no attention
to silly guides’ talk.” He beamed upon us in an unquestionably
superior manner, and again from the moody figure at the stern I
intercepted the flash of a wink to Cousin Egbert. Then as the frail
craft had all but touched the dock and our host had half risen, there
was a sharp dipping of the thing and he was ejected into the chilling
waters, where he almost instantly sank. There were loud cries of alarm
from all, including the woodsman himself, who had kept the craft
upright, and in these Mr. Belknap-Jackson heartily joined the moment
his head appeared above the surface, calling “Help!” in the quite
loudest of tones, which was thoughtless enough, as we were close at
hand and could easily have heard his ordinary speaking voice.
The woods person now stepped to the dock, and firmly grasping the
collar of the drowning man hauled him out with but little effort, at
the same time becoming voluble with apologies and sympathy. The
rescued man, however, was quite off his head with rage and bluntly
berated the fellow for having tried to assassinate him. Indeed he put
forth rather a torrent of execration, but to all of this the fellow
merely repeated his crude protestations of regret and astonishment,
seeming to be sincerely grieved that his intentions should have been
doubted.
From his friends about him the unfortunate man was receiving the most
urgent advice to seek dry garments lest he perish of chill, whereupon
he turned abruptly to me and cried: “Well, Stupid, don’t you see the
state that fellow has put me in? What are you doing? Have you lost
your wits?”
Now I had suffered a very proper alarm and solicitude for him, but the
injustice of this got a bit on me. I mean to say, I suddenly felt a
bit of temper myself, though to be sure retaining my control.
“Yes, sir; quite so, sir,” I replied smoothly. “I’ll have you right as
rain in no time at all, sir,” and started to conduct him off the dock.
But now, having gone a little distance, he began to utter the most
violent threats against the woods person, declaring, in fact, he would
pull the fellow’s nose. However, I restrained him from rushing back,
as I subtly felt I was wished to do, and he at length consented again
to be led toward his hut.
But now the woods person called out: “You’re forgetting all your
pretties!” By which I saw him to mean the fishing impedimenta he had
placed on the dock. And most unreasonably at this Mr. Belknap-Jackson
again turned upon me, wishing anew to be told if I had lost my wits
and directing me to fetch the stuff. Again I was conscious of that
within me which no gentleman’s man should confess to. I mean to say, I
felt like shaking him. But I hastened back to fetch the rod, the
creel, the luncheon hamper, the midge ointment, the camera, and other
articles which the woods fellow handed me.
With these somewhat awkwardly carried, I returned to our still
turbulent host. More like a volcano he was than a man who has had a
narrow squeak from drowning, and before we had gone a dozen feet more
he again turned and declared he would “go back and thrash the
unspeakable cad within an inch of his life.” Their relative sizes
rendering an attempt of this sort quite too unwise, I was conscious of
renewed irritation toward him; indeed, the vulgar words, “Oh, stow
that piffle!” swiftly formed in the back of my mind, but again I
controlled myself, as the chap was now sneezing violently.
“Best hurry on, sir,” I said with exemplary tact. “One might contract
a severe head-cold from such a wetting,” and further endeavoured to
sooth him while I started ahead to lead him away from the fellow. Then
there happened that which fulfilled my direst premonitions. Looking
back from a moment of calm, the psychology of the crisis is of a
rudimentary simplicity.
Enraged beyond measure at the woods person, Mr. Belknap-Jackson yet
retained a fine native caution which counselled him to attempt no
violence upon that offender; but his mental tension was such that it
could be relieved only by his attacking some one; preferably some one
forbidden to retaliate. I walked there temptingly but a pace ahead of
him, after my well-meant word of advice.
I make no defence of my own course. I am aware there can be none. I
can only plead that I had already been vexed not a little by his
unjust accusations of stupidity, and dismiss with as few words as
possible an incident that will ever seem to me quite too indecently
criminal. Briefly, then, with my well-intended “Best not lower
yourself, sir,” Mr. Belknap-Jackson forgot himself and I forgot
myself. It will be recalled that I was in front of him, but I turned
rather quickly. (His belongings I had carried were widely
disseminated.)
Instantly there were wild outcries from the others, who had started
toward the main, or living house.
“He’s killed Charles!” I heard Mrs. Belknap-Jackson scream; then came
the deep-chested rumble of the Mixer, “Jackson kicked him first!” They
ran for us. They had reached us while our host was down, even while my
fist was still clenched. Now again the unfortunate man cried “Help!”
as his wife assisted him to his feet.
“Send for an officer!” cried she.
“The man’s an anarchist!” shouted her husband.
“Nonsense!” boomed the Mixer. “Jackson got what he was looking for. Do
it myself if he kicked me!”
“Oh, Maw! Oh, Mater!” cried her daughter tearfully.
“Gee! He done it in one punch!” I heard Cousin Egbert say with what I
was aghast to suspect was admiration.
Mrs. Effie, trembling, could but glare at me and gasp. Mercifully she
was beyond speech for the moment.
Mr. Belknap-Jackson was now painfully rubbing his right eye, which was
not what he should have done, and I said as much.
“Beg pardon, sir, but one does better with a bit of raw beef.”
“How dare you, you great hulking brute!” cried his wife, and made as
if to shield her husband from another attack from me, which I submit
was unjust.
“Bill’s right,” said Cousin Egbert casually. “Put a piece of raw steak
on it. Gee! with one wallop!” And then, quite strangely, for a moment
we all amiably discussed whether cold compresses might not be better.
Presently our host was led off by his wife. Mrs. Effie followed them,
moaning: “Oh, oh, oh!” in the keenest distress.
At this I took to my own room in dire confusion, making no doubt I
would presently be given in charge and left to languish in gaol,
perhaps given six months’ hard.
Cousin Egbert came to me in a little while and laughed heartily at my
fear that anything legal would be done. He also made some ill-timed
compliments on the neatness of the blow I had dealt Mr.
Belknap-Jackson, but these I found in wretched taste and was begging
him to desist, when the Mixer entered and began to speak much in the
same strain.
“Don’t you ever dare do a thing like that again,” she warned me,
“unless I got a ringside seat,” to which I remained severely silent,
for I felt my offence should not be made light of.
“Three rousing cheers!” exclaimed Cousin Egbert, whereat the two most
unfeelingly went through a vivid pantomime of cheering.
Our host, I understood, had his dinner in bed that night, and
throughout the evening, as I sat solitary in remorse, came the mocking
strains of another of their American folksongs with the refrain:
“You made me what I am to-day,
I hope you’re satisfied!”
I conceived it to be the Mixer and Cousin Egbert who did this and,
considering the plight of our host, I thought it in the worst possible
taste. I had raised my hand against the one American I had met who was
at all times vogue. And not only this: For I now recalled a certain
phrase I had flung out as I stood over him, ranting indeed no better
than an anarchist, a phrase which showed my poor culture to be the
flimsiest veneer.
Late in the night, as I lay looking back on the frightful scene, I
recalled with wonder a swift picture of Cousin Egbert caught as I once
looked back to the dock. He had most amazingly shaken the woods person
by the hand, quickly but with marked cordiality. And yet I am quite
certain he had never been presented to the fellow.
Promptly the next morning came the dreaded summons to meet Mrs. Effie.
I was of course prepared to accept instant dismissal without a
character, if indeed I were not to be given in charge. I found her
wearing an expression of the utmost sternness, erect and formidable by
the now silent phonograph. Cousin Egbert, who was present, also wore
an expression of sternness, though I perceived him to wink at me.
“I really don’t know what we’re to do with you, Ruggles,” began the
stricken woman, and so done out she plainly was that I at once felt
the warmest sympathy for her as she continued: “First you lead poor
Cousin Egbert into a drunken debauch----”
Cousin Egbert here coughed nervously and eyed me with strong
condemnation.
“--then you behave like a murderer. What have you to say for
yourself?”
At this I saw there was little I could say, except that I had coarsely
given way to the brute in me, and yet I knew I should try to explain.
“I dare say, Madam, it may have been because Mr. Belknap-Jackson was
quite sober at the unfortunate moment.”
“Of course Charles was sober. The idea! What of it?”
“I was remembering an occasion at Chaynes-Wotten when Lord Ivor
Cradleigh behaved toward me somewhat as Mr. Belknap-Jackson did last
night and when my own deportment was quite all that could be wished.
It occurs to me now that it was because his lordship was, how shall I
say?--quite far gone in liquor at the time, so that I could without
loss of dignity pass it off as a mere prank. Indeed, he regarded it as
such himself, performing the act with a good nature that I found quite
irresistible, and I am certain that neither his lordship nor I have
ever thought the less of each other because of it. I revert to this
merely to show that I have not always acted in a ruffianly manner
under these circumstances. It seems rather to depend upon how the
thing is done--the mood of the performer--his mental state. Had Mr.
Belknap-Jackson been--pardon me--quite drunk, I feel that the outcome
would have been happier for us all. So far as I have thought along
these lines, it seems to me that if one is to be kicked at all, one
must be kicked good-naturedly. I mean to say, with a certain
camaraderie, a lightness, a gayety, a genuine good-will that for the
moment expresses itself uncouthly--an element, I regret to say, that
was conspicuously lacking from the brief activities of Mr.
Belknap-Jackson.”
“I never heard such crazy talk,” responded Mrs. Effie, “and really I
never saw such a man as you are for wanting people to become
disgustingly drunk. You made poor Cousin Egbert and Jeff Tuttle act
like beasts, and now nothing will satisfy you but that Charles should
roll in the gutter. Such dissipated talk I never did hear, and poor
Charles rarely taking anything but a single glass of wine, it upsets
him so; even our reception punch he finds too stimulating!”
I mean to say, the woman had cleanly missed my point, for never have I
advocated the use of fermented liquors to excess; but I saw it was no
good trying to tell her this.
“And the worst of it,” she went rapidly on, “Cousin Egbert here is
acting stranger than I ever knew him to act. He swears if he can’t
keep you he’ll never have another man, and you know yourself what that
means in his case--and Mrs. Pettengill saying she means to employ you
herself if we let you go. Heaven knows what the poor woman can be
thinking of! Oh, it’s awful--and everything was going so beautifully.
Of course Charles would simply never be brought to accept an
apology----”
“I am only too anxious to make one,” I submitted.
“Here’s the poor fellow now,” said Cousin Egbert almost gleefully, and
our host entered. He carried a patch over his right eye and was not
attired for sport on the lake, but in a dark morning suit of quietly
beautiful lines that I thought showed a fine sense of the situation.
He shot me one superior glance from his left eye and turned to Mrs.
Effie.
“I see you still harbour the ruffian?”
“I’ve just given him a call-down,” said Mrs. Effie, plainly ill at
ease, “and he says it was all because you were sober; that if you’d
been in the state Lord Ivor Cradleigh was the time it happened at
Chaynes-Wotten he wouldn’t have done anything to you, probably.”
“What’s this, what’s this? Lord Ivor Cradleigh--Chaynes-Wotten?” The
man seemed to be curiously interested by the mere names, in spite of
himself. “His lordship was at Chaynes-Wotten for the shooting, I
suppose?” This, most amazingly, to me.
“A house party at Whitsuntide, sir,” I explained.
“Ah! And you say his lordship was----”
“Oh, quite, quite in his cups, sir. If I might explain, it was that,
sir--its being done under circumstances and in a certain entirely
genial spirit of irritation to which I could take no offence, sir. His
lordship is a very decent sort, sir. I’ve known him intimately for
years.”
“Dear, dear!” he replied. “Too bad, too bad! And I dare say you
thought me out of temper last night? Nothing of the sort. You should
have taken it in quite the same spirit as you did from Lord Ivor
Cradleigh.”
“It seemed different, sir,” I said firmly. “If I may take the liberty
of putting it so, I felt quite offended by your manner. I missed from
it at the most critical moment, as one might say, a certain urbanity
that I found in his lordship, sir.”
“Well, well, well! It’s too bad, really. I’m quite aware that I show a
sort of brusqueness at times, but mind you, it’s all on the surface.
Had you known me as long as you’ve known his lordship, I dare say
you’d have noticed the same rough urbanity in me as well. I rather
fancy some of us over here don’t do those things so very differently.
A few of us, at least.”
“I’m glad, indeed, to hear it, sir. It’s only necessary to understand
that there is a certain mood in which one really cannot permit one’s
self to be--you perceive, I trust.”
“Perfectly, perfectly,” said he, “and I can only express my regret
that you should have mistaken my own mood, which, I am confident, was
exactly the thing his lordship might have felt.”
“I gladly accept your apology, sir,” I returned quickly, “as I should
have accepted his lordship’s had his manner permitted any
misapprehension on my part. And in return I wish to apologize most
contritely for the phrase I applied to you just after it happened,
sir. I rarely use strong language, but----”
“I remember hearing none,” said he.
“I regret to say, sir, that I called you a blighted little mug----”
“You needn’t have mentioned it,” he replied with just a trace of
sharpness, “and I trust that in future----”
“I am sure, sir, that in future you will give me no occasion to
misunderstand your intentions--no more than would his lordship,” I
added as he raised his brows.
Thus in a manner wholly unexpected was a frightful situation eased
off.
“I’m so glad it’s settled!” cried Mrs. Effie, who had listened almost
breathlessly to our exchange.
“I fancy I settled it as Cradleigh would have--eh, Ruggles?” And the
man actually smiled at me.
“Entirely so, sir,” said I.
“If only it doesn’t get out,” said Mrs. Effie now. “We shouldn’t want
it known in Red Gap. Think of the talk!”
“Certainly,” rejoined Mr. Belknap-Jackson jauntily, “we are all here
above gossip about an affair of that sort. I am sure--” He broke off
and looked uneasily at Cousin Egbert, who coughed into his hand and
looked out over the lake before he spoke.
“What would I want to tell a thing like that for?” he demanded
indignantly, as if an accusation had been made against him. But I saw
his eyes glitter with an evil light.
An hour later I chanced to be with him in our detached hut, when the
Mixer entered.
“What happened?” she demanded.
“What do you reckon happened?” returned Cousin Egbert. “They get to
talking about Lord Ivy Craddles, or some guy, and before we know it
Mr. Belknap Hyphen Jackson is apologizing to Bill here.”
“No?” bellowed the Mixer.
“Sure did he!” affirmed Cousin Egbert.
Here they grasped each other’s arms and did a rude native dance about
the room, nor did they desist when I sought to explain that the name
was not at all Ivy Craddles.