WHITE LIES
Masters gathered in his luggage from Charing Cross cloak room; reached
St. Katharine's Docks with it; got aboard _La Mascotte_.
He was first in the cabin; was arranging his things in an orderly way
when Mr. Rigby came aboard. The second tenant of the cabin looked every
bit of the wreck he had painted himself.
The author, quick of observation, gauged him to be a man of twenty-five
or thereabouts. Younger possibly, but dissipation is an artist who
graves deep lines; wrinkles are ageing things. Still of fine physique,
but dull-eyed, heavy, face bluish and swollen.
Masters, sweeping a comprehensive glance round, brushed up the new comer
with it; said generally:
"I am first to take possession. It seems we are to be close companions
on this voyage; too close, in one sense."
He referred to the size of the cabin; then stretching out his hand,
continued:
"Let me introduce myself. William Charleigh, journalist. I sincerely
hope we shall be very good friends whilst we are together."
The gloom on Dick's face lighted; his colourless horizon seemed
brightened; it was as if the sun had suddenly popped out. This cheerful,
strong-looking man making overtures of friendship, dissipated all his
fearsomeness of solitude on the voyage. Eagerly gripping the hand held
out, he shook it long and earnestly; saying:
"I reciprocate that! Thanks! My name's Rigby. Nothing by profession and
very little better by nature. I have just come out of--out of an
illness. I am taking the trip in the hope of--of getting well."
"No trip like it!" Masters' response was cheerily uttered. "Take my word
for that. I took the voyage some years ago, and it pulled me off the
grave's brink."
"Really! You look so strong and well I should not have thought you'd had
an illness in all the days of your life."
Lies, white lies, came to Masters' lips with the readiness of fiction
flowing from his pen; he said:
"I went to the dogs and the dogs nearly did for me. That's an unpleasant
way they have when you get inside the kennel. It's a mere shave I'm here
talking to you. I pulled up just in time."
"No!"
There were both astonishment and eagerness in Dick's question; both of
the most intense kind. Masters' lying was very successful. He was acting
so with a view to drawing his companion out.
If a confession could be got from the sick man it would help. Dick would
rely for strength and help on the man he had confessed to. That was only
human nature.
If you tell a man your troubles he is more than likely to want to tell
you his own. A keen observer was Masters; knew that confidence begets
confidence. So himself became very confidential.
"It is a fact," he continued. "Like a great number of others, I liked
society, and cards, and wine, and--well, I am quite cured now, so I
don't mind confessing it. I sacrificed at the shrine of Bacchus too
often, and Bacchus resented it. The drink god is an ungrateful sort of
deity, isn't he? He sent me visions of snakes and other creepy-crawlies.
When I came out of the land of visions I was the most washed-out wreck
you ever saw. The doctor gave me up."
"No?"
Dick ejaculated the word almost breathlessly. His own doctor had not
gone so far as that. There was more than a chance of hope, after all! He
listened.
"Fact. When I heard that, I was on the verge of suicide. Then they put
me on a boat doing the Mediterranean trip; just as this one is. This
brings back old times, and--well, here I am, you see; I am all right
now."
"And the doctor, you say--but how did you--did you conquer your
craving?"
"Sheer force of will. I took an oath that whilst I was on the ship I
wouldn't touch a drop."
"I have done that, too!"
"You?"
Masters started round in astonishment: really a clever piece of acting.
"Yes.... Well, the cat's out of the bag now. Thank God I haven't got a
temperance crank for a companion on the voyage. I have done what you
have done, and I am setting out to do now what you did: coming away to
get shut of it all. To try and break myself free from the curse."
"You'll do it!"
The flushed face flushed still deeper; deepened to purple, at the
assurance. But the dulled eyes had quite an eager light in them, as the
speaker pressed his question:
"You think I will? You really think I will? That I have strength
enough?"
"Of course! It's the despondent times you have to fear; just don't fear
them. Just hang on to me when you feel them coming. Don't get by
yourself; it's like taking one's pill uncoated; cling to me like a
barnacle. I'll help you to kill your blue devils!"
"You will? By God!" He spoke almost breathlessly; the proffered help was
so sweet: hit him in the face. "You're a brick! And a stranger, too;
never set eyes on me before!"
"Never. Quite right; never set eyes on you before! But remember, we've
been burnt in the same fire. A fellow-feeling makes us--you know the
rest."
"By Jove! You are wondrous kind. Do you know, I funked this voyage;
funked it believing there was death aboard--overboard--for me. Imagined
every soul would read the story in my face and shun me. People are so
apt to judge the quality of a pasture by the length of the grass."
"Rot!"
Masters was shuddering inwardly as he looked at his companion. This
bloated youth, who looked five-and-twenty, yet spoke with the boyishness
of eighteen. He dived into his secret apprehension; shuddered to think
that the woman he loved should be linked to such a drink-sodden wretch.
Thought of her induced him to lower the sail of his dignity.
There was the hope, the chance, of reformation. When Rigby set foot on
the vessel it had been with despair at his heart; he had attended the
funeral of hope long ago. Things were different now. As for Masters, he
realized that the man was young; might perhaps still meet with
salvation.
But it was a thin reed on which to rely: his youth; a two-edged fact:
might cut either way. Masters was quite aware of that as he uttered the
reassuring monosyllable. Spoke in a forced tone of conviction; there is
a limit to suffering; none to fear.
The odds, too, are against a drunkard's reformation; all Lombard Street
to a China orange. Anyway, it was a fact he was going to do his level
best to turn things to good account. The youngster must be spurred on;
not to advance is to retreat. Not only is courage needed in facing a
difficulty, but the ability to grapple with it; if looked in the face
too long, it is apt to stare us out of countenance.
"I believe you." Rigby spoke with grateful fervour. "Anyway, I am not
going to face the future gloomily now!"
"That's half the battle. After all, life's only a journey; it's more or
less our own fault if we don't make a pleasure excursion of it."
"I believe that."
"I know it. Remember, I have been in the battle, and came out upper dog.
So long as you win the race, what does it matter whether you had a good
start or not?"
"Anyway, I shall keep you to your word. If I feel that awful thirst
coming on me; feel, as I have felt, that Hell's got its doors gaping
wide open for me, I shall worry you."
"You won't; not worry me. Come that moment you hear the hinges start
creaking, and we'll try, try together, to keep the doors shut."
"That you should take all this trouble----"
"Trouble be hanged! Don't you know how easy it is to poke another man's
fire?"
Masters' eyes looked honestly into Dick's; he was very honest of
purpose. Wanted, with all his soul, to keep those doors closed. For the
sake of the woman whose trust had been betrayed; for the sake of the
little one. He knew how facile is the descent into Hell. Knew, too, that
a man ambitious to make a fool of himself never lacks help.
How shines a good deed in this bad world! The goodness of his own was
illuminating Masters' eyes at that moment. And he had no fear of the
proverb: that if he conferred a favour he might expect ingratitude.
Plainly, Rigby was not built on those lines.
Dick was not much of a psychologist or mind reader. Saw only the honest
eyes bright with enthusiasm; found them inspiriting; knew nothing of the
inner thought prompting this extraordinary kindness.
His was not an inquiring nature; in his happy-go-lucky way he accepted
Fate unquestionably. Help had come in his way, and he snapped at it as
suddenly as if it were a dish of snapdragon. In response to Masters'
words, he mentally thanked his stars, physically held out his hand. In
silence, gratefully gripped his companion; was too thankful to speak.
Masters resumed his assumption of cheerfulness. Knew the difficulty he
had to face before he spoke: putting seed into the ground does not make
a harvest certain; said:
"Now, there is another thing to discuss: about the grub."
"My dear old chap!" Earnestness, conviction in his tone. "I feel as if I
shouldn't touch food again for months."
"I know. That's not an unusual symptom." Masters affected to laugh. "I
felt like that. And if you go to the saloon table you'll feel like it
for quite a while. Look here now!" He spoke suddenly, as if inspired
with an idea. "Will you leave your commissariat to me?"
"To you! But why on earth, now, should you be troubled to----"
Masters let a shade of annoyance creep over his face. There was no
misreading it. Assuming, too, a tone of regret; he said:
"You mean that? That you would rather I did not interfere?"
The facial expression and voice had the desired effect. Cheated the
younger man--surely he must be very young!--into expostulating:
"My dear old chap! For Heaven's sake don't think I mean anything of that
sort! I'll do whatever you say."
So he would; that was plainly evident. The strong will had conquered the
weaker. Masters felt overjoyed at his success. Most hearts have secret
drawers in them containing some good traits: if we can only find the
spring.
Moreover, strange as it seemed, Masters was conscious of the birth of a
liking for his young companion. He was surprised, too, to realize that
he was but a boy. Had thought him five-and-twenty at first; now imagined
him to be not much over one-and-twenty years of age--if that.
It was, in a measure, a welcome surprise. His imagination had portrayed
Rigby as a hardened debauchee; sunken in vice as sodden in drink.
Mingled with the surprise, too, was a feeling of wonder that Gracie's
mother should, with one younger than herself----But there, he told
himself, there was no accounting for these things; there was no logic or
reason in them.
"Very well, then"--Masters speaking, his face cleared of its
cloud--"I'll arrange with the steward and the cook. Fresh milk, while it
lasts, and beef tea right away till you feel you can compass solidity
little and often; that is my prescription."
"You are a good old chap!"
Almost tears in his eyes as he spoke. He had not counted on making
friends at all, and here, the moment he set foot on the boat, was one to
hand. And such a one! A perfect prince of good fellows.
"For some days," Dick continued, "I shall keep almost to this cabin.
Lying down will rest me. Moreover, I am not anxious to show up to the
crowd."
Again that purple flush. Masters, considerately, was not looking. Was
engaged hanging up his belongings and stowing them away in the limited
space at his disposal. It was work which afforded occasion for a
considerable display of invention and ingenuity.
The cabin of a three thousand ton vessel, or of an Atlantic liner for
that matter, offers little luxury in the way of wardrobe accommodation.
Masters, though his personal luggage did not rival in extent that of
Beau Brummel, yet found himself in difficulties. He turned to his
companion; said:
"I shall be inside a lot too. As a matter of fact, I'm finishing a book;
have a lot of writing to do. So you won't be altogether alone."
"That's jolly!"
"Lend a hand here, old fellow, will you? See if we can shove this
portmanteau under."
Dick was only too glad to be of service; willingly rendered aid in the
stowing away of things. Later followed suit with his own stuff. Masters
was intent on keeping his companion occupied even with the smallest
matters.
That was the beginning of things. The author felt that he had got the
bit in his companion's mouth; that it rested with him which road was
taken; depended on his skill as a rider. Still there was every care and
caution to be exercised.
When you ride a young colt it is well to see that your saddle is well
girt.