III.
A CHANGE OF HEART.
It was common knowledge that Smugg was engaged to be married.
Familiarity had robbed the fact of some of its surprisingness,
but there remained a substratum of wonder, not removed even by
the sight of his betrothed's photograph and the information that
she was a distant relative who had been brought up with him from
infancy. The features and the explanation between them rescued
Smugg from the incongruity of a romance, but we united in the
opinion that the lady was ill-advised in preferring Smugg to
solitude. Still, for all that he was a ridiculous creature, she
did, and hence it happened that Smugg, desiring to form a
furnishing fund, organized a reading party, which Gayford,
Tritton, Bird, and I at once joined.
Every morning at nine Smugg, his breakfast finished, cleared his
corner of the table, opened his books, and assumed an expectant
air; so Mary the maid told us; we were never there ourselves; we
breakfasted at 9.30 or 10 o'clock, and only about 11 did we clear
our corners, light our pipes, open our books, and discuss the
prospects of the day.
As we discussed them, Smugg construed in a gentle bleat; what he
construed or why he construed it (seeing that nobody heeded him)
was a mystery; the whole performance was simply a tribute to
Smugg's conscience, and, as such, was received with good-natured,
scornful toleration.
Suddenly a change came.
One morning there was no Smugg! Yet he had breakfasted--Mary and
an eggshell testified to that effect. He reappeared at 11.30,
confused and very warm (he had exceptional powers in the way
of being warm). We said nothing, and he began to bleat Horace.
In a minute of silence I happened to hear what it was: it
referred to a lady of the name of Pyrrha; the learned may
identify the passage for themselves. The next day the same thing
happened except that it was close on twelve before Smugg
appeared. Gayford and Tritton took no notice of the aberration;
Bird congratulated Smugg on the increased docility of his
conscience. I watched him closely as he wiped his brow--he was
very warm, indeed. A third time the scene was enacted; my
curiosity was aroused; I made Mary call me very early, and from
the window I espied Smugg leaving the house at 9.15, and going
with rapid, furtive steps along the little path that led to old
Dill's tiny farm. I slipped downstairs, bolted a cup of tea,
seized a piece of toast, and followed Smugg. He was out of
sight, but presently I met Joe Shanks, the butcher's son, who
brought us our chops. Joe was a stout young man, about
twenty-one, red-faced, burly, and greasy. We used to have many
jokes with Joe; even Smugg had before now broken a mild shaft of
classical wit on him; in fact, we made a butt of Joe, and his
good-humored, muttony smile told us that he thought it a
compliment.
"Seen Mr. Smugg as you came along, Joe?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. Gone toward Dill's farm, sir."
"Ah, Dill's farm!"
"Yes, sir."
The chop-laden Joe passed on. I mended my pace, and soon found
myself on the outskirts of Dill's premises. I had been there
before; we had all been there before. Dill had a daughter. I
saw her now in a sunbonnet and laced boots. I may say at once
that Betsy Dill was very pretty, in a fine, robust style, and all
four of us were decidedly enamored of her charms. Usually we
courted her in a body, and scrupulous fairness was observed in
the matter of seeking private interviews.
Smugg had never spoken to her--so we should all have sworn. But
now my wondering eyes saw, opposite Pyrrha (we began from this
day to call her Pyrrha) the figure of Smugg. Pyrrha was leaning
against a barn, one foot crossed over the other, her arms akimbo,
a string of her bonnet in her mouth, and her blue eyes laughing
from under long lashes. Smugg stood limply opposite her, his
trousers bagging over his half-bent knees, his hat in one hand,
and in the other a handkerchief, with which, from time to time,
he mopped his forehead. I could not hear (of course I did not
wish to) what they were saying; indeed, I have my doubts if they
said anything; but presently Smugg moved a hesitating step
nearer, when Pyrrha, with a merry laugh, darted by him and ran
away, turning a mocking face over her shoulder. Smugg stood
still for a minute, then put on his hat, looked at his watch, and
walked slowly away.
I did not keep Smugg's secret; I felt under no obligation to keep
it. He deserved no mercy, and I exposed him at breakfast
that very morning. But I could not help being a little sorry for
him when he came in. He bent his head under the shower of
reproach, chaff, and gibing; he did not try to excuse himself; he
simply opened his book at the old place, and we all shouted the
old ode, substituting "Betsa" for "Pyrrha" wherever we could.
Still, in spite of our jocularity, we all felt an under-current
of real anger.
We considered that Smugg was treating Pyrrha very badly--Smugg,
an engaged man, aged thirty, presumably past the heat and
carelessness of youth. We glowed with a sense of her wrongs, and
that afternoon we each went for a solitary walk--at least, we
started for a solitary walk--but half an hour later we all met at
the gate leading to Dill's meadows, and, in an explosion of
laughter, acknowledged our secret design of meeting Pyrrha, and
opening her eyes to Smugg's iniquity.
The great surprise was still to come. At eleven the next
morning, when we had just sat down to work, and Smugg had slid
into the room with the stealthy, ashamed air he wore after his
morning excursions, Mary appeared, and told us that Joe Shanks,
the butcher's son, had come with the chops, and wanted to speak
to us. We hailed the diversion, and had Joe shown in. Gayford
pushed the beer jug and a glass toward him, saying:
"Help yourself, Joe."
Joe drank a draught, wiped his mouth on his blue sleeve, and
remarked:
"No offense, gentlemen."
"None," said Gayford, who seemed to have assumed the chairmanship
of the meeting.
Joe, seeming slightly embarrassed, cleared his throat, and looked
round again.
"No offense, gentlemen," he repeated; "but she's bin walking with
me two years come Michaelmas."
A pause followed. Then the chairman expressed the views of the
meeting.
"The deuce she has!" said he.
"Off AND on," added Joe candidly.
I looked at Smugg. He had shrunk down low in his seat, and
rested his head on his hand. His face was half hidden; but he
was very warm, and the drops trickled from his forehead down his
nose.
"It seems to be a good deal off," said the chairman judicially.
"No offense," said Joe; "but I don't take it kind of you,
gentlemen. I've served you faithful."
"The chops are excellent," conceded the chairman.
"And I don't take it kind."
"Develop your complaint," said the chairman. "I mean, what's the
row, Joe?"
"Since you gentlemen came she's been saucy," said Joe.
"I do not see," observed the chairman, "that anything can be
done. If Pyrrha prefers us, Joe [he treated the case
collectively, which was certainly wise], what then?"
"Beg pardon, sir?"
"Oh, I mean if the lady prefers us, Joe?"
Joe brought his fat fist down on the table with a thump.
"It aint as if you meant it," said he doggedly; "you just
unsettles of 'er. I s'pose I can't help ye talking, and
laughing, and walking along of 'er, but you aint no call to kiss
'er."
Another pause ensued. The chairman held a consultation with
Tritton, who sat on his right hand.
"The meeting," said Gayford, "will proceed to declare, one by
one, whether it has ever--and if so, how often--kissed the lady.
I will begin. Never! Mr. Tritton?"
"Never!" said Tritton.
"Mr. Bird?"
"Never!" said Bird.
"Mr. Robertson?"
"Never!" said I.
"Mr. Smugg?"
"I seed 'im this very morning!" cried Joe, like an accusing
angel.
Smugg took his hand away from his face, after giving his wet brow
one last dab. He looked at Gayford and at Joe, but said nothing.
"Mr. Smugg?" repeated the chairman.
"Mr. Smugg," interposed Tritton suavely, "probably feels himself
in a difficulty. The secret is not, perhaps, entirely his own."
We all nodded.
"We enter a plea of not guilty for Mr. Smugg," observed the
chairman gravely.
"I seed 'im do it," said Joe.
No one spoke. Joe finished his beer, pulled his forelock, and
turned on his heel. Suddenly Smugg burst into speech. He could
hardly form his words, and they jostled one another in the
breathless confusion of his utterance.
"I--I--you've no right. I say nothing. If I choose, I shall--no
one has a right to stop me. If I love her--if she doesn't mind--
I say nothing--nothing at all. I won't hear a word. I shall do
as I like."
Joe had paused to hear him, and now stood looking at him in
wonder. Then he stepped quickly up to the table, and, leaning
across, asked in a harsh voice:
"You mean honest, do you, by her? You'd make her your wife,
would you?"
Smugg, looking straight in front of him, answered:
"Yes."
Joe drew back, touched his forelock again, and said:
"Then it's fair fighting, sir, begging your pardon; and no
offense. But the girl was mine first, sir."
Then Gayford interposed.
"Mr. Smugg," said he, "you tell Joe, here, that you'd marry this
lady. May I ask how you can--when----"
But for once Smugg was able to silence one of his pupils. He
arose from his seat, and brought his hand heavily down on
Gayford's shoulder.
"Hold your tongue!" he cried. "I must answer to God, but I
needn't answer to you."
Joe looked at him with round eyes, and, with a last salute,
slowly went out. None of us spoke, and presently Smugg opened
his Thucydides.
For my part, I took very considerable interest in Pyrrha's side
of the question. I amused myself by constructing a fancy-born
love of Pyrrha's for her social superior, and if he had been one
of ourselves, I should have seen no absurdity. But Smugg refused
altogether to fit into my frame. There was no glamour about
Smugg; and, to tell the truth, I should have thought that any
girl, be her station what it might, faced with the alternative of
Smugg and Joe, would have chosen Joe. In my opinion, Pyrrha was
merely amusing herself with Smugg, and I was rather comforted by
this reversal of the ordinary roles. Still, I could not
rest in conjecture, and my curiosity led me up to Dill's little
farm on the afternoon of the day of Joe's sudden appearance. The
others let me go alone. Directly after dinner Smugg went to his
bedroom, and the other three had gone off to play lawn tennis
at the vicar's. I lit my pipe, and strolled along till I
reached the gate that led to Dill's meadow. Here I waited till
Pyrrha should appear.
As I sat and smoked, a voice struck suddenly on my ear--the voice
of Mrs. Dill, raised to shrillness by anger.
"Be off with you," she said, "and mind your ways, or worse 'll
happen to you. 'Ere's your switch."
After a moment Pyrrha turned the corner, and came toward me. She
was wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, and carried in
her hand a light hazel switch, which she used to guide errant
cows. She was almost at the gate before she saw me. She
started, and blushed very red.
"Lor! is it you, Mr. Robertson?" she said.
I nodded, but did not move.
"Let me pass, sir, please. I've no time to stop."
"What, not to talk to me, Pyrrha--Betsy, I mean?"
"Mother don't like me talking to gentlemen."
"You've been crying," said I.
"No, I haven't," said Pyrrha, quite violently.
"Mother been scolding you?"
"I wish you'd let me by, sir."
"What for?"
"It's all your fault," burst out Pyrrha. "I didn't want you; no,
nor him, either. What do you come and get me into trouble for?"
"I haven't done anything, Betsy. Come now!"
"You aint as bad as some," she conceded, a dim smile breaking
through the clouds.
"You mean Smugg," I observed.
"Who told you?" she cried.
"Joe," said I.
"Seems he's got a lot to say to everybody," she commented
resentfully.
"Ah! he told your mother, did he? Well, you know you shouldn't,
Betsy."
"I won't never speak to him again--I meant I won't ever [the
grammarian is abroad], Mr. Robertson."
"What! Not to Joe?"
"Joe! No; that Smugg."
"But Joe told of you."
"Well, and it was his right."
If she thought so, I had no more to say. Notions differ among
different sets. But I pressed the point a little.
"Joe got you your scolding."
Now, I can't say whether I did or did not emphasize the last word
unduly, but Pyrrha blushed again, and remarked:
"You want to know too much, sir, by a deal."
So I left that aspect to the subject, and continued:
"I suppose it was for letting Mr. Smugg kiss you?"
"I couldn't help it."
I had great doubts of that--she could have tackled Smugg with one
hand; but I said pleasantly:
"No more could he, I'm sure."
Pyrrha cast an alarmed glance at the house.
"Oh, I'll be careful," I laughed. "Yes, and I'll let you go.
But just tell me, Betsy, what do you think of Mr. Smugg?"
"I don't think that of him!" said she, snapping her pretty red
fingers. "Joe 'ud make ten of him. I wish Joe'd talk to him a
bit."
The end came soon after this, and, in spite of our attitude (I
speak of us four, not of Smugg) of whole-heartedness, I think it
was rather a shock to us all, when Joe announced one morning, on
his arrival with the chops, that he was to be made a happy man at
the church next day. Smugg was not in the room, and the rest of
us congratulated Joe, and made up a purse for him to give Pyrrha,
with our best respects, and he bowed himself out, mightily
pleased, and asseverating that we were real gentlemen. Then we
sat and looked at the table.
"It robs us of a resource," pronounced Gayford, once again making
himself the mouthpiece of the party. We all nodded, and filled
fresh pipes.
Presently Smugg sidled in. We had seen little of him the last
week; save when he was construing he had taken refuge in his own
room. When he came in now, Gayford wagged his head
significantly at me; apparently, it was my task to bell the cat.
I rose, and went to the mantelpiece. Smugg had sat down at the
table, and my back was to him. I took a match from the box,
struck it, and applied it to my pipe, and, punctuating my words
with interspersed puffings, I said carelessly:
"By the way, Smugg, Pyrrha's going to be married to Joe Shanks
to-morrow."
I don't know how he looked. I kept my face from him, but, after
a long minute's pause, he answered:
"Thank you, Robertson. It's Aeschylus this morning, isn't it?"
We had a noisy evening that night. I suppose we felt below par,
and wanted cheering up. Anyhow, we made an expedition to the
grocer's, and amazed him with a demand for his best champagne and
his choicest sherry. We carried the goods home in a bag, and sat
down to a revel. Smugg had some bread and cheese in his own
room; he said that he had letters to write. We dined
largely, and drank still more largely; then we sang, and at
last--it was near on twelve, a terrible hour for that
neighborhood--we made our way, amid much boisterousness and
horseplay, to bed; where I, at least, was asleep in five minutes.
As the church clock struck two, I awoke. I heard a sound of
movement in Smugg's room next door. I lay and listened.
Presently his door opened, and he creaked gently downstairs. I
sprang out of bed and looked out of the window. Smugg, fully
dressed, was gliding along the path toward Dill's farm. Some
impulse--curiosity only, very likely--made me jump into my
trousers, seize a flannel jacket, draw on a pair of boots, and
hastily follow him. When I got outside he was visible in the
moonlight, mounting the path ahead of me. He held on his way
toward the farm, I following. When he reached the yard he
stopped for a moment, and seemed to peer up at the windows, which
were all dark and unresponsive. I stood as quiet as I could,
twenty yards from him, and moved cautiously on again when he
turned to the right and passed through the gate into the meadows.
I saw no signs of Pyrrha. Smugg held on his way across the
meadows, down toward the stream; and suddenly the thought leaped
to my brain that the poor fool meant to drown himself. But I
could hardly believe it. Surely he must merely be taking a
desperate lover's ramble, a last sad visit to the scenes of his
silly, irrational infatuation. If I went up to him, I should
look a fool, too; so I hung behind, ready to turn upon him if
need appeared.
He walked down to the very edge of the stream; it ran deep and
fast just here, under a high bank and a row of old willows.
Smugg sat down on the bank, wet though the grass was, and clasped
his hands over his knees. I crouched down a little way behind
him, ready and alert. I am a good swimmer, and I did not doubt
my power to pull him out, even if I were not in time to prevent
him jumping in. I saw him rise, look over the brink, and sit
down again. I almost thought I saw him shiver. And presently,
through the stillness of the summer night, came the strangest,
saddest sound; catching my ear as it drifted across the meadow.
Smugg was sobbing, and his sobs--never loud--rose and fell with
the subdued stress of intolerable pain.
Suddenly he leaped up, cried aloud, and flung his hands above his
head. I thought he was gone this time; but he stopped, poised,
as it seemed, over the water, and I heard him cry, "I can't, I
can't!" and he sank down all in a heap on the bank, and fell
again to sobbing. I hope never to see a man--if you can call
Smugg a man--like that again.
He sat where he was, and I where I was, till the moon paled and a
distant hint of day discovered us. Then he rose, brushed himself
with his hands, and slunk quickly from the bank. Had he looked
anywhere but on the ground, he must have seen me; as it was, I
only narrowly avoided him, and fell again into my place behind
him. All the way back to our garden I followed him. As he
passed through the gate, I quickened my pace, overtook him, and
laid my hand on his arm. The man's face gave me what I remember
my old nurse used to call "quite a turn."
"You're an average idiot, aren't you?" said I. "Oh, yes; I've
been squatting in the wet by that infernal river, too. You ought
to get three months, by rights."
He looked at me in a dazed sort of way.
"I daren't," he said. "I wanted to, but I daren't."
There is really nothing more. We went to the wedding, leaving
Smugg in bed; and in the evening we, leaving Smugg still in bed
(I told Mary to keep an eye on him), and carrying a dozen of the
grocer's best port, went up to dance at Dill's farm. Joe was
polished till I could almost see myself in his cheek, and Pyrrha
looked more charming than ever. She and Joe were to leave us
early, to go to Joe's own house in the village, but I managed to
get one dance with her. Indeed, I believe she wanted a word
with me.
"Well, all's well that ends well, isn't it?" I began. "No more
scoldings! Not from Mrs. Dill, anyhow."
"You can't let that alone, sir," said Pyrrha.
I chuckled gently.
"Oh, I'll never refer to it again," said I. "This is a fine
wedding of yours, Betsy."
"It's good of you and the other gentlemen to come, sir."
"We had to see the last of you," and I sighed very
ostentatiously.
Pyrrha laughed. She did not believe in it, and she knew that I
knew she did not, but the little compliment pleased her, all the
same.
"Smugg," I pursued, "is ill in bed. But perhaps he wouldn't have
come, anyhow."
"If you please, sir----" Pyrrha began; but she stopped.
"Yes, Betsy? What is it?"
"Would you take a message for me, sir?"
"If it's a proper one, Betsy, for a married lady to send."
She laughed a little, and said:
"Oh, it's no harm, sir. I'm afraid he aint--he's rather down,
sir."
"Who?"
"Why, that Smugg, sir."
"Oh, that Smugg! Why, yes; a little down, Betsy, I fear."
"You might tell him as I bear no malice, sir--as I'm not angry--
with him, I mean."
"Certainly," said I. "It will probably do him good."
"He got me into trouble; but there, I can make allowances; and
it's all right now, sir."
"In fact you forgive him?"
"I think you might tell him so, sir," said Betsy.
"But," said I, "are you aware that he was another's all the
time?"
"What, sir?"
"Oh, yes! engaged to be married."
"Well, I never! Him! What, all the while he----"
"Precisely."
"Well, that beats everything. Oh, if I'd known that!"
"I'll give him your message."
"No, sir, not now, I thank you. The villain!"
"You are right," said I. "I think your mother ought to have--
scolded him, too."
"Now you promised, sir----" but Joe came up, and I escaped.
