Mike Fletcher, George Moore [reading books for 4 year olds .TXT] 📗

But I Warn You,  Lady Edith,

That Riding About These Downs In A Fog Is Most Dangerous; I As Nearly

As Possible Went Over A Chalk-Pit Fifty Feet Deep."

 

"Oh,  Mr. Fletcher,  I Must Get Home; I Cannot Stay Here All Night; It

Is Ridiculous."

 

They Talked So For A Few Minutes. Then Amid Many Protestations Lady

Edith Was Induced To Dismount. He Forced Her To Drink,  And To

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Continue Sipping From His Hunting-Flask,  Which Was Fortunately Full

Of Brandy; And When She Said She Was No Longer Cold,  He Put His Arm

About Her,  And They Talked Of Their Sensations On First Seeing Each

Other.

 

Three Small Stones,  Two Embedded In The Ground,  The Third,  A Large

Flint,  Lay Close Where The Grass Began,  And The Form Of A Bush Was

Faint On The Heavy White Blanket In Which The World Was Wrapped. A

Rabbit Crept Through The Furze And Frightened Them,  And They Heard

The Horses Browsing.

 

Mike Declared He Could Say When She Had Begun To Like Him.

 

"You Remember You Were Standing By The Sideboard Holding Your Habit

Over Your Boots; I Brought You A Glass Of Champagne,  And You Looked

At Me...."

 

She Told Him Of Her Troubles Since She Had Left School. He Related

The Story Of His Own Precarious Fortunes; And As They Lay Dreaming Of

Each Other,  The Sound Of Horse's Hoofs Came Through The Darkness.

 

"Oh,  Do Cry Out,  Perhaps They Will Be Able To Tell Us The Way."

 

"Do You Want To Leave Me?"

 

"No,  No,  But I Must Get Home; What Will Father Think?"

 

Mike Shouted,  And His Shout Was Answered.

 

"Where Are You?" Asked The Unknown.

 

"Here," Said Mike.

 

"Where Is Here?"

 

"By The Furze-Bush."

 

"Where Is The Furze-Bush?"

 

It Was Difficult To Explain,  And The Voice Grew Fainter. Then It

Seemed To Come From A Different Side.

 

Mike Shouted Again And Again,  And At Last A Horseman Loomed Like A

Nightmare Out Of The Dark. It Was Parker,  Lady Edith's Groom.

 

"Oh,  Parker,  How Did You Miss Me? I Have Been Awfully Frightened; I

Don't Know What I Should Have Done If I Had Not Met Mr. Fletcher."

 

"I Was Coming Round That Barn,  My Lady; You Set Off At A Trot,  My

Lady,  And A Cloud Of Fog Came Between Us."

 

"Yes,  Yes; But Do You Know The Way Home?"

 

"I Think,  My Lady,  We Are Near The Dike; But I Wouldn't Be Certain."

 

"I Nearly As Possible Rode Into A Chalk-Pit," Said Mike. "Unpleasant

As It Is,  I Think We Had Better Remain Where We Are Until It Clears."

 

"Oh,  No,  No,  We Cannot Remain Here; We Might Walk And Lead The

Horses."

 

"Very Well,  You Get On Your Horse; I'll Lead."

 

"No,  No," She Whispered,  "Give Me Your Arm,  And I'll Walk."

 

They Walked In The Bitter,  Hopeless Dark,  Stumbling Over The Rough

Ground,  The Groom Following With The Horses. But Soon Lady Edith

Stopped,  And Leaning Heavily On Mike,  Said--

 

"I Can Go No Further; I Wish I Were Dead!"

 

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"Dead! No,  No," He Whispered; "Live For My Sake,  Darling."

 

At That Moment The Gable Of A Barn Appeared Like An Apparition. The

Cattle Which Were Lying In The Yard Started From Under The Horses'

Feet,  And Stood Staring In Round-Eyed Surprise. The Barn Was Half

Full Of Hay,  And In The Dry Pungent Odour Mike And Lady Edith Rested

An Hour. Sometimes A Bullock Filled The Doorway With Ungainly Form

And Steaming Nostrils; Sometimes The Lips Of The Lovers Met. In About

Half An Hour The Groom Returned With The News That The Fog Was

Lifting,  And Discovering A Cart-Track,  They Followed It Over The

Hills For Many A Mile.

 

"There Is Horton Borstal," Cried Parker,  As They Entered A Deep

Cutting Overgrown With Bushes. "I Know My Way Now,  My Lady; We Are

Seven Miles From Home."

 

When He Bade Lady Edith Good-Bye,  Mike's Mind Thrilled With A Sense

Of Singular Satisfaction. Here Was An Adventure Which Seemed To Him

Quite Perfect; It Had Been Preceded By No Wearisome Preliminaries,

And He Was Not Likely Ever To See Her Again.

 

Weeks And Months Passed,  And The Simple-Minded Country Folk With Whom

He Had Taken Up His Abode Seemed More Thoroughly Devoted To Him; The

Anchor Of Their Belief Seemed Now Deeply Grounded,  And In The

Peaceful Bay Of Their Affection His Bark Floated,  Safe From

Shipwrecking Current Or Storm. There Was Neither Subterfuge Or

Duplicity In Mike; He Was Always Singularly Candid On The Subject Of

His Sins And General Worthlessness,  And He Was Never More Natural In

Word And Deed Than At Holly Park. If Its Inmates Had Been Reasonable

They Would Have Cast Him Forth; But Reason Enters Hardly At All In

The Practical Conduct Of Human Life,  And Our Loves And Friendships

Owe To It Neither Origin Or Modification.

 

It Was A House Of Copious Meals And Sleep. Mike Stirred These

Sluggish Livers,  And They Accepted Him As A Digestive; And They

Amused Him,  And He Only Dreamed Vaguely Of Leaving Them Until He

Found His Balance At The Bank Had Fallen Very Low. Then He Packed Up

His Portmanteau And Left Them,  And When He Walked Down The Strand He

Had Forgotten Them And All Country Pursuits,  And Wanted To Talk Of

Journalism; And He Would Have Welcomed The Obscurest Paragraphist.

Suddenly He Saw Frank; And Turning From A Golden-Haired Actress Who

Was Smiling Upon Him,  He Said--

 

"How Do You Do?" The Men Shook Hands,  And Stood Constrainedly Talking

For A Few Minutes; Then Mike Suggested Lunch,  And They Turned Into

Lubini's. The Proprietor,  A Dapper Little Man,  More Like A Rich Man's

Valet Than A Waiter,  Whose Fat Fingers Sparkled With Rings,  Sat

Sipping Sherry And Reading The Racing Intelligence To A Lord Who

Offered To Toss Him For Half-Crowns.

 

"Now Then,  Lubi," Cried The Lord,  "Which Is It? Come On; Just This

Once."

 

Lubi Demurred. "You Toss Too Well For Me; Last Night You Did Win

Seven Times Running--Damn!"

 

"Come On,  Lubi; Here It Is Flat On The Table."

 

Mike Longed To Pull His Money Out Of His Pocket,  But He Had Not Been

On Terms With Lubi Since He Had Called Him A _Marchand De Soupe_,  An

Insult Which Lubi Had Not Been Able To Forgive,  And It Was The

Restaurateur's Women-Folk Who Welcomed Him Back To Town After His

Long Absence.

 

"What An Air Of Dissipation,  Hilarity,  And Drink There Is About The

Place!" Said Mike. "Look!" And His Eyes Rested On Two Gross

Men--Music-Hall Singers--Who Sat With Their Agent,  Sipping

Chartreuse. "Three Years Ago," He Said,  "They Were Crying Artichokes

In An Alley,  And The Slum Is Still Upon Their Faces."

 

No One Else Was In The Long Gallery Save The Waiters,  Who Dozed Far

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Away In The Mean Twilight Of The Glass-Roofing.

 

"How Jolly It Is," Said Mike,  "To Order Your Own Dinner! Let's Have

Some Oysters--Three Dozen. We'll Have A Chateaubriand--What Do You

Say? And An Omelette Soufflée--What Do You Think? And A Bottle Of

Champagne. Waiter,  Bring Me The Wine-List."

 

Frank Had Spoken To Mike Because He Felt Lonely; The World Had Turned

A Harsh Face On Him. Lord Mount Rorke Had Married,  And The Paper Was

Losing Its Circulation.

 

"And How Is The Paper Going?"

 

"Pretty Well; Just The Same As Usual. Do You Ever See It? What Do You

Think Of My Articles?"

 

"Your Continuation Of My Series,  _Lions Of The Season?_ Very Good; I

Only Saw One Or Two. I Have Been Living In The Country,  And Have

Hardly Seen A Paper For The Last Year And A Half. You Can't Imagine

The Life I Have Been Leading. Nice Kind People 'Tis True; I Love

Them,  But They Never Open A Book. That Is All Very Nice For A

Time--For Three Months,  For Six,  For A Year--But After That You Feel

A Sense Of Alienation Stealing Over You."

 

Mike Saw That Frank Had Only Met With Failure; So He Was Tempted To

Brandish His Successes. He Gave A Humorous Description Of His

Friends--How He Had Picked Them Up; How They Had Supplied Him With

Horses To Ride And Guns To Shoot With.

 

"And What About The Young Ladies? Were They Included In The

Hospitality?"

 

"They Included Themselves. How Delicious Love In A Country House

Is!--And How Different From Other Love It Is,  To Follow A Girl

Dressed For Dinner Into The Drawing-Room Or Library,  And To Take Her

By The Waist,  To Feel A Head Leaning Towards You And A Mouth Closing

Upon Yours! Above All,  When The Room Is In Darkness--Better Still In

The Firelight--The Light Of The Fire On Her Neck.... How Good These

Oysters Are! Have Some More Champagne."

 

Then,  In A Sudden Silence,  A Music-Hall Gent Was Heard To Say That

Some One Was A Splendid Woman,  Beautifully Developed.

 

"Now Then,  Lubi,  Old Man,  I Toss You For A Sovereign," Cried A Lord,

Who Looked Like A Sandwich-Man In His Ample Driving-Coat.

 

"You No More Toss With Me,  I Have Done With You; You Too Sharp For

Me."

 

"What! Are You Going To Cut Me? Are You Going To Warn Me Off Your

Restaurant?"

 

Roars Of Laughter Followed,  And The Lions Of Song Gazed In Admiration

On The Lord.

 

"I May Be Hard Up," Cried The Lord; "But I'm Damned If I Ever Look

Hard Up; Do I,  Lubi?"

 

"Since You Turn Up Head When You Like,  Why Should You Look Hard Up?"

 

"You Want Us To Believe You Are A 'Mug,' Lubi,  That's About It,  But

It Won't Do. 'Mugs' Are Rare Nowadays. I Don't Know Where To Go And

Look For Them.... I Say,  Lubi," And He Whispered Something In The

Restaurateur's Ear,  "If You Know Of Any Knocking About,  Bring Them

Down To My Place; You Shall Stand In."

 

"Damn Me! You Take Me For A Pump,  Do You? You Get Out!"

 

The Genial Lord Roared The More,  And Assured Lubi He Meant "Mugs,"

And Offered To Toss Him For A Sovereign.

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