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

Chapter 10 Pg 138

"Well,  Don't Let's Say Anything More About It. When Will You Come And

See Us?"

 

"What Day Will Suit You--Some Day Next Week?"

 

"Yes,  I'm Always In In The Evening; Will You Come To Dinner?"

 

Mike Replied Evasively,  Anxious Not To Commit Himself To A Promise

For Any Day. Then Seeing That Frank Thought He Did Not Care To Dine

With Him,  He Said--

 

"Very Well,  Let Us Say Wednesday."

 

He Bade His Friend Good-Night,  And Stood On The Edge Of The Pavement

Watching Him Make His Way Across The Street To Catch The Last

Omnibus. Mike's Mind Filled With Memories Of Frank. They Came From

Afar,  Surging Over The Shores Of Youth,  Thundering Along The Cliffs

Of Manhood. Out Of The Remote Regions Of Boyhood They Came,  White

Crests Uplifted,  Merging And Mingling In The Waters Of Life. It

Seemed To Mike That,  Like Sea-Weed,  He And Frank Had Been Washed

Together,  And They Then Had Been Washed Apart. That Was Life,  And

That Was The Result Of Life,  That And Nothing More. And Of Every

Adventure Frank Was The Most Distinctly Realizable; All Else,  Even

Lily,  Was A Little Shadow That Had Come And Gone. John Had Lost

Himself In Religion,  Frank Had Lost Himself In His Wife And Child. To

Lose Yourself,  That Is The End To Strive For; Absorption In Religion

Or In The Family. They Had Attained It,  He Had Failed. All The Love

And All The Wealth Fortune Had Poured Upon Him Had Not Enabled Him To

Stir From Or Change That Entity Which He Knew As Mike Fletcher. Ten

Years Ago He Had Not A Shilling To His Credit,  To-Day He Had Several

Thousands,  But The Irreparable Had Not Altered--He Was Still Mike

Fletcher. He Had Wandered Over The World; He Had Lain In The Arms Of

A Hundred Women,  And Nothing Remained Of It All But Mike Fletcher.

There Was Apparently No Escape; He Was Lashed To Himself Like The

Convict To The Oar. For Him There Was Nothing But This Oar,  And All

The Jewelry That Had Been Expended Upon It Had Not Made It Anything

But An Oar. There Was A Curse Upon It All.

 

He Saw Frank's Home--The Little Parlour With Its Bits Of Furniture,

Scraggy And Vulgar,  But Sweet With The Presence Of The Wife And Her

Homely Occupations; Then The Children--The Chicks--Cooing And

Chattering,  Creating Such Hope And Fond Anxiety! Why Then Did He Not

Have Wife And Children? Of All Worldly Possessions They Are The

Easiest To Obtain. Because He Had Created A Soul That Irreparably

Separated Him From These,  The Real And Durable Prizes Of Life; They

Lay Beneath His Hands,  But His Soul Said No; He Desired,  And Was

Powerless To Take What He Desired.

 

For A Moment He Stood,  In Puzzled Curiosity,  Listening To The Fate

That His Thoughts Were Prophesying; Then,  As If In Answer Antiphonal,

Terrible As The Announcing Of The Chorus,  Came A Quick Thought,  Quick

And Sharp As A Sword,  Fatal As A Sword Set Against The Heart. He

Strove To Turn Its Point Aside,  He Attempted To Pass It By,  But On

Every Side He Met Its Point,  Though He Reasoned In Jocular And

Serious Mood. Then His Courage Falling Through Him Like A Stone

Dropped Into A Well,  He Crossed The Street,  Seeking The Place Flossy

Had Told Him Of,  And Soon After Saw Her Walking A Little In Front Of

Him With Another Girl. She Beckoned Him,  Leading The Way Through

Numerous By-Streets. Something In The Sound Of Certain Footsteps Told

Him He Was Being Followed; His Reason Warned Him Away,  Yet He Could

Not But Follow. And In The Shop Below And On The Stairs Of The Low

Eating-House Where They Had Led Him,  Loud Voices Were Heard And

Tramping Of Feet. Instantly He Guessed The Truth,  And Drew The

Furniture Across The Doorway. The Window Was Over Twenty Feet From

The Ground,  But He Might Reach The Water-Butt. He Jumped From The

Window-Sill,  Falling Into The Water,  Out Of Which He Succeeded In

Drawing Himself; Hence He Crawled Along The Wall,  Dropped Into The

Lane,  Hearing His Pursuers Shouting To Him From The Window. There

Were Only A Few Children In The Lane; He Sped Quickly Past,  Gained A

Main Street,  Hailed A Cab,  And Was Driven Safely To The Temple.

 

Chapter 10 Pg 139

He Flung Off His Shoes,  Which Were Full Of Water; His Trousers Were

Soaking,  And Having Rid Himself Of Them,  He Wrapped Himself In A

Dressing-Gown,  And Went Into The Sitting-Room In His Slippers. It Was

The Same As When It Was Frank's Room. There Was The Grand Piano And

The Slender Brass Lamps; He Had Lit None,  But Stood Uncertain,  His

Bed-Room Candle In His Hand. And Listening,  He Could Hear London

Along The Embankment--All Occasional Cry,  The Rattle Of A Cab,  The

Hollow Whistle Of A Train About To Cross The Bridge At Blackfriars,

The Shrill Whistle Of A Train Far Away In The Night. He Had Escaped

From His Pursuers,  But Not From Himself.

 

"How Horribly Lonely It Is Here," He Muttered. Then He Thought Of How

Narrowly He Had Escaped Disgraceful Exposure Of His Infamy. "If Those

Fellows Had Got Hold Of My Name It Would Have Been In The Papers The

Day After To-Morrow. What A Fool I Am! Why Do I Risk So Much? And For

What?" He Turned From The Memory As From Sight Of Some Disgustful

Deformity Or Disease. Going To The Mirror He Studied His Face For

Some Reflection Of The Soul; But Unable To Master His Feelings,  In

Which There Was At Once Loathing And Despair,  He Threw Open The

Window And Walked Out Of The Suffocating Room Into The Sultry

Balcony.

 

It Was Hardly Night; The Transparent Obscurity Of The Summer Midnight

Was Dissolving; The Slight Film Of Darkness Which Had Wrapped The

World Was Evanescent. "Is It Day Or Night?" He Asked. "Oh,  It Is Day!

Another Day Has Begun; I Escaped From My Mortal Enemies,  But Not From

The Immortal Day. Like A Gray Beast It Comes On Soft Velvet Paws To

Devour. Stay! Oh,  Bland And Beautiful Night,  Thou That Dost So

Charitably Hide Our Misfortunes,  Stay!

 

"I Shudder When I Think Of The New Evils And Abominations That This

Day Will Bring. The World Is Still At Rest,  Lying In The Partial

Purity Of Sleep. But As A Cruel Gray Beast The Day Comes On Soundless

Velvet Paws. Light And Desire Are One; Light And Desire Are The Claws

That The Gray Beast Unsheathes; A Few Hours' Oblivion And The World's

Torment Begins Again!" Then Looking Down The Great Height,  He Thought

How He Might Spring From Consciousness Into Oblivion--The Town And

The River Were Now Distinct In Ghastly Pallor--"I Should Feel

Nothing. But What A Mess I Should Make; What A Horrible Little Mess!"

 

After Breakfast He Sat Looking Into Space,  Wondering What He Might

Do. He Hoped For A Visitor,  And Yet He Could Not Think Of One That He

Desired To See. A Woman! The Very Thought Was Distasteful. He Rose

And Went To The Window. London Implacable Lay Before Him,  A Morose

Mass Of Brick,  Fitting Sign And Symbol Of Life. And The Few Hours

That Lay Between Breakfast And Dinner Were Narrow And Brick-Coloured;

And Longing For The Vast Green Hours Of The Country,  He Went To

Belthorpe Park. But In A Few Weeks The Downs And Lanes Fevered And

Exasperated Him,  And Perforce He Must Seek Some New Distraction.

Henceforth He Hurried From House To House,  Tiring Of Each Last Abode

More Rapidly Than The One That Had Preceded It. He Read No Books,  And

He Only Bought Newspapers To Read The Accounts Of Suicides; And His

Friends Had Begun To Notice The Strange Interest With Which He Spoke

Of Those Who Had Done Away With Themselves,  And The Persistency With

Which He Sought To Deduce Their Motives From The Evidence; And He

Seemed To Be Animated By A Wish To Depreciate All Worldly Reasons,

And To Rely Upon Weariness Of Life As Sufficient Motive For Their

Action.

 

The Account Of Two Young People Engaged To Be Married,  Who Had Taken

Tickets For Some Short Journey And Shot Themselves In The Railway

Carriage. "Here," He Said,  "Was A Case Of Absolute Sanity,  A Quality

Almost Undiscoverable In Human Nature. Two Young People Resolve To

Rid Themselves Of The Burden; But They Are More Than Utilitarians,

They Are Poets,  And Of A High Order; For,  Not Only Do They Make Most

Public And Emphatic Denial Of Life,  But They Add To It A Measure Of

Aristophanesque Satire--They Engage Themselves To Marry. Now Marriage

Is Man's Approval And Confirmation Of His Belief In Human

Existence--They Engage Themselves To Marry,  But Instead Of Putting

Their Threat Into Execution,  They Enter A Railway Carriage And Blow

Out Their Brains,  Proving Thereby That They Had Brains To Blow Out."

Chapter 10 Pg 140

 

When,  However,  It Transpired That Letters Were Found In The Pockets

Of The Suicides To The Effect That They Had Hoped To Gain Such

Notoriety As The Daily Press Can Give By Their Very Flagrant

Leave-Taking Of This World,  Mike Professed Much Regret,  And Gravely

Assured His Astonished Listeners That,  In The Face Of These Letters

Which Had Unhappily Come To Light,  He Withdrew His Praise Of The

Quality Of The Brains Blown Out. In Truth He Secretly Rejoiced That

Proof Of The Imperfect Sanity Of The Suicides Had Come To Light And

Assured Himself That When He Did Away With Mike Fletcher,  That He

Would Revenge Himself On Society By Leaving Behind Him A Document

Which Would Forbid The Usual Idiotic Verdict,  "Suicide While In A

State Of Temporary Insanity," And Leave No Loophole Through Which It

Might Be Said That He Was Impelled To Seek Death For Any Extraneous

Reasons Whatever. He Would Go To Death In The Midst Of The Most

Perfect Worldly Prosperity The Mind Could Conceive,  Desiring Nothing

But Rest,  Profoundly Convinced Of The Futility Of All Else,  And The

Perfect Folly Of Human Effort.

 

In Such Perverse And Morbid Mind Mike Returned To London. It Was In

The Beginning Of August,  And The Temple Weltered In Sultry Days And

Calm Nights. The River Flowed Sluggishly Through Its Bridges; The

Lights Along Its Banks Gleamed Fiercely In The Lucent Stillness Of A

Sulphur-Hued Horizon. Like A Nightmare The Silence Of The Apartment

Lay Upon His Chest; And There Was A Frightened Look In His Eyes As He

Walked To And Fro. The Moon Lay Like A Creole Amid The Blue Curtains

Of The Night; The Murmur Of London Hushed In Stray Cries,  And Only

The Tread Of The Policeman Was Heard Distinctly. About The River The

Night Was Deepest,  And Out Of The Shadows Falling From The Bridges

The Lamps Gleamed With Strange Intensity,  Some Flickering Sadly In

The Water. Mike Walked Into The Dining-Room. He Could See The Sward

In The Darkness That The Trees