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    The Dog Hervey

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    Chapter 5
    Previous Chapter
    (April 1914)

    My friend Attley, who would give away his own head if you told him you
    had lost yours, was giving away a six-months-old litter of Bettina's
    pups, and half-a-dozen women were in raptures at the show on
    Mittleham lawn.

    We picked by lot. Mrs. Godfrey drew first choice; her married daughter,
    second. I was third, but waived my right because I was already owned by
    Malachi, Bettina's full brother, whom I had brought over in the car to
    visit his nephews and nieces, and he would have slain them all if I had
    taken home one. Milly, Mrs. Godfrey's younger daughter, pounced on my
    rejection with squeals of delight, and Attley turned to a dark,
    sallow-skinned, slack-mouthed girl, who had come over for tennis, and
    invited her to pick. She put on a pince-nez that made her look like a
    camel, knelt clumsily, for she was long from the hip to the knee,
    breathed hard, and considered the last couple.

    'I think I'd like that sandy-pied one,' she said.

    'Oh, not him, Miss Sichliffe!' Attley cried. 'He was overlaid or had
    sunstroke or something. They call him The Looney in the kennels.
    Besides, he squints.'

    'I think that's rather fetching,' she answered. Neither Malachi nor I
    had ever seen a squinting dog before.

    'That's chorea--St. Vitus's dance,' Mrs. Godfrey put in. 'He ought to
    have been drowned.'

    'But I like his cast of countenance,' the girl persisted.

    'He doesn't look a good life,' I said, 'but perhaps he can be patched
    up.' Miss Sichliffe turned crimson; I saw Mrs. Godfrey exchange a glance
    with her married daughter, and knew I had said something which would
    have to be lived down.

    'Yes,' Miss Sichliffe went on, her voice shaking, 'he isn't a good life,
    but perhaps I can--patch him up. Come here, sir.' The misshapen beast
    lurched toward her, squinting down his own nose till he fell over his
    own toes. Then, luckily, Bettina ran across the lawn and reminded
    Malachi of their puppyhood. All that family are as queer as Dick's
    hatband, and fight like man and wife. I had to separate them, and Mrs.
    Godfrey helped me till they retired under the rhododendrons and had it
    out in silence.

    'D'you know what that girl's father was?' Mrs. Godfrey asked.

    'No,' I replied. 'I loathe her for her own sake. She breathes through
    her mouth.'

    'He was a retired doctor,' she explained. 'He used to pick up stormy
    young men in the repentant stage, take them home, and patch them up till
    they were sound enough to be insured. Then he insured them heavily, and
    let them out into the world again--with an appetite. Of course, no one
    knew him while he was alive, but he left pots of money to his daughter.'

    'Strictly legitimate--highly respectable,' I said. 'But what a life for
    the daughter!'

    'Mustn't it have been! _Now_ d'you realise what you said just now?'

    'Perfectly; and now you've made me quite happy, shall we go back to the
    house?'

    When we reached it they were all inside, sitting in committee on names.

    'What shall you call yours?' I heard Milly ask Miss Sichliffe.

    'Harvey,' she replied--'Harvey's Sauce, you know. He's going to be quite
    saucy when I've'--she saw Mrs. Godfrey and me coming through the French
    window--'when he's stronger.'

    Attley, the well-meaning man, to make me feel at ease, asked what I
    thought of the name.

    'Oh, splendid,' I said at random. 'H with an A, A with an R, R with a--'

    'But that's Little Bingo,' some one said, and they all laughed.

    Miss Sichliffe, her hands joined across her long knees, drawled, 'You
    ought always to verify your quotations.'

    It was not a kindly thrust, but something in the word 'quotation' set
    the automatic side of my brain at work on some shadow of a word or
    phrase that kept itself out of memory's reach as a cat sits just beyond
    a dog's jump. When I was going home, Miss Sichliffe came up to me in the
    twilight, the pup on a leash, swinging her big shoes at the end of her
    tennis-racket.

    "Sorry,' she said in her thick schoolboy-like voice. 'I'm sorry for
    what I said to you about verifying quotations. I didn't know you well
    enough and--anyhow, I oughtn't to have.'

    'But you were quite right about Little Bingo,' I answered. 'The spelling
    ought to have reminded me.'

    'Yes, of course. It's the spelling,' she said, and slouched off with the
    pup sliding after her. Once again my brain began to worry after
    something that would have meant something if it had been properly
    spelled. I confided my trouble to Malachi on the way home, but Bettina
    had bitten him in four places, and he was busy.

    Weeks later, Attley came over to see me, and before his car stopped
    Malachi let me know that Bettina was sitting beside the chauffeur. He
    greeted her by the scruff of the neck as she hopped down; and I greeted
    Mrs. Godfrey, Attley, and a big basket.

    'You've got to help me,' said Attley tiredly. We took the basket into
    the garden, and there staggered out the angular shadow of a sandy-pied,
    broken-haired terrier, with one imbecile and one delirious ear, and two
    most hideous squints. Bettina and Malachi, already at grips on the lawn,
    saw him, let go, and fled in opposite directions.

    'Why have you brought that fetid hound here?' I demanded.

    'Harvey? For you to take care of,' said Attley. 'He's had distemper, but
    _I_'m going abroad.'

    'Take him with you. I won't have him. He's mentally afflicted.'

    'Look here,' Attley almost shouted, 'do I strike you as a fool?'

    'Always,' said I.

    'Well, then, if you say so, and Ella says so, that proves I ought to go
    abroad.'

    'Will's wrong, quite wrong,' Mrs. Godfrey interrupted; 'but you must
    take the pup.'

    'My dear boy, my dear boy, don't you ever give anything to a woman,'
    Attley snorted.

    Bit by bit I got the story out of them in the quiet garden (never a sign
    from Bettina and Malachi), while Harvey stared me out of countenance,
    first with one cuttlefish eye and then with the other.

    It appeared that, a month after Miss Sichliffe took him, the dog Harvey
    developed distemper. Miss Sichliffe had nursed him herself for some
    time; then she carried him in her arms the two miles to Mittleham, and
    wept--actually wept--at Attley's feet, saying that Harvey was all she
    had or expected to have in this world, and Attley must cure him. Attley,
    being by wealth, position, and temperament guardian to all lame dogs,
    had put everything aside for this unsavoury job, and, he asserted, Miss
    Sichliffe had virtually lived with him ever since.

    'She went home at night, of course,' he exploded, 'but the rest of the
    time she simply infested the premises. Goodness knows, I'm not
    particular, but it was a scandal. Even the servants!... Three and four
    times a day, and notes in between, to know how the beast was. Hang it
    all, don't laugh! And wanting to send me flowers and goldfish. Do I look
    as if I wanted goldfish? Can't you two stop for a minute?' (Mrs. Godfrey
    and I were clinging to each other for support.) 'And it isn't as if I
    was--was so alluring a personality, is it?'

    Attley commands more trust, goodwill, and affection than most men, for
    he is that rare angel, an absolutely unselfish bachelor, content to be
    run by contending syndicates of zealous friends. His situation seemed
    desperate, and I told him so.

    'Instant flight is your only remedy,' was my verdict. I'll take care of
    both your cars while you're away, and you can send me over all the
    greenhouse fruit.'

    'But why should I be chased out of my house by a she-dromedary?' he
    wailed.

    'Oh, stop! Stop!' Mrs. Godfrey sobbed. 'You're both wrong. I admit
    you're right, but I _know_ you're wrong.'

    'Three _and_ four times a day,' said Attley, with an awful countenance.
    'I'm not a vain man, but--look here, Ella, I'm not sensitive, I hope,
    but if you persist in making a joke of it--'

    'Oh, be quiet!' she almost shrieked. 'D'you imagine for one instant that
    your friends would ever let Mittleham pass out of their hands? I quite
    agree it is unseemly for a grown girl to come to Mittleham at all hours
    of the day and night--'

    'I told you she went home o' nights,' Attley growled.

    'Specially if she goes home o' nights. Oh, but think of the life she
    must have led, Will!'

    'I'm not interfering with it; only she must leave me alone.'

    'She may want to patch you up and insure you,' I suggested.

    'D'you know what _you_ are?' Mrs. Godfrey turned on me with the smile I
    have feared for the last quarter of a century. 'You're the nice, kind,
    wise, doggy friend. You don't know how wise and nice you are supposed to
    be. Will has sent Harvey to you to complete the poor angel's
    convalescence. You know all about dogs, or Will wouldn't have done it.
    He's written her that. You're too far off for her to make daily calls on
    you. P'r'aps she'll drop in two or three times a week, and write on
    other days. But it doesn't matter what she does, because you don't own
    Mittleham, don't you see?'

    I told her I saw most clearly.

    'Oh, you'll get over that in a few days,' Mrs. Godfrey countered.
    'You're the sporting, responsible, doggy friend who--'

    'He used to look at me like that at first,' said Attley, with a visible
    shudder, 'but he gave it up after a bit. It's only because you're new
    to him.'

    'But, confound you! he's a ghoul--' I began.

    'And when he gets quite well, you'll send him back to her direct with
    your love, and she'll give you some pretty four-tailed goldfish,' said
    Mrs. Godfrey, rising. 'That's all settled. Car, please. We're going to
    Brighton to lunch together.'

    They ran before I could get into my stride, so I told the dog Harvey
    what I thought of them and his mistress. He never shifted his position,
    but stared at me, an intense, lopsided stare, eye after eye. Malachi
    came along when he had seen his sister off, and from a distance
    counselled me to drown the brute and consort with gentlemen again. But
    the dog Harvey never even cocked his cockable ear.

    And so it continued as long as he was with me. Where I sat, he sat and
    stared; where I walked, he walked beside, head stiffly slewed over one
    shoulder in single-barrelled contemplation of me. He never gave tongue,
    never closed in for a caress, seldom let me stir a step alone. And, to
    my amazement, Malachi, who suffered no stranger to live within our
    gates, saw this gaunt, growing, green-eyed devil wipe him out of my
    service and company without a whimper. Indeed, one would have said the
    situation interested him, for he would meet us returning from grim walks
    together, and look alternately at Harvey and at me with the same
    quivering interest that he showed at the mouth of a rat-hole. Outside
    these inspections, Malachi withdrew himself as only a dog or a
    woman can.

    Miss Sichliffe came over after a few days (luckily I was out) with some
    elaborate story of paying calls in the neighbourhood. She sent me a note
    of thanks next day. I was reading it when Harvey and Malachi entered and
    disposed themselves as usual, Harvey close up to stare at me, Malachi
    half under the sofa, watching us both. Out of curiosity I returned
    Harvey's stare, then pulled his lopsided head on to my knee, and took
    his eye for several minutes. Now, in Malachi's eye I can see at any hour
    all that there is of the normal decent dog, flecked here and there with
    that strained half-soul which man's love and association have added to
    his nature. But with Harvey the eye was perplexed, as a tortured man's.
    Only by looking far into its deeps could one make out the spirit of the
    proper animal, beclouded and cowering beneath some unfair burden.

    Leggatt, my chauffeur, came in for orders.

    'How d'you think Harvey's coming on?' I said, as I rubbed the brute's
    gulping neck. The vet had warned me of the possibilities of spinal
    trouble following distemper.

    'He ain't _my_ fancy,' was the reply. 'But _I_ don't question his
    comings and goings so long as I 'aven't to sit alone in a room
    with him.'

    'Why? He's as meek as Moses,' I said.

    'He fair gives me the creeps. P'r'aps he'll go out in fits.'

    But Harvey, as I wrote his mistress from time to time, throve, and when
    he grew better, would play by himself grisly games of spying, walking
    up, hailing, and chasing another dog. From these he would break off of a
    sudden and return to his normal stiff gait, with the air of one who had
    forgotten some matter of life and death, which could be reached only by
    staring at me. I left him one evening posturing with the unseen on the
    lawn, and went inside to finish some letters for the post. I must have
    been at work nearly an hour, for I was going to turn on the lights,
    when I felt there was somebody in the room whom, the short hairs at the
    back of my neck warned me, I was not in the least anxious to face. There
    was a mirror on the wall. As I lifted my eyes to it I saw the dog Harvey
    reflected near the shadow by the closed door. He had reared himself
    full-length on his hind legs, his head a little one side to clear a sofa
    between us, and he was looking at me. The face, with its knitted brows
    and drawn lips, was the face of a dog, but the look, for the fraction of
    time that I caught it, was human--wholly and horribly human. When the
    blood in my body went forward again he had dropped to the floor, and was
    merely studying me in his usual one-eyed fashion. Next day I returned
    him to Miss Sichliffe. I would not have kept him another day for the
    wealth of Asia, or even Ella Godfrey's approval.

    Miss Sichliffe's house I discovered to be a mid-Victorian mansion of
    peculiar villainy even for its period, surrounded by gardens of
    conflicting colours, all dazzling with glass and fresh paint on
    ironwork. Striped blinds, for it was a blazing autumn morning, covered
    most of the windows, and a voice sang to the piano an almost forgotten
    song of Jean Ingelow's--

    Methought that the stars were blinking bright,
    And the old brig's sails unfurled--

    Down came the loud pedal, and the unrestrained cry swelled out across a
    bed of tritomas consuming in their own fires--

    When I said I will sail to my love this night
    On the other side of the world.

    I have no music, but the voice drew. I waited till the end:

    Oh, maid most dear, I am not here
    I have no place apart--
    No dwelling more on sea or shore,
    But only in thy heart.

    It seemed to me a poor life that had no more than that to do at eleven
    o'clock of a Tuesday forenoon. Then Miss Sichliffe suddenly lumbered
    through a French window in clumsy haste, her brows contracted against
    the light.

    'Well?' she said, delivering the word like a spear-thrust, with the full
    weight of a body behind it.

    'I've brought Harvey back at last,' I replied. 'Here he is.'

    But it was at me she looked, not at the dog who had cast himself at her
    feet--looked as though she would have fished my soul out of my breast on
    the instant.

    'Wha--what did you think of him? What did _you_ make of him?' she
    panted. I was too taken aback for the moment to reply. Her voice broke
    as she stooped to the dog at her knees. 'O Harvey, Harvey! You utterly
    worthless old devil!' she cried, and the dog cringed and abased himself
    in servility that one could scarcely bear to look upon. I made to go.

    'Oh, but please, you mustn't!' She tugged at the car's side. 'Wouldn't
    you like some flowers or some orchids? We've really splendid orchids,
    and'--she clasped her hands--'there are Japanese goldfish--real
    Japanese goldfish, with four tails. If you don't care for 'em, perhaps
    your friends or somebody--oh, please!'

    Harvey had recovered himself, and I realised that this woman beyond the
    decencies was fawning on me as the dog had fawned on her.

    'Certainly,' I said, ashamed to meet her eye. 'I'm lunching at
    Mittleham, but--'

    'There's plenty of time,' she entreated. 'What do _you_ think of
    Harvey?'

    'He's a queer beast,' I said, getting out. 'He does nothing but stare at
    me.'

    'Does he stare at you all the time he's with you?'

    'Always. He's doing it now. Look!'

    We had halted. Harvey had sat down, and was staring from one to the
    other with a weaving motion of the head.

    'He'll do that all day,' I said. 'What is it, Harvey?'

    'Yes, what _is_ it, Harvey?' she echoed. The dog's throat twitched, his
    body stiffened and shook as though he were going to have a fit. Then he
    came back with a visible wrench to his unwinking watch.

    'Always so?' she whispered.

    'Always,' I replied, and told her something of his life with me. She
    nodded once or twice, and in the end led me into the house.

    There were unaging pitch-pine doors of Gothic design in it; there were
    inlaid marble mantel-pieces and cut-steel fenders; there were stupendous
    wall-papers, and octagonal, medallioned Wedgwood what-nots, and
    black-and-gilt Austrian images holding candelabra, with every other
    refinement that Art had achieved or wealth had bought between 1851 and
    1878. And everything reeked of varnish.

    'Now!' she opened a baize door, and pointed down a long corridor flanked
    with more Gothic doors. 'This was where we used to--to patch 'em up.
    You've heard of us. Mrs. Godfrey told you in the garden the day I got
    Harvey given me. I'--she drew in her breath--'I live here by myself, and
    I have a very large income. Come back, Harvey.'

    He had tiptoed down the corridor, as rigid as ever, and was sitting
    outside one of the shut doors. 'Look here!' she said, and planted
    herself squarely in front of me. 'I tell you this because you--you've
    patched up Harvey, too. Now, I want you to remember that my name is
    Moira. Mother calls me Marjorie because it's more refined; but my real
    name is Moira, and I am in my thirty-fourth year.'

    'Very good,' I said. 'I'll remember all that.'

    'Thank you.' Then with a sudden swoop into the humility of an abashed
    boy--"Sorry if I haven't said the proper things. You see--there's
    Harvey looking at us again. Oh, I want to say--if ever you want anything
    in the way of orchids or goldfish or--or anything else that would be
    useful to you, you've only to come to me for it. Under the will I'm
    perfectly independent, and we're a long-lived family, worse luck!' She
    looked at me, and her face worked like glass behind driven flame. 'I may
    reasonably expect to live another fifty years,' she said.

    'Thank you, Miss Sichliffe,' I replied. 'If I want anything, you may be
    sure I'll come to you for it.' She nodded. 'Now I must get over to
    Mittleham,' I said.

    'Mr. Attley will ask you all about this.' For the first time she laughed
    aloud. 'I'm afraid I frightened him nearly out of the county. I didn't
    think, of course. But I dare say he knows by this time he was wrong. Say
    good-bye to Harvey.'

    'Good-bye, old man,' I said. 'Give me a farewell stare, so we shall know
    each other when we meet again.'

    The dog looked up, then moved slowly toward me, and stood, head bowed to
    the floor, shaking in every muscle as I patted him; and when I turned, I
    saw him crawl back to her feet.

    That was not a good preparation for the rampant boy-and-girl-dominated
    lunch at Mittleham, which, as usual, I found in possession of everybody
    except the owner.

    'But what did the dromedary say when you brought her beast back?' Attley
    demanded.

    'The usual polite things,' I replied. 'I'm posing as the nice doggy
    friend nowadays.'

    'I don't envy you. She's never darkened my doors, thank goodness, since
    I left Harvey at your place. I suppose she'll run about the county now
    swearing you cured him. That's a woman's idea of gratitude.' Attley
    seemed rather hurt, and Mrs. Godfrey laughed.

    'That proves you were right about Miss Sichliffe, Ella,' I said. 'She
    had no designs on anybody.'

    'I'm always right in these matters. But didn't she even offer you a
    goldfish?'

    'Not a thing,' said I. 'You know what an old maid's like where her
    precious dog's concerned.' And though I have tried vainly to lie to Ella
    Godfrey for many years, I believe that in this case I succeeded.

    When I turned into our drive that evening, Leggatt observed half aloud:

    'I'm glad Zvengali's back where he belongs. It's time our Mike had a
    look in.'

    Sure enough, there was Malachi back again in spirit as well as flesh,
    but still with that odd air of expectation he had picked up from Harvey.

    * * * * *

    It was in January that Attley wrote me that Mrs. Godfrey, wintering in
    Madeira with Milly, her unmarried daughter, had been attacked with
    something like enteric; that the hotel, anxious for its good name, had
    thrust them both out into a cottage annexe; that he was off with a
    nurse, and that I was not to leave England till I heard from him again.
    In a week he wired that Milly was down as well, and that I must bring
    out two more nurses, with suitable delicacies.

    Within seventeen hours I had got them all aboard the Cape boat, and had
    seen the women safely collapsed into sea-sickness. The next few weeks
    were for me, as for the invalids, a low delirium, clouded with fantastic
    memories of Portuguese officials trying to tax calves'-foot jelly;
    voluble doctors insisting that true typhoid was unknown in the island;
    nurses who had to be exercised, taken out of themselves, and returned on
    the tick of change of guard; night slides down glassy, cobbled streets,
    smelling of sewage and flowers, between walls whose every stone and
    patch Attley and I knew; vigils in stucco verandahs, watching the curve
    and descent of great stars or drawing auguries from the break of dawn;
    insane interludes of gambling at the local Casino, where we won heaps of
    unconsoling silver; blasts of steamers arriving and departing in the
    roads; help offered by total strangers, grabbed at or thrust aside; the
    long nightmare crumbling back into sanity one forenoon under a
    vine-covered trellis, where Attley sat hugging a nurse, while the others
    danced a noiseless, neat-footed breakdown never learned at the Middlesex
    Hospital. At last, as the tension came out all over us in aches and
    tingles that we put down to the country wine, a vision of Mrs. Godfrey,
    her grey hair turned to spun-glass, but her eyes triumphant over the
    shadow of retreating death beneath them, with Milly, enormously grown,
    and clutching life back to her young breast, both stretched out on cane
    chairs, clamouring for food.

    In this ungirt hour there imported himself into our life a
    youngish-looking middle-aged man of the name of Shend, with a blurred
    face and deprecating eyes. He said he had gambled with me at the Casino,
    which was no recommendation, and I remember that he twice gave me a
    basket of champagne and liqueur brandy for the invalids, which a sailor
    in a red-tasselled cap carried up to the cottage for me at 3 A.M. He
    turned out to be the son of some merchant prince in the oil and colour
    line, and the owner of a four-hundred-ton steam yacht, into which, at
    his gentle insistence, we later shifted our camp, staff, and equipage,
    Milly weeping with delight to escape from the horrible cottage. There we
    lay off Funchal for weeks, while Shend did miracles of luxury and
    attendance through deputies, and never once asked how his guests were
    enjoying themselves. Indeed, for several days at a time we would see
    nothing of him. He was, he said, subject to malaria. Giving as they do
    with both hands, I knew that Attley and Mrs. Godfrey could take nobly;
    but I never met a man who so nobly gave and so nobly received thanks as
    Shend did.

    'Tell us why you have been so unbelievably kind to us gipsies,' Mrs.
    Godfrey said to him one day on deck.

    He looked up from a diagram of some Thames-mouth shoals which he was
    explaining to me, and answered with his gentle smile:

    'I will. It's because it makes me happy--it makes me more than happy--to
    be with you. It makes me comfortable. You know how selfish men are? If a
    man feels comfortable all over with certain people, he'll bore them to
    death, just like a dog. You always make me feel as if pleasant things
    were going to happen to me.'

    'Haven't any ever happened before?' Milly asked.

    'This is the most pleasant thing that has happened to me in ever so many
    years,' he replied. 'I feel like the man in the Bible, "It's good for me
    to be here." Generally, I don't feel that it's good for me to be
    anywhere in particular.' Then, as one begging a favour. 'You'll let me
    come home with you--in the same boat, I mean? I'd take you back in this
    thing of mine, and that would save you packing your trunks, but she's
    too lively for spring work across the Bay.'

    We booked our berths, and when the time came, he wafted us and ours
    aboard the Southampton mail-boat with the pomp of plenipotentiaries and
    the precision of the Navy. Then he dismissed his yacht, and became an
    inconspicuous passenger in a cabin opposite to mine, on the port side.

    We ran at once into early British spring weather, followed by sou'west
    gales. Mrs. Godfrey, Milly, and the nurses disappeared. Attley stood it
    out, visibly yellowing, till the next meal, and followed suit, and Shend
    and I had the little table all to ourselves. I found him even more
    attractive when the women were away. The natural sweetness of the man,
    his voice, and bearing all fascinated me, and his knowledge of practical
    seamanship (he held an extra master's certificate) was a real joy. We
    sat long in the empty saloon and longer in the smoking-room, making
    dashes downstairs over slippery decks at the eleventh hour.

    It was on Friday night, just as I was going to bed, that he came into my
    cabin, after cleaning his teeth, which he did half a dozen times a day.

    'I say,' he began hurriedly, 'do you mind if I come in here for a
    little? I'm a bit edgy.' I must have shown surprise. 'I'm ever so much
    better about liquor than I used to be, but--it's the whisky in the
    suitcase that throws me. For God's sake, old man, don't go back on me
    to-night! Look at my hands!'

    They were fairly jumping at the wrists. He sat down on a trunk that had
    slid out with the roll. We had reduced speed, and were surging in
    confused seas that pounded on the black port-glasses. The night promised
    to be a pleasant one!

    'You understand, of course, don't you?' he chattered.

    'Oh yes,' I said cheerily; 'but how about--'

    'No, no; on no account the doctor. 'Tell a doctor, tell the whole ship.
    Besides, I've only got a touch of 'em. You'd never have guessed it,
    would you? The tooth-wash does the trick. I'll give you the
    prescription.'

    I'll send a note to the doctor for a prescription, shall I?' I
    suggested.

    'Right! I put myself unreservedly in your hands. 'Fact is, I always did.
    I said to myself--'sure I don't bore you?--the minute I saw you, I said,
    "Thou art the man."' He repeated the phrase as he picked at his knees.
    'All the same, you can take it from me that the ewe-lamb business is a
    rotten bad one. I don't care how unfaithful the shepherd may be. Drunk
    or sober, 'tisn't cricket.'

    A surge of the trunk threw him across the cabin as the steward answered
    my bell. I wrote my requisition to the doctor while Shend was struggling
    to his feet.

    'What's wrong?' he began. 'Oh, I know. We're slowing for soundings off
    Ushant. It's about time, too. You'd better ship the dead-lights when you
    come back, Matchem. It'll save you waking us later. This sea's going to
    get up when the tide turns. That'll show you,' he said as the man left,
    'that I am to be trusted. You--you'll stop me if I say anything I
    shouldn't, won't you?'

    'Talk away,' I replied, 'if it makes you feel better.'

    'That's it; you've hit it exactly. You always make me feel better. I can
    rely on you. It's awkward soundings but you'll see me through it. We'll
    defeat him yet.... I may be an utterly worthless devil, but I'm not a
    brawler.... I told him so at breakfast. I said, "Doctor, I detest
    brawling, but if ever you allow that girl to be insulted again as
    Clements insulted her, I will break your neck with my own hands." You
    think I was right?'

    'Absolutely,' I agreed.

    'Then we needn't discuss the matter any further. That man was a murderer
    in intention--outside the law, you understand, as it was then. They've
    changed it since--but he never deceived _me_. I told him so. I said to
    him at the time, "I don't know what price you're going to put on my
    head, but if ever you allow Clements to insult her again, you'll never
    live to claim it."'

    'And what did he do?' I asked, to carry on the conversation, for Matchem
    entered with the bromide.

    'Oh, crumpled up at once. 'Lead still going, Matchem?'

    'I 'aven't 'eard,' said that faithful servant of the Union-Castle
    Company.

    'Quite right. Never alarm the passengers. Ship the dead-light, will
    you?' Matchem shipped it, for we were rolling very heavily. There were
    tramplings and gull-like cries from on deck. Shend looked at me with a
    mariner's eye.

    'That's nothing,' he said protectingly.

    'Oh, it's all right for you,' I said, jumping at the idea. '_I_ haven't
    an extra master's certificate. I'm only a passenger. I confess it
    funks me.'

    Instantly his whole bearing changed to answer the appeal.

    'My dear fellow, it's as simple as houses. We're hunting for sixty-five
    fathom water. Anything short of sixty, with a sou'west wind means--but
    I'll get my Channel Pilot out of my cabin and give you the general idea.
    I'm only too grateful to do anything to put your mind at ease.'

    And so, perhaps, for another hour--he declined the drink--Channel Pilot
    in hand, he navigated us round Ushant, and at my request up-channel to
    Southampton, light by light, with explanations and reminiscences. I
    professed myself soothed at last, and suggested bed.

    'In a second,' said he. 'Now, you wouldn't think, would you'--he glanced
    off the book toward my wildly swaying dressing-gown on the door--'that
    I've been seeing things for the last half-hour? 'Fact is, I'm just on
    the edge of 'em, skating on thin ice round the corner--nor'east as near
    as nothing--where that dog's looking at me.'

    'What's the dog like?' I asked.

    'Ah, that _is_ comforting of you! Most men walk through 'em to show me
    they aren't real. As if I didn't know! But _you're_ different. Anybody
    could see that with half an eye.' He stiffened and pointed. 'Damn it
    all! The dog sees it too with half an--Why, he knows you! Knows you
    perfectly. D'you know _him_?'

    'How can I tell if he isn't real?' I insisted.

    'But you can! _You're_ all right. I saw that from the first. Don't go
    back on me now or I shall go to pieces like the _Drummond Castle_. I beg
    your pardon, old man; but, you see, you _do_ know the dog. I'll prove
    it. What's that dog doing? Come on! _You_ know.' A tremor shook him, and
    he put his hand on my knee, and whispered with great meaning: 'I'll
    letter or halve it with you. There! You begin.'

    'S,' said I to humour him, for a dog would most likely be standing or
    sitting, or may be scratching or sniffling or staring.

    'Q,' he went on, and I could feel the heat of his shaking hand.

    'U,' said I. There was no other letter possible; but I was shaking too.

    'I.'

    'N.'

    'T-i-n-g,' he ran out. 'There! That proves it. I knew you knew him. You
    don't know what a relief that is. Between ourselves, old man, he--he's
    been turning up lately a--a damn sight more often than I cared for. And
    a squinting dog--a dog that squints! I mean that's a bit _too_ much.
    Eh? What?' He gulped and half rose, and I thought that the full tide of
    delirium would be on him in another sentence.

    'Not a bit of it,' I said as a last chance, with my hand over the
    bellpush. 'Why, you've just proved that I know him; so there are two of
    us in the game, anyhow.'

    'By Jove! that _is_ an idea! Of course there are. I knew you'd see me
    through. We'll defeat them yet. Hi, pup!... He's gone. Absolutely
    disappeared!' He sighed with relief, and I caught the lucky moment.

    'Good business! I expect he only came to have a look at me,' I said.
    'Now, get this drink down and turn in to the lower bunk.'

    He obeyed, protesting that he could not inconvenience me, and in the
    midst of apologies sank into a dead sleep. I expected a wakeful night,
    having a certain amount to think over; but no sooner had I scrambled
    into the top bunk than sleep came on me like a wave from the other side
    of the world.

    In the morning there were apologies, which we got over at breakfast
    before our party were about.

    'I suppose--after this--well, I don't blame you. I'm rather a lonely
    chap, though.' His eyes lifted dog-like across the table.

    'Shend,' I replied, 'I'm not running a Sunday school. You're coming home
    with me in my car as soon as we land.'

    'That is kind of you--kinder than you think.'

    'That's because you're a little jumpy still. Now, I don't want to mix
    up in your private affairs--'

    'But I'd like you to,' he interrupted.

    'Then, would you mind telling me the Christian name of a girl who was
    insulted by a man called Clements?'

    'Moira,' he whispered; and just then Mrs. Godfrey and Milly came to
    table with their shore-going hats on.

    We did not tie up till noon, but the faithful Leggatt had intrigued his
    way down to the dock-edge, and beside him sat Malachi, wearing his
    collar of gold, or Leggatt makes it look so, as eloquent as Demosthenes.
    Shend flinched a little when he saw him. We packed Mrs. Godfrey and
    Milly into Attley's car--they were going with him to Mittleham, of
    course--and drew clear across the railway lines to find England all lit
    and perfumed for spring. Shend sighed with happiness.

    'D'you know,' he said, 'if--if you'd chucked me--I should have gone down
    to my cabin after breakfast and cut my throat. And now--it's like a
    dream--a good dream, you know.'

    We lunched with the other three at Romsey. Then I sat in front for a
    little while to talk to my Malachi. When I looked back, Shend was
    solidly asleep, and stayed so for the next two hours, while Leggatt
    chased Attley's fat Daimler along the green-speckled hedges. He woke up
    when we said good-bye at Mittleham, with promises to meet again
    very soon.

    'And I hope,' said Mrs. Godfrey, 'that everything pleasant will happen
    to you.'

    'Heaps and heaps--all at once,' cried long, weak Milly, waving her wet
    handkerchief.

    'I've just got to look in at a house near here for a minute to inquire
    about a dog,' I said, 'and then we will go home.'

    'I used to know this part of the world,' he replied, and said no more
    till Leggatt shot past the lodge at the Sichliffes's gate. Then I
    heard him gasp.

    Miss Sichliffe, in a green waterproof, an orange jersey, and a pinkish
    leather hat, was working on a bulb-border. She straightened herself as
    the car stopped, and breathed hard. Shend got out and walked towards
    her. They shook hands, turned round together, and went into the house.
    Then the dog Harvey pranced out corkily from under the lee of a bench.
    Malachi, with one joyous swoop, fell on him as an enemy and an equal.
    Harvey, for his part, freed from all burden whatsoever except the
    obvious duty of a man-dog on his own ground, met Malachi without reserve
    or remorse, and with six months' additional growth to come and go on.

    'Don't check 'em!' cried Leggatt, dancing round the flurry. 'They've
    both been saving up for each other all this time. It'll do 'em worlds
    of good.'

    'Leggatt,' I said, 'will you take Mr. Shend's bag and suitcase up to the
    house and put them down just inside the door? Then we will go on.'

    So I enjoyed the finish alone. It was a dead heat, and they licked each
    other's jaws in amity till Harvey, one imploring eye on me, leaped into
    the front seat, and Malachi backed his appeal. It was theft, but I took
    him, and we talked all the way home of r-rats and r-rabbits and bones
    and baths and the other basic facts of life. That evening after dinner
    they slept before the fire, with their warm chins across the hollows of
    my ankles--to each chin an ankle--till I kicked them upstairs to bed.

    * * * * *

    I was not at Mittleham when she came over to announce her engagement,
    but I heard of it when Mrs. Godfrey and Attley came, forty miles an
    hour, over to me, and Mrs. Godfrey called me names of the worst for
    suppression of information.

    'As long as it wasn't me, I don't care,' said Attley.

    'I believe you knew it all along,' Mrs. Godfrey repeated. 'Else what
    made you drive that man literally into her arms?'

    'To ask after the dog Harvey,' I replied.

    'Then, what's the beast doing here?' Attley demanded, for Malachi and
    the dog Harvey were deep in a council of the family with Bettina, who
    was being out-argued.

    'Oh, Harvey seemed to think himself _de trop_ where he was,' I said.
    'And she hasn't sent after him. You'd better save Bettina before they
    kill her.'

    'There's been enough lying about that dog,' said Mrs. Godfrey to me. 'If
    he wasn't born in lies, he was baptized in 'em. D'you know why she
    called him Harvey? It only occurred to me in those dreadful days when I
    was ill, and one can't keep from thinking, and thinks everything. D'you
    know your Boswell? What did Johnson say about Hervey--with an e?'

    'Oh, _that's_ it, is it?' I cried incautiously. 'That was why I ought to
    have verified my quotations. The spelling defeated me. Wait a moment,
    and it will come back. Johnson said: "He was a vicious man,"' I began.

    '"But very kind to me,"' Mrs. Godfrey prompted. Then, both together,
    '"If you call a dog Hervey, I shall love him."'

    'So you _were_ mixed up in it. At any rate, you had your suspicions from
    the first? Tell me,' she said.

    'Ella,' I said, 'I don't know anything rational or reasonable about any
    of it. It was all--all woman-work, and it scared me horribly.'

    'Why?' she asked.

    That was six years ago. I have written this tale to let her
    know--wherever she may be.

    THE COMFORTERS

    Until thy feet have trod the Road
    Advise not wayside folk,
    Nor till thy back has borne the Load
    Break in upon the Broke.

    Chase not with undesired largesse
    Of sympathy the heart
    Which, knowing her own bitterness,
    Presumes to dwell apart.

    Employ not that glad hand to raise
    The God-forgotten head
    To Heaven, and all the neighbours' gaze--
    Cover thy mouth instead.

    The quivering chin, the bitten lip,
    The cold and sweating brow,
    Later may yearn for fellowship--
    Not now, you ass, not now!

    Time, not thy ne'er so timely speech,
    Life, not thy views thereon,
    Shall furnish or deny to each
    His consolation.

    Or, if impelled to interfere,
    Exhort, uplift, advise,
    Lend not a base, betraying ear
    To all the victim's cries.

    Only the Lord can understand
    When those first pangs begin,
    How much is reflex action and
    How much is really sin.

    E'en from good words thyself refrain,
    And tremblingly admit
    There is no anodyne for pain
    Except the shock of it.

    So, when thine own dark hour shall fall,
    Unchallenged canst thou say:
    'I never worried _you_ at all,
    For God's sake go away!'
    Next Chapter
    Chapter 5
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