Henry Milner Rideout

“ The waiter thawed, became human again, and flung off a most inimitable farewell with his hands.
"Ah, that brute! Ah, that white-eyed vassal! I never saw him before, sir."
"Nor I," said Leonard.
He was not so sure. That stiff wheel and turn of the back all in a piece reminded him how someone had watched him go out of church.
"For all his garments and his altitude," said Gino, grinning, "he behaved as one in a hurry. No repose. Why fluster so grandly? Why should one hurry, sir? The man cannot consume the time; no, the time consumes the man."
Corsant agreed. ”

“ He shot forth into a region of fresh life, with body and mind rejoicing, the world growing young to eyesight cleared by sea magic. A good swimmer, Corsant put his power into a few strokes, found it all there again ready at call, and then went romping forward, burying his face for mere wantonness, and staring down through the cool green void where sunshine faded into quivering mist and network shadows. ”

“ It was a dingy little old restaurant, a narrow room which in those days before the war ran through catercornered from Sword Street to Sun Street. A dingy little old waiter leaned against the wall as though put there and abandoned like a worn-out umbrella. If alive, he was the only living creature to be seen. Leonard had chosen a table nearest the source of heat—a cavern mouth that breathed out greasy kitchen odors—and had settled himself on a bench, before the old solitary moved or so much as blinked. ”

“ Bees hummed. From the pink-tinged clouds of bloom, petals here and there snowed lightly over stone walls into the lane.
Opposite the church a whitewashed front with tiny windows and low doorway bore a sign proclaiming it to be the Ring of Bells, kept by one R. Grayland. This, while Corsant paused to smell the apple blossoms, reminded him of something.
"My washerwoman hangs out round here," he thought. "A heavenly neighborhood. Let's pay her a call, and thank her for the wallflowers." ”

“ A very fat Italian woman, dressed magnificently, helped him to forget, by waving her farewells to someone on board, and falling between quay and ship. Blue-gowned Arabs calmly hauled her out with ropes—one yelling mass of rage and terror, crowned with muddy cascades from what had been her Paris bonnet. The poor lady became a source of artless glee. Crew and longshoremen cast off merrily. Veiled pilgrims from the Holy Land were still enjoying the memory of her misfortune, and chuckling, long after Pharos and Pharallon had sunk in the horizon.
Leonard found the voyage a disappointment. ”

“ It comes out sack mead, sir, of the best."
Her words ran on, endless and inconsequent, like the humming of her bees in the garden. This little room had grown too comfortable, too cozy altogether.
"By George, she was right!" thought Leonard. "The sly old drink, it has a wicked recoil."
He had better do his errand and get out into fresh air. Pondering over this inspiration very sagely, he roused with an effort.
"Mrs. Merle, at the inn, said my laundress lived hereabout. Do you know her? She sent me some beautiful wallflowers, like yours on the roof." ”

“ At the church tower he halted, jingled some keys, unlocked a door, and helped Corsant over a blind step.
"You have the run of the place then," said Leonard.
"No. I'm a damn bad churchgoer," sighed Grayland, in the dark. "But the ringers keep me as a hanger-on, of sorts, because when a boy I lived once with a carillonneur in the low countries."
Corsant heard him groping near by. He swore under his breath.
"Some fool's gone and left the candle upstairs. Never mind, sir. It's plain round and round, if you keep to the broad treads on the outside." ”

“ While thus engaged with fancies, he became aware that he was not alone on the beach. To his right near the inward-flowing river, a tall man led a white pony down to wade. They had come from Peacock's, of course. He watched them idly. The man, stooping, bared his feet and rolled his trousers above the knee. Somehow the movements were very smart, very trim.
"Must be a sailor," thought Leonard.
The pony, having no use for sea water, began to fight and cavort. With the same neatness, quick, devoid of effort, his leader had him in belly-deep. ”

“ Leonard rose. "Blow her out!" Stooping, Grayland lifted the candle, but only to balance it on one knee.
"Ready!" His dark face brightened. "I like you better for showing spunk. It underlay your looks anyhow; that's what puzzled me, and does yet." He paused, frowned, and changing from his even tone, became deadly grim. "But you're going to unwrap me the whole rig, friend, whether we take to our hands and I beat it out of you, or whether we just sit here all night, Sunday, and all next week. Corsant is my best friend. He's the only man in this world could wipe his boots on me if he chose. ”

“ To see it, the nearest way led through a lane past the blacksmith's. A small tidal stream, curving between two broad, low hills, it ran deep with the ebb and bent round a crag into the hidden sea; with the flood, it crept up shallow, pale, spreading inland among green-wooded points and fields whitened by daisies. ”

“ The dark surf-worn pinnacle stood ringed with spray, which gleamed as it came surging through the two holes, veiled their shadows halfway up, fell, and spouted landward into sunlight again. The rock sneered at this peaceful shore, thought Leonard, like a reminder of evil fury hidden and disguised. ”

“ Corsant followed them and the sunken brook. "They grow plenty of sky round here. The merry month of May."
A rough wooden bridge connected the banks. Beyond it, to his left, a red flag waved limply in the circle of a putting green. A fat ewe stood alone there, and bleated for her child across the water. Past her the landscape ran upward in long hollow curves, to where the top of a church tower peeped over the sky line. ”

“ His first walks led him toward the sea, along high cliffs, to lie sheltered by the dark spines and gold of gorse, and from a green precipice edge to look down on sparkling water, headlands that slanted away each to its parson-and-clerk pair of outermost crags, and far-curved surf, white streaks that seemed motionless in the distance. Mild air soothed and healed, the sun tanned him like an Indian. ”

“ Being drowsy and tired, Corsant answered at random.
"Oh, it's all right, Mrs. Merle." He stifled a yawn. "An excellent dinner. I foresee this house of yours is the place for a man to get well in."
"I hope so indeed, for you, sir," she replied heartily. "I do indeed, I assure you."
They were very friendly persons, he thought. Going upstairs early, he found his groom of the pony was now groom of the chamber, for by pleasant candle and hearth light, old Merle, with a brass warming pan, stood caressing the sheets in a vast Pickwickian bed. ”

“ Corsant felt them watching him, seeing him all anew, from head to foot. It was an odd impression quickly past; for the man continued as before, with easy good nature: "Yes, I'm George right enough. But look here, we'll probably have a good deal to overhaul. Why not say it in comfort and private? My time's yours, of course, but I did promise to do a fool's errand this evening—up at the church. Suppose we go there? Not far, you know, and questions will keep."
Leonard consented. They climbed the fields together, and went up the lane past Peacock's by early starlight. ”

“ Good kindly care."
"I'm sure they do, mother," said Leonard.
The old body gave no sign of hearing, though her eyes wandered over him and came down to study the earth again. They were black eyes, dim, smoky, sunken among the wrinkles of a dark and withered face.
"Some folks do let foul brood come in, the sluts." She brushed from her arms the living scales, plucked them off like currants, and scraped them from her fingertips into a box on the ground. "Not I, sir. Not here. The dear honey pets, no, never. Their habitations be sweet as babe's breath." ”

“ An old man peered at his face, nodded without a word, and taking his kitbag, led him behind the hedge, where stood a shaggy moorlandish pony in a cart. Leonard climbed slowly to a seat, the old man hopped up nimbly, the pony jumped and started off trotting with wild and fitful ardor.
Uphill, downhill, by roads or lanes always deep-sunken between hedge-banks, they jogged, rattling. Now and again, sidelong through the gate of a field or forward from some height, Corsant caught brief glimpses of the landscape ”

“ He was of about Leonard's height and age, but more slenderly built, or perhaps worn by illness, for his face looked rather pale.
"A beauty! Hole high!" said Corsant, and rehearsed the fate of the ball. "She's under the bridge."
"Oh, thanks. Glad I didn't hit you." The man's keen blue eyes were busy admiring the whole sweep of country. "Good old prospect, isn't it? I'd forgotten how ripping."
He spoke half to himself, moved by, and tossing his iron among daisies, climbed down the bank. Leonard retained an impression that the chap was rather handsome, and that they had met somewhere before. ”

“ A golf ball hopped on the farther bank, hit the ewe fairly in the ribs, and rebounded. She ran bundling away, while the ball rolled down under the bridge.
Leonard turned to see where this missile had come from. On his right hand, a low but steeply rounded hill rose bare against the sky.
"A good shot," he considered.
For a time nothing happened. Then over the hilltop some bit of metal flashed against the sun, and a man's figure heaved into view.
It was a young man. He came walking rather carefully, with a limp or hobble, and used his golf iron to ease himself down the green slope. ”

“ In the Pickwickian bedroom at Mrs. Merle's that evening, he found his wash had come home again. Once before the wrapping had been written on—"For Lieutenant Corsant." Now the inscription ran, "For Captain Corsant," and under the twine someone had stuck a nosegay of wallflowers. "Going up in the world," thought Leonard. "If promotion keeps on, they'll have me the 'very pattern of a modern major general.'"
He put the wallflowers in a glass of water. ”

“ No wonder this thing bore the devil's name. It resembled the stump of some Gothic ruin, some unholy church blasted and driven into the sea.
"Well, old man," cried the swimmer, "if this is your belfry, I'm going plumb through like a bat." ”

“ You can find me at the Ship on Ways, or a word left there will fetch me." He hesitated. "Of course you have your reasons for it, I know. But Lord, sir, other folks could tell at a glance—'Corsant o' the thrulle hath lockeys crulle'—as the old rime goes; made, I take it, before the sea drilled the second hole clean through out there. And it's true of all the fair ones. You'd need to shave your head or buy a wig, and even then——"
He moved off, chuckling.
"How did you know my name?" asked Leonard.
The dark man's face became a study, a droll enigma. ”

“ Grayland lighted a candle, and set it on the floor. They stood in a loft, bare except for two or three stools, a few letters or bulletins framed and glazed on the walls, and bell-ropes running up through the celling.
"Seven of 'em. A real good peal, first-chop." By candle shine the tall man might have been in fact a robber, as he moved softly about, touching the ropes. ”

“ A few beehives of the Cheshire pattern stood in rank under a high hedge. The light-green shade of a vast beech covered half the inclosure, mingled with brightness reflected from a neighbor's apple trees; and aloft in the warm, scented air, bees darted to and fro, glinting like crumbs of brass. A tranquil Tityre-tu kind of atmosphere, thought Corsant, brooded over the place.
"The sweet honey bees, some folk do murder 'em with fire and smoke," grumbled the old woman. "I'd never the heart to do so. My pretties, you won't be smothered here. No, no! They make good honey and good mead ”

“ She wore her sleeves rolled above the elbows, and what appeared to be long brown gauntlets.
"They do smell angry." Her dull gaze roamed aloft, passing the young man without heed. "So they do, but let 'em alone and they'll come home to their lady queen, never you fear."
Coming closer, Leonard saw that her gauntlets were of living bees. They covered her hands and forearms with a crust of brown scales. On the brim of her hat—a flapping wreck of straw, some laborer's cast-off headgear—bees crawled or hung in clusters like worn-out trimming.
"They know their Mother Grayland. Yes. ”

“ Leonard returned the wish.
The stranger paused by Leonard's table. He was smiling, but his eyes remained too pale and cold.
"We always meet in odd places, don't we?" He spoke affably. His bass voice came from the throat and seemed to roughen it. "I shouldn't quite think you'd care for this, though. There are plenty of good beer halls."
Corsant, when ruffled, had a sleepy way of looking at you. When angry—as a friend of his expressed it—his face died. ”

“ His landlady's pet sheep—once a cosset lamb, now aged and purblind—came to lie down with the old white bull terrier on the grass beside his chair. In their innocent company, like part of an Æsop fable, he was accustomed to write his few letters, doze, read, or take tea. A pocket map of the country engaged him to-day: he measured with his pipestem the scale of miles, and a crotchety line that zigzagged over the green surface.
"Call it twenty-four," he thought. "Weather's too fine for sitting in trains." ”