John Massingbird

“ Lionel partially saw through the man; he believed that he had some covert motive in seeking the interview with him, and that Roy was trying to pry into his affairs. But Roy found himself baffled also by Mr. Verner, as he had been by Matiss, in so far as that he could learn nothing certain of the existence or non-existence of the codicil.
Two days of the condemned confinement were sufficient to tire out John Massingbird. To a man of active, restless temperament, who had lived almost day and night under the open skies, the being shut up in a small, close room, was well-nigh unbearable. ”

“ The estate is not left to Lionel Verner, but to Frederick Massingbird.”
Mr. Bitterworth had small round eyes, but they opened now to their utmost width. “What did you say?” he repeated, after a pause; like a man out of breath.
“Strictly speaking, the estate is not bequeathed to Frederick Massingbird: he will inherit it in consequence of John’s death,” quietly went on Mr. Verner. “It is left to John Massingbird, and to Frederick after him, if he survives myself. Failing them both—.” ”

“ He never had any to lose. John joined in the laugh.
"Lionel, old boy, do you know I always liked you, with all your refinement; and it's a quality that never found great favour with me. I liked you better than I liked poor Fred; and that's the truth."
Lionel made no reply, and John Massingbird smoked for a few minutes in silence. Presently he began again.
"I say, what made you go and marry Sibylla?"
Lionel lifted his eyes. But John Massingbird resumed, before he had time to speak.
"She's not worth a button. Now you need not fly out, old chap. I am not passing my opinion on your wife ”

“ Before the sun had well set, the family at Verner’s Pride were assembling for dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Verner, and John Massingbird: neither Lionel Verner nor Frederick Massingbird was present. The usual custom appeared somewhat reversed on this evening: while roving John would be just as likely to be absent from dinner as not, his brother and Lionel Verner nearly always appeared at it. Mr. Verner looked surprised.
“Where are they?” he cried, as he waited to say Grace.
“Mr. Lionel has not come in, sir,” replied the butler, Tynn, who was husband to the housekeeper. ”

“ I thought she might: and I got Miss Deb to think so. She’ll—she’ll—”
“She’ll what?” asked John Massingbird.
“She’ll be a thorn in Lionel’s side, I’m afraid.”
“Nothing more likely,” acquiesced easy John. “Roses and thorns go together. If gentlemen will marry the one, they must expect to get their share of the other.”
Jan jumped off his bough. His projects all appeared to be failing. The more he had dwelt upon his suddenly-thought-of scheme, that Dr. West’s house might afford an asylum for Lionel and his wife, the more he had become impressed with its desirability. ”

“ Verner’s Pride was luxurious compared to the moderate home they had been reared in—John and Frederick Massingbird suffered that worst complaint of all complaints, indolence, to overtake them and become their master. John, careless, free, unsteady in many ways, set on to spend his portion as fast as he could; Frederick, more cold, more cautious, did not squander as his brother did, but he had managed to get rid of a considerable amount of his own share in unfortunate speculations. While losses do not affect our personal convenience they are scarcely felt. ”

“ Frederick Massingbird appeared very much inclined to take the hint.
"Were I only sure it was all gospel, I'd go to-morrow," observed Frederick Massingbird to Lionel Verner, one day that the discussion of the contents of John's letter had been renewed, a month or two subsequent to its arrival. "A year's luck, such as this, and a man might come home a millionaire. ”

“ Massingbird?” he asked. “I knew a gentleman once of that name, who went to Australia.”
The woman glanced up at him, measuring his height. “I should say he was as tall as you, sir, or close upon it, but he was broader made, and had got a stoop in the shoulders. He was dark; had dark eyes and hair, and a pale face. Not the clear paleness of your face, sir, but one of them sallow faces that get darker and yellower with travelling; never red.”
Every word was as fresh testimony to the suspicion that it was Frederick Massingbird. “Had he a black mark upon his cheek?” inquired Lionel. ”

“ Our ancestors certainly excelled us in the education which they bestowed on their animals. Banks's horse far surpassed all that have been brought up in the academy of Mr. Astley; and the apes of these days are mere clowns to their progenitors. The apes of Massinger's time were gifted with a pretty smattering of politics and philosophy. The widow Wild had one of them: "He would come over for all my friends, but was the dogged'st thing to my enemies! he would sit upon his tail before them, and frown like John-a-napes when the pope is named." The Parson's Wedding.—Gifford. ”

“ Frederick Massingbird’s spirit it cannot be—unless all our previous belief in non-appearance of spirits is to be upset—and it cannot be Frederick Massingbird in life. He died in Australia, and was buried there. I am puzzled, Jan.”
Jan was not. Jan only laughed. He believed there must be something in the moonlight that deceived the people, and that Mr. Bourne had caught the infection like the rest.
“Should it prove to be a trick that any one is playing,” resumed the clergyman, “I shall—”
“Halloa!” cried Jan. “What’s this? Another ghost?” ”

“ By the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.
[186]
NOTES AND QUESTIONS
Biography. John Masefield (1875-⸺) is an English poet and playwright. When a small boy he had a mania for running away from home; to satisfy this longing his father sent him to sea when he was fourteen years old, in charge of the captain of a sailing vessel. During his travels he collected much material which he afterward used in his poems. On one of his trips he landed in New York City, where he acquired considerable knowledge of American customs. ”

“ He would be a supreme soul. He would dominate this rabble which hooted him.
He lit another cigarette. John was like a man sent from God. John was unreal. John had marched before him with a torch. Now that ghostly master of his had thrust the torch into the road, pointing him forward with a gesture. The way to perfection lay further on, along a path too narrow for two. Far up the path he could see Ottalie, a glimmer of fragrant beauty, half hidden in a whirling dust-storm which almost swept him off the ledge. The dust should not keep him from her. ”

“ The poetry that springs from emotion, not the intellectual exercise. In that conception of his art John Masefield has been unswerving: the beauty of ships that has moved him, the sea's power, the soul of man fighting in the last ditch—his emotional response to such as these has been finely tempered, of ringing honesty, and fired with the spark that brings a glow to the minds of other men. ”

“ I can’t have much longer time to live, sir; but I’d stake it all on the truth that it was the spirit of Mr. Frederick Massingbird. When you have once known a man, there are a hundred points by which you may recognise him, beyond possibility of being mistaken. They have got a story in the place, sir, to-day—as you may have heard—that my poor child’s ghost appeared to Dan Duff last night, and that the boy has been senseless ever since. It has struck me, sir, that, perhaps, he also saw what I did.”
Mr. Bourne paused. “Did you say anything of this to Mr. Verner?” ”

“ Sir Massingberd was a formidable object at all times, but I really think he inspired more fear when he was pleased—when some wicked notion tickled him—than even when he was in wrath.
"I think, Sir Massingberd, the question of expense can be managed to your satisfaction," said my tutor, not a little overwhelmed by having thus involuntarily expressed his suspicion of the baronet; "and, as I have said, I will save you all trouble by selecting the horse myself."
"Certainly not, sir," exclaimed Sir Massingberd savagely; "I suffer no man to choose my horses for me." ”

“ Believing that the matter of first importance is to estimate Massinger from the plays which he undoubtedly wrote, I have not given above my evidence in full for the impressions which I have formed of the “collaborated” plays. The results of my study of these plays may be [pg 162] summarised as follows: Massinger wrote considerable portions of The Prophetess, The False One, and Sir John Van Olden Barnavelt. His work can be traced in Thierry and Theodoret and The Bloody Brother. ”

“ Let us recall the great characters in Massinger; they are Paris, Luke, Sir Giles Overreach, Durazzo, Marullo, Malefort, Charalois, Antiochus, Camiola, Dorothea, Donusa, Almira. In the second rank we may put Timoleon, Romont, Bertoldo, John Antonio, Mathias, Wellborn, Athenais, Marcelia, Sophia, Cleora. Of these persons, the two that I think most men would like to have known best are Paris and Camiola. Notice, by the way, that there is seldom more than one great character in a play. Now, in Henry VIII there are three, the King, Catherine, and Wolsey. ”

“ Hi asked.
“If you meet a tiger.”
“If a pig, he kick; so you know,” the girl said.
“Right. Thanks. Good-bye.”
“Con Dios.”
The horse was as eager to be gone as Hi to go. He sailed sideways down the avenue. Just as he turned into the thicket, Hi looked back to wave to his friends; they waved back to him. In two seconds more they were out of sight; he was riding through forest that was all dropping dew and trailing mist.
“I am really off at last,” he thought. “Twenty-four hours late in starting and twice as far from Anselmo as I was.” ”

“ Mason constantly suffered from pains in the head, and was frequently so sensitive to noise that he retired to an empty house, where even the sound of his own footsteps and his low voice when he prayed caused him pain. He was liable to vivid and terrifying dreams, and subject to visual hallucination. The parish register of Water Stratford records the baptisms of four sons and one daughter of 'John Mason and Mary his wife ' between 1677 and 1684. John (born 1677) became a dissenting minister at Daventry, Northamptonshire, at Dunmow, Essex, and at Spaldwick, Huntingdonshire, successively. ”

“ In another minute they had my suit stripped from me; and I had the sight of dirty little Bill, the tramper's boy, putting on my things.
"Here," said the woman. "You put on Bill's things. They're good enough for you. And don't you dare breathe a word of what we done."
"Yes," said the man, as Bill buttoned up his jacket, and took my little bundle in his hand. "You keep your little jaw shut or I'll come after you."
"Oh, Mother," said Bill. "Don't I look a young swell, neither?" ”

“ It is the smell of some stuff that kills, it has to do with death. This is a deadly place; we’ll be gone from it.”
Having groomed and fed his horse and himself, he set out from that clearing. “I have got my bearings now,” he said. “I am facing north, probably straight towards Anselmo. Any going to the right will bring me out towards La Boca; any going to the left will put me too far to the west. As I am headed now, I ought to be clear of the forest by noon. I don’t know what Rosa will think of me, losing all this time, but I’ll get there somehow, so that she shan’t be too much ashamed of me.” ”

“ It will be bad for somebody if Sir Massingberd does return, and finds out that the watcher who ought to have been there was wiled away elsewhere by what he thought was poachers holloing to one another—some owl's cry, as I should judge. And to-day, I doubt if a creature has been near the place, for none of my men seem to fancy going there alone."
"And who was the watcher there last night, Oliver?"
"Well, sir, we must not make mischief; he was a young chap new at the business, a sort of grand-nevvy of mine by the wife's side. He'll do better next time, will young Dick Westlock. ”

“ And on the clipper rushed with tossing mast,
A bath of flame broke round her as she passed.
The watch was set, the night came, and the men
Hid from the moon in shadowed nooks to sleep,
Bunched like the dead-, still, like the dead, as when
Plague in a city leaves none even to weep.
The ship's track brightened to a mile-broad sweep;
The mate there felt her pulse, and eyed the spars:
South-west by south she staggered under the stars.
Down in his bunk the Dauber lay awake
Thinking of his unfitness for the sea. ”

“ Charles felt his horse see it and stir at the sight.
Again his heart lifted to the dream of the night;
Once again in his heart's blood the horse seemed to say,
"I'll die or I'll do it. It's my day to-day."
He saw the grey water in shade from its fence,
The rows of white faces all staring intense;
All the heads straining forward, all the shoulders packt dense.
Beyond, he saw Thankful, the riderless brown,
Snatching grass, dodging capture, with reins hanging down. ”

“ He caught my 'ris'band, but the oilskin ripped.
It tore clean off. Look here. I was near gone.
I made a grab to catch him; so did John.
"I caught his arm. My God! I was near done.
He almost had me over; it was near.
He hit the ropes and grabbed at every one."
"Well," said the Mate, "we cannot leave him here.
Run, Si, and get the half-deck table clear.
We'll lay him there. Catch hold there, you, and you,
He's dead, poor son; there's nothing more to do."
Night fell, and all night long the Dauber lay
Covered upon the table ”

“ If they'd said a word, when they was hit, when they was boys, they told him, they'd have had their bloods drawed, and been stood in the wind to cool. But let him take heed, they said, and be a good lad, and do the work of five, and they wouldn't half wonder, they used to say, as he'd be a man before his mother. So the sun shone, and the stars came out golden, and all the sea was a sparkle of gold with them. Blue was the sea, and the wind blew, too, and it blew Joe and Jerry west as fast as a cat can eat sardines. ”