Mr. George

“ Mr. Marrapit frantically reached for the barley water; feverishly gulped. “I shall have a stroke,” he cried. “My hour is at hand.”
My poor George flung himself on a note of appeal. “Oh, I say, uncle, don't go on like that! You don't know what this means to me.”
“I do not seek to know. I am too fully occupied with its consequences to myself; it means a stroke. I feel it coming. My tomb yawns.”
George gripped together his hands; paced a few strides; returned. “Oh, for heaven's sake, don't go on like that! Won't you listen to me? Is it impossible to speak with you as man to man? ”

“ For a reason that was almost similar George negatived the impulse which bade him meet his Mary at the station, walk with her to the house, and leave her before the gates. For, supposing again that she were accepted and came to Herons' Holt, this suspicious meeting would come flying to Mr. Marrapit upon the breezes that whirl in and out of every cranny and nook in small communities. Towns are blind and deaf; villages have peeping eyes, straining ears, loose mouths, that pry and listen and whisper. ”

“ George led for the Clifford Arms, some two miles distant. For the present he had but one object in view. He must get rid of Bill and this infernal detective; then he must speed the cat from Temple Colney.
As he walked he pushed out beyond the primary object of ridding himself of his companions; sought the future. In the first half-mile he decided that the game was up. He must deliver the Rose to his uncle immediately without waiting for the reward to be further raised. To hang on for the shadow would be, he felt, to lose the substance that would stand represented by Mr. Marrapit's gratitude. ”

“ But she’s that deceitful, George. She’s no better than her father. She couldn’t have used you worse than she has. So open! You never made a worse mistake.’
‘You let me teach her!’ said George between his teeth. ‘I’ll learn her her bleeding duty!’
‘Don’t swear, George!’
‘You ought to be more shocked at her than me!’
‘And that Fellows is no better. Rotten bad. Always going after women. There’s Susie Hind.’
‘God! He’s welcome!’
‘And Mr Prosser’s daughter. They had to turn him off The Dyke.’
‘Her?’ George laughed. ‘He’s a proper young bull!’
‘And all the time living as man and wife with Mary. ”

“ George and I finished the bottle between us, and he ate a good supper, and said no more of Mr. Aix, or Mother either.
I almost liked George just then. I saw why Lady Scilly liked him. He is funny and gentle. I asked him to choose a school for Ben, and he said he would think about it. It is the oddest feeling to suddenly become “pals” with one’s own father. I had never known it before. There is some good in George, and his eyes are very bright. ”

“ George walked down the hall. When he reached the door, he turned and bowed.
"Hold!" exclaimed Mr. Wyeth. "There is a letter here from your brother in England. Let us trust that he is more loyal to his country's interests and to his King. Let us trust that there is only one of your family name who does not know his duty."
He extended a letter which had arrived by a packet the previous afternoon. George took it and silently walked out into the rain. ”

“ In that delectable interview during Miss Ram's absence George had arranged with his Mary that this was a day to be celebrated. She should not proceed instantly to be weighed by Mr. Marrapit; let that ordeal be given to the morrow. This splendid day should splendidly end; tremendous gaiety should with a golden clasp fasten the golden hours of the morning. In the afternoon he had a lecture and clinical demonstrations. Like a horse he would work till half-past six. At seven he would meet his Mary in Sloane Square. ”

“ CHAPTER V. Horror At Herons' Holt. I.
Sleep does not necessarily shun the bed of the wicked. She is a wanton mistress, and will cuddle where her fancy chances, careless whether vice or virtue is her bedfellow; coy when most eagerly supplicated, seductive when least desired.
George, steeped in crime, snuggled warmly to her until aroused by a rude shaking.
Night-capped and dressing-gowned, white-faced and trembling, awful in grief Mr. Marrapit stood near him.
“Get up! The Rose of Sharon is lost.” ”

“ If Aunt Gerty had been there with Mr. Bowser she would certainly have claimed George as a relation and said something awkward, but she was luckily toasting tea-cakes, and had perhaps not even seen them. I saw George just look at Mother, and I saw her smile a very little, and make him a sign that he was to go right past us, and not speak or seem to know us before. Of course Mr. Aix never spoils any one’s game, not even George’s. ”

“ George said no more. At that moment the freedom of hospital as against the restraint of school, was a gallant steed upon which he outrid all other desires. The prospect of new and strange books in exchange for those he so completely abhorred, was an alluring delight. It is not until the bargain is complete that we discover how much easier to polish, and more comfortable to handle, are old lamps than new.
Mr. Marrapit had referred to his notes: “In regard to the allowance I shall make you. I earnestly pray no spur may be necessary to urge you at your tasks. ”

“ Do you mean that you will give—give me 500 pounds?”
“Barley water!” Mr. Marrapit gasped. He drank; gasped: “Give 500 pounds! You are light-headed!”
“Then lend it!” George supplicated on a last appeal. “Make any conditions you please, and I will accept them. Uncle, think of when you were a young man. Remember the time when you were on the threshold of your career. Think of when you were engaged as I am now engaged. Imagine your feelings if you had been prevented marrying. You won't stand in my way? The happiest life is before me if you will only give your aid. ”

“ Mary, peeping at constant intervals through the veil that hides the clear blue eyes and the ridiculous little turned-up nose of her baby, at every corner says: “Oh, George! Georgie, do be careful! We were on one wheel then, I know we were!” But along the level the wind riots at her pretty curls as she sits up very straight and very proud, smiling at this splendid fellow beside her.
Bending over you might see the garden of Herons' Holt, Mr. Fletcher leading from the house the fat white pony and tubby wide car which Mrs. Marrapit, formerly Mrs. Major, has prevailed upon her husband to buy. ”

“ You have earned manhood, freedom, a charter to wrest money from the world. I might stay you. I do not. I bid you Godspeed.”
George remembered his weighty purpose. Making for it, he became humble. “I am sorry,” he said. “I see what you mean. I appreciate your kindness. You ask what are my plans. I have come specially to lay them before you.”
Mr. Marrapit clutched the seat of his chair with the action of one waiting a dentist's torture. He had a premonition that support of some kind would be necessary. “Proceed,” he said.
George said: “My plans—” He swallowed. ”

“ My Mary was trembling before this fearful agitation. For support she took her George's hand. “Oh, Mr. Wyvern!” she cried, “whatever is it? Have we got into another awful trouble through those dreadful, dreadful cats?”
“Look at the Daily,” Bill said. “Look at the Daily. George, give me a cigarette. I must smoke. This is an absolute licker.”
My frightened Mary jumped for the paper where it had fallen; spread it upon the table; opened it. “Oh, George!” she cried. “Oh, George!” ”

“ You are no longer a boy: you are a man. The idle sports of youth must be placed behind you. Stern life must be sternly faced.”
“I do not flinch,” George had replied.
“For your personal expenses I shall make you a small allowance. You will live in my house. Your wants should be insignificant.”
In a faint voice George squeezed in: “I have heard that one can work far better by living near the hospital in digs.”
“Elucidate.”
“Digs—lodgings. I have heard that one can work far better by living near the hospital in lodgings.”
“Adjust that impression,” Mr. Marrapit had told him. ”

“ George.”
George led the way to his room, talking gaily. He pushed a chair towards Mr. Hastings, and took his own. Never a face more free from care than his; never an eye less troubled. He asked after Mrs. Hastings; asked after Reginald, who was daily expected home from a voyage—whether he had arrived. “Maria dreamt last night that he had returned,” said he, laughing, “and told her he was never going to sea again.” ”

“ George. We'll come to that directly. None of you women can keep to the point. What I am saying now is that the house of my fathers and forefathers is good enough for me.
Olivia. Do you know, George, I can hear one of your ancestors saying that to his wife in their smelly old cave– (George looks up annoyed at her levity) –when the new-fangled idea of building houses was first suggested. "The Cave of my Forefathers is good enough for——"
George (rising and coming to R. of L.C. table) . That's ridiculous. Naturally we must have progress. But that's just the point. (Indicating the curtains.) ”

“ The hero engaged the assassin in combat, and my high-born master remembers no more. His Serene Highness asks repeatedly, 'Where is my brave preserver?' His gratitude is princely. He seeks for this young man to reward him. Ah, you should be proud of your brother, sir!"
"Thanks," said George limply.
"And you, Mr. Sturgis, you must redouble your efforts. You must search the land; you must scour the sea to find George Lattaker."
"He needn't take all that trouble," said a voice from the gangway.
It was Voules. ”

“ When, on his second morning at Temple Colney, the Daily had struck him to white agony by its newest headlines; cooling, he was able to find comfort in the news it gave to the world. “On the advice of the eminent detective, Mr. David Brunger, who has the case in hand, the reward has been raised to 125 pounds.”
“Whoop!” cried George, spirits returning.
III.
Three days had passed.
Rain began to fall heavily on this afternoon. Usually—even had there been floods—George did not return to the inn until seven o'clock. The less he was near the abode of man the safer was his vile secret. ”

“ As he saw the matter, the plan would be to get somewhere down the railway line on pretext of a clue, taking the Rose of Sharon with him; for the success of the whole scheme depended upon his concealing the cat until Mr. Marrapit should be upon his bended knees in his distress, in deepest despair as to the Rose's recovery, and hence would be transported to deepest gratitude when it was restored to his arms. George told himself he must be prepared against the eventuality of his uncle failing to offer in public reward so large a sum as 500 pounds. ”

“ When George, dressed, bathed and shaved, sought out his uncle, it was to find Mr. Marrapit in the study.
The distracted man was pacing the floor, a closely written sheet of paper in his hands. He turned upon George.
“In the hour of my travail I am also beneath the burden of earlier griefs. Yesterday a disastrous scene took place between us. Oaths rasped from your lips.”
“Forget that, sir. Forget it.”
“That is my desire. Misery wails through the corridors. In her presence let us bury private differences. In this appalling catastrophe every help is required. You have youth, manhood ”

“ George. Oh, thank you, thank you.
(Olivia picks up curtains. Anne goes out up staircase up R.)
Olivia. George, Mr. Pim has got to know.
George. I don't see the necessity.
Olivia. Not even for me? When a woman suddenly hears that her long-lost husband is restored to her, don't you think she wants to ask questions? Where is he living, and how is he looking, and–
George (very angry, going to writing-table, sits) . Of course, if you are interested in these things–
Olivia. How can I help being? Don't be so silly, George. (Moves up to R. of George with the curtains on her arm.) ”

“ George (casually) . Good-looking fellow, Strange. What?
Olivia (equally casually) . Brian, yes, isn't he? And such a nice boy.
George. Yes, yes! (Catching sight of curtain she is sewing. Hums the tune of "Pop goes the weasel"–crossing down R. to piano, plays a few notes of "Pop goes the weasel" with one finger.) Got fifty pounds for a picture the other day, didn't he? (Moving up stage a little.)
Olivia. Ah, yes! Of course he has only just begun——
George. The critics think well of him, (Slight pause.) What?
(Up C. by chair front of writing-table.)
Olivia. They all say he has genius. ”

“ He proceeded with some account of the love between him and his Mary; skipped all details relating to the cat; came to the impending marriage; sought advice upon the prospects of a man marrying on a locum's earnings.
Mr. Franklyn listened with great sympathy. “It's a rum thing you should be placed like that, George,” he said. “I'm in just the same position.”
George exclaimed eagerly—in love, youth warms to a companion—“You are!”
“Well, not exactly,” Mr. Franklyn admitted. “Very nearly. I've got myself into a brute of a fix over a girl in the lager-beer garden at Earl's Court. ”

“ His name is no longer a byword; he is a rabbit. Alone, undismayed, I uphold the old traditions. I am, so to speak, one of the old aristocracy. Beneath the snug characteristics of the latter-day student—his sweet abhorrence of a rag, his nasty delight in plays which he calls 'hot-stuff,' his cigarettes and his chess-playing—beneath these my head, like Henley's, is bloody but unbowed. Forgive a tear.”
The shower ceased; the tea was finished; the pretty waitress was coyly singeing her modesty in the attractive candle of Mr. Franklyn's suggestions. George left them at the game ”