Straker

“ Straker intimated that it was not given him to know what Miss Tarrant might or might not be up to.
Furnival shook his head. "I can't make her out. Upon my honor, I can't."
Straker wondered what Furny's honor had to do with it.
"Why is she hanging round like this?"
"Hanging round?"
"Yes. You know what I mean. Why doesn't somebody marry her?" He made a queer sound in his throat, a sound of unspeakable interrogation. "Why haven't you married her yourself?"
Straker was loyal. "You'd better ask her why she hasn't married me."
Furnival brooded. "I've a good mind to." ”

“ She went out and walked slowly down the terrace to the east end where Straker sheltered Mrs. Viveash.
Furnival followed her.
"Are you coming with me or are you not?" he insisted. "I can't get you a minute to myself. Come out of this, can't you? I want to talk to you."
"And I," said Miss Tarrant, "want to talk to Mrs. Viveash."
"You don't. You want to tease her. Can't you leave the poor woman alone for a minute? She's happy there with Straker." ”

“ What does she do it for, Straker?"
"I don't know what she does it for. She doesn't know herself. There's a sort of innocence about her."
"I suppose," said Furnival pensively, "it's innocence."
"Whatever it is, it's the quality of her defect. She can't let us alone. It amuses her to see us squirm. But she doesn't know, my dear fellow, what it feels like; because, you see, she doesn't feel. She couldn't tell, of course, the lengths you'd go to."
Straker was thinking how horrible it must have been for Philippa. Then he reflected that it must have been pretty horrible for Furny, too—so unexpected. ”

“ And Furnival was feeding his infatuation on the meanings of her eyes and of her body—meanings that were unmistakable to Straker.
As if she had known what the older man was thinking of her, Philippa rose abruptly and turned her back on Furnival and began to make violent love to old Lady Paignton. Her eyes challenged Straker's across the terrace. They said: "Look at me. I will be as beautiful for this old lady as for any male thing on earth. More beautiful. ”

“ Straker admitted that, as far as Philippa went, that might be said of him.
"That's why I hate somehow to see him made a fool of. It doesn't seem fair play, you know. It's taking advantage of his innocence."
Straker had to laugh, for really, Furny's innocence!
"He always was," Fanny meditated aloud, "a fool about women."
"Oh, well, then," said Straker cheerfully. "She can't make him——"
"She can. She does. She draws out all the folly in him. ”

“ Straker did not at once perceive it. Hand carefully wiped the oil from a neat ring of metal, slid down on his back under the car and screwed on a nut. As Mr. Straker, hands in pockets and feet wide apart, watched the mechanician, there came through the silence and the sweet air the sound of thrushes calling from the wood beyond. Mr. Straker craned his head to look out at the church, then at the low stone wall, as if he expected to see the songsters performing on a stage before a row of footlights. He turned back to Mr. Hand. ”

“ His attitude suggested that he was taking his dubious chance against Mr. Higginson. It was odd that it should be dubious, Reggy's chance; he himself was so assured, so engaging in his youth and physical perfection. Straker would have backed him against any man he knew.
Fanny Brocklebank had sent Straker out into the rose garden with Mary Probyn. He left Miss Tarrant on the terrace alone with Mr. Higginson and Reggy. He left her talking to Mr. Higginson, listening to Mr. Higginson, behaving beautifully to Mr. Higginson, and ignoring Reggy. ”

“ Higginson, who was not so young. As for Reggy and his successor, she had done with them. All that could be known of their fatuity she knew. Perhaps they had never greatly interested her. But she was interested in Laurence Furnival. She told Straker that he was the most amusing man of her acquaintance. She was, Straker noticed, perpetually aware of him. All Monday morning, in the motor, Miss Tarrant in front with Brocklebank, Furnival with Mrs. Viveash, and Straker behind, it was an incessant duel between Furnival's eyes and the eyes that Miss Tarrant had in the back of her head. ”

“ The other hesitated. “C-Conway’s very good, sir.”
“And what about Bromley? He’s seen service, you know. . . .” Stark stood still for a moment. . . . “I wish to goodness you’d learn to read a map, Straker. Can’t put you in for promotion till you can.”
“I—I know. I’m rotten at it, sir.”
They walked on.
“Jameson’s c-coming along very well with his gun-drill, sir”—Charlie Straker, by virtue of knowledge, acted as unofficial instructor to the Brigade—“and he’s r-rather good with horses.”
“I’ve got other plans for P.J. Between you and me, Straker, Torrington’s fed-up with being indoors. ”

“ She was anxious that he should get her right, that he should accept her rendering of herself. She knew at each moment what he was thinking of her, and the thing that went on between them was not a game—it was a duel, an amicable duel, between her lucidity and his. Philippa respected his lucidity.
"All the same," said Straker, "I am not the most amusing man you know. You don't find me exciting."
"No." She turned it over. "No; I don't find you [Pg 118] at all exciting or very amusing. How is it, then, that you don't bore me?" ”

“ Then Fanny spoke.
"Jimmy," she said, "do you think you could make love to Philippa? Just, just," she entreated (when, indeed, had she not appealed to him to save her from the consequences of her indiscretions?) , "until Furny goes?"
Straker's diplomatic reply was cut short by the appearance of Laurence Furnival and Molly Milner, Nora's niece. They came down the long terrace with the sun upon them. She was all in white, with here and there a touch of delicate green. She was very young; and, yes, she was very like Mrs. Viveash, with all the difference of her youth and of her soul. ”

“ And yet, Straker reminded himself, Furnival wasn't an ass. He had brain for other things, for other women; for poor Nora Viveash quite a remarkable [Pg 112] sufficiency of brain, but not for Philippa Tarrant. ”

“ It's part of you. I believe it grows there. It makes me look at it."
His words came shaken from him in short, savage jerks. To Straker, to Mrs. Viveash, he appeared intolerable; but he had ceased to care how he appeared to anybody. He had ceased to know that they were there. They turned from him as from something monstrous, intolerable, indecent. Mrs. Viveash's hands and mouth were quivering, and her eyes implored Straker to take her away somewhere where she couldn't see Furnival and Philippa Tarrant. [Pg 121]
He took her out on to the terrace. Miss Tarrant looked after them. ”

“ Straker, as a very obvious cockney, inspires him with implacable contempt, as a stupid Englishman who cannot even speak his own language properly. Straker, on the other hand, regards the old gentleman's accent as a joke thoughtfully provided by Providence expressly for the amusement of the British race, and treats him normally with the indulgence due to an inferior and unlucky species, but occasionally with indignant alarm when the old gentleman shows signs of intending his Irish nonsense to be taken seriously. ”

“ A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition could this stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served in the trainer’s family that night, and it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he happened to come along with powdered opium upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which would disguise the flavour. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention centres upon Straker and his wife, the only two people who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night. ”

“ And first through the gates came the winged battle-mask of the Lord Ciaran, and the sable axe that drank men's lives where it hewed.
There was a beast with no rider to claim it, tugging at its headrope. Stark swung onto the saddle pad and cut it free. Where the press was thickest, a welter of struggling brutes and men fighting knee to knee, there was the man in black armor, riding like a god, magnificent, born to war. Stark's eyes shone with a strange, cold light. He struck his heels hard into the scaly flanks. The beast plunged forward.
In and over and through, making the long sword sing. ”

“ Otar rose to his feet, and for the first time Stark felt the full strength that lay in this strange old man.
"Would you look upon the face of destruction?" he thundered. "Do you ask for death? Do you think a thing is hidden behind a mask of steel without a reason, that you demand to see it?"
He turned. "My Lord," he said. "By tomorrow the last of the clans will have joined us. After that, we must march. Give this Earthman to Thord, for the time that remains—and you will have the talisman." ”

“ Thord went.
The man in armor was silent then, the blind mask turned to Stark, who met that eyeless gaze and was silent also. And the bundle of rags in the shadows straightened slowly and became a tall old man with rusty hair and beard, through which peered craggy juts of bone and two bright, small points of fire, as though some wicked flame burned within him.
He shuffled over and crouched at the feet of the Lord Ciaran, watching the Earthman. And the man in armor leaned forward.
"I will tell you something, Eric John Stark. I am a bastard, but I come of the blood of kings. ”

“ No. But the spurs are not so deep in me."
"The wind and the fire. One spends its strength in wandering, the other devours. But one can help the other. I made you an offer once, and you said you would not bargain unless you could look into my eyes. Look now!"
He did, and his hands upon her shoulders trembled.
"No," he said harshly. "You're a fool, Ciara. Would you be as Otar, mad with what you have seen?"
"Otar is an old man, and likely crazed before he crossed the mountains. Besides—I am not Otar."
Stark said somberly, "Even the bravest may break. Ban Cruach himself...." ”

“ The Lord Ciaran walked slowly across the trampled snow and took up his axe again.
"I will be obeyed," he said. "And I will not stand for fear, not of god, man, nor devil." He gestured toward Stark. "Cut him down. And see that he does not die."
He strode away, and Otar began to laugh.
From a vast distance, Stark heard that shrill, wild laughter. His mouth was full of blood, and he was mad with a cold fury.
A cunning that was purely animal guided his movements then. His head fell forward, and his body hung inert against the thongs. He might almost have been dead.
A knot of men came toward him. ”

“ He gripped the long spear. It was a good weapon, better than the flint-tipped stick with which the boy N'Chaka had hunted the giant lizard of the rocks.
His body curved into a half crouch. He voiced one cry, the challenging scream of a predatory killer, and went in among the men.
He did slaughter with that spear. They were not expecting attack. They were not expecting anything. Stark had sprung to life too quickly. And they were afraid of him. He could smell the fear on them. Fear not of a man like themselves, but of a creature less and more than man. ”

“ Stark forced his way toward the square. The booths of the hucksters were overthrown, the wine-jars broken and the red wine spilled. Beasts squealed and stamped, tired of their chafing harness, driven wild by the shouting and the smell of blood. The dead were heaped high where they had fallen from above. ”

“ Leonard proceeded as directed, and found Mr. Stark alone in a small room. The room was compact, neat, and orderly in appearance. On one side was a telegraphic apparatus, and on the other was a desk, surmounted by a case of pigeon-holes, containing letters and papers tied up in bundles. There was a couch and two chairs in the room. One window looked upon the street, and a closed door concealed an adjoining apartment.
Mr. Stark was a man small in stature and unpretending in aspect. His face was smooth, with thin lips, a firm-set mouth, and cool, gray eyes. He was dressed with neat precision. ”

“ Phil Stark went up to his chamber, and setting the lamp on the bureau, first carefully locked the door, and then removed the paper from the tin box. He eyed it lovingly, and tried one by one the keys he had in his pocket, but none exactly fitted.
As he was experimenting he thought with a smile of the night clerk from whom he had just parted.
"Stark," he soliloquized, addressing himself, "you are an old humbug. You have cleverly duped that unsophisticated young man downstairs. He looks upon you as a man of unbounded wealth, evidently, while, as a matter of fact, you are almost strapped. ”

“ Tom Trask stood up. He held the old gun lightly in his hand. “Your most needful tool is there,” he said, “but you don’t know enough to know it. Put the boot on the last, you should have. That would ha’ held it firm, and left your hands free to get on with your cobbling. Right enough, we’ll go to Cambridge, and we’ll take you along as our prisoner, Captain Malory o’ the Twenty-third. All the world can see you’re no shoemaker. Johnny Stark will know what to do with you. Landlord, have you a length of rope, or better, a few links of chain, about the place? ”

“ A sudden enthusiasm and excitement possessed our little band of Rangers as this sight burst upon them, and Stark gave the instant word:
"Steady, men, but lose not a moment. Form two lines, and rush them from behind. Reserve your fire till I give the word. Then let them have it hot, and close upon them from behind. When they find themselves between two fires, they will think themselves trapped. They will scatter like hunted hares. See, they have no notion of any foe save the one in front. Keep beneath the shadow of the forest till the last moment, and then rush them and fire!" ”