In came the nephew and, pausing only to utter the most perfunctory of jeers at his relatives in the glass house, he sat at the desk and unlocked the top drawer. He was evidently in search of money, his eagerness betrayed that; no doubt he had run through all he had filched from his uncle’s pockets, and had not yet worked out a scheme for getting direct control of his bank account. However, the drawer held enough to cause the scoundrel to rub his hands with satisfaction and, summoning the housekeeper, to bellow into her ear a reckless order upon the wine and spirit merchant.
“Get along with you,” he shouted, when he had at last made her understand. “I shall have to get some one a bit more on the spot to wait on me; I can tell you that.”
“Yes,” he added to himself as the poor old woman hobbled away, deeply hurt by his bullying manner, “yes, a nice little parlor-maid... a nice little parlor-maid.”
He hunted in the Buff Book for the number of the local registry office. That afternoon he interviewed a succession of maidservants in his uncle’s study. Those that happened to be plain, or too obviously respectable, he treated curtly and coldly; they soon made way for others. It was only when a girl was attractive (according to the young man’s depraved tastes, that is) and also bore herself in a fast or brazen manner, that the interview was at all prolonged. In these cases the nephew would conclude in a fashion that left no doubt at all in the minds of any of his auditors as to his real intentions. Once, for example, leaning forward, he took the girl by the chin, saying with an odious smirk, “There’s no one else but me, and so you’d be treated just like one of the family; d’you see, my dear?” To another he would say, slipping his arm round her waist, “Do you think we shall get on well together?”
After this conduct had sent two or three in confusion from the room, there entered a young person of the most regrettable description, one whose character, betrayed as it was in her meretricious finery, her crude cosmetics, and her tinted hair, showed yet more clearly in florid gesture and too facile smile. The nephew lost no time in coming to an arrangement with this creature. Indeed, her true nature was so obvious that the depraved young man only went through the farce of an ordinary interview as a sauce to his anticipations, enjoying the contrast between conventional dialogue and unbridled glances. She was to come next day. Mr. Mannering feared more for his unhappy cousin than for himself. “What scenes may she not have to witness,” he thought, “that yellow cheek of hers to incarnadine?” If only he could have said a few words!
But that evening, when the nephew came to take his ease in the study, it was obvious that he was far more under the influence of liquor than had been the case before. His face, flushed patchily by the action of the spirits, wore a sullen sneer, an ominous light burned in that bleared eye, he muttered savagely under his breath. Clearly this fiend in human shape was what is known as “fighting drunk”; clearly some trifle had set his vile temper in a blaze.
It is interesting to note, even at this stage, a sudden change in Mr. Mannering’s reactions. They now seemed entirely egotistical, and were to be elicited only by stimuli directly associated with physical matters. The nephew kicked a hole in a screen in his drunken fury, he flung a burning cigar-end down on the carpet, he scratched matches on the polished table. His uncle witnessed this with the calm of one whose sense of property and of dignity has become numbed and paralyzed; he felt neither fury nor mortification. Had he, by one of those sudden strides by which all such development takes place, approached much nearer to his goal, complete vegetation? His concern for the threatened modesty of Cousin Jane, which had moved him so strongly only a few hours earlier, must have been the last dying flicker of exhausted altruism; that most human characteristic had faded from him. The change, however, in its present stage, was not an unmixed blessing. Narrowing in from the wider and more expressly human regions of his being, his consciousness now left outside its focus not only pride and altruism, which had been responsible for much of his woe, but fortitude and detachment also, which, with quotations from the Greeks, had been his support before the whole battery of his distresses. Moreover, within its constricted circle, his ego was not reduced but concentrated, his serene, flowerlike indifference toward the ill-usage of his furniture was balanced by the absorbed, flowerlike single-mindedness of his terror at the thought of similar ill-usage directed toward himself.
Inside the study the nephew still fumed and swore. On the mantelpiece stood an envelope, addressed in Mr. Mannering’s handwriting to Cousin Jane. In it was the letter he had written from town, describing His nephew’s disgraceful conduct. The young man’s eye fell upon this and, unscrupulous, impelled by idle curiosity, he took it up and drew out the letter. As he read, his face grew a hundred times blacker than before.
“What?” he muttered, “ ‘a mere race-course cad... a worthless vulgarian... a scoundrel of the sneaking sort’... and what’s this? ‘...cut him off absolutely...’ What?” said he, with a horrifying oath, “Would you cut me off absolutely? Two can play at that game, you old devil!”
And he snatched up a large pair of scissors that lay on the desk, and burst into the hothouse...
Among fish, the dory, they say, screams when it is seized upon by man; among insects, the caterpillar of the death’s-head moth is capable of a still, small shriek of terror; in the vegetable world, only the mandrake could voice its agony — till now.
The Ghost of Alexander Perks, A.B
by Robert Dean Frisbie
I
The Pirara is a garrulous old hooker, proud of her departed days and fond of reminiscing to me during the night watches below. At times she is querulous, too, complaining of the cargoes of rancid copra she must carry in her old age; of the native passengers who mess up her decks, tie awnings of patchwork quilts to the rigging, and whittle their initials in the rail; or of the parsimony of her owners, who refuse to buy a new winch — the old one is in a sorry plight — or replace the rusty old foretopmast stay. She even growls at me, her mate, though the Lord knows that I do my best; but it is hard to keep awake on clear nights during the twelve-to-four watch.
“Lackadaisy!” she groaned to-night, breaking into my dreams. “This is a lubber’s shift! Rancid copra bulging my poor old ribs; engine-room grease and bilge water washing over my kelson. Why don’t you pay a little attention to the pumps? You haven’t sounded my well for a week! Fine mate you are for such a lady as me!”
“That is unfair!” I cried in my sleep. “You know that I watched Six-Seas pumping during the dog-watch.”
The old schooner laughed derisively. “What a fib!” she cried. “Watched, indeed! You sat on the wheel box twiddling your thumbs, and you took Six-Seas’ word for it when he said the pumps had sucked!” Then sharply, not giving me time to reply: “Don’t say anything! Not a word out of you! You’ll only lie and make me angry, and that’ll be bad for your soul and my digestion!”
She fell silent as she wallowed in a long trough; then, with a groan — more from habit than anything else; for, like all old folks, she makes much of her troubles — she rose to the top of a long sea and lumbered down the other side.
“There’s another one over, thank the good Lord!” she muttered. “My, what a number of rollers there are in the ocean! It is perfectly ridiculous! I’ve crossed as many as seven thousand in a single day. That was on the good old Shanghai-Frisco run when beating against the north-westerlies. Ah, those were the days! No filthy copra then, but cases of silks and tea, and clean mats of rice with little tins of opium hidden in them. And in those days Captain Pester gave my spars a coat of varnish every four months, all my standing rigging was served, and the brass on my rail shone beautifully. There were no broken catheads or rusty jib-boom guys on me then.”