Jack Carstairs of the power house (2024)

HE PASSED HIS FOREARM ACROSS THE GIPSY'S THROAT PAGE 21

A TALE OF SOME VERY YOUNG MEN
AND A VERY YOUNG INDUSTRY

BY

SYDNEY SANDYS

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY
STANLEY L. WOOD

SECOND EDITION

METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON

Colonial Library

First Published ... October 14th, 1909

Second Edition ... November 1909

DEDICATED

IN ALL DEFERENCE
TO
THE MEMORY OF THAT VERY GREAT ENGLISHMAN

GEORGE STEPHENSON

ENGINEER
INVENTOR OF THE FIRST LOCOMOTIVE, AND OF
THE TOOLS TO CONSTRUCT IT
FIGHTER OF MEN AND CIRc*msTANCES
PIONEER OF THE RAILWAY

PREFACE

I have endeavoured to show you theengineer, in two phases, as I have methim: it is for you, gentlemen with thevotes, to decide which you prefer; foryou have to have one of them, and hisnumbers are increasing at a high rateof acceleration.

JACK CARSTAIRS
OF THE POWER HOUSE

CHAPTER I

A young engineer stood at the gates of theelectric power house yard watching the sun set.It was the middle of June, in the north of Scotland,where the summer days are very long and verybeautiful.

The sun sank slowly behind a little wooded hill,throwing into strong relief a clump of fir trees at thesummit, and making lanes of golden light along thesparkling rushing river where the silver salmon leaptin sportive joy. As the last edge of the sundisappeared behind the hill, a sudden hush seemed todescend on all the land. The power house was abouta mile from the little town that nestled at the foot ofthe hills. It was a bare, brick building standing aloneon the river-bank in the middle of a large tract ofwaste moorland. Inside, a stalwart, bearded highlandersat on a box eating his "piece," and drinkingtea from a can; he and the young engineer at thedoor were the only occupants of the place. Therewas no machinery running, a battery was doing thework, for the needs of this little town in summer timewere very small.

The young man at the door gazed around him enchantedwith the beauty of the evening; the suddenhush that fell on everything seemed to strike him too.He felt subdued with a great awe, the great and awfulmajesty of Nature seemed thrust upon him suddenly;only the faint rustle of the long grass near the waterserved to make the stillness more intense; some crisisin Nature seemed impending.

Suddenly a strange note struck his ear, andimmediately afterwards all the usual sounds of lifestarted afresh; a robin and a thrush commencedto sing simultaneously, several birds started chirpingall around, a salmon splashed heavily in the river,the distant moo of a cow was borne in upon his ears,the Scotsman inside moved his box with a harsh creak:all these things seemed to start off at once, as thoughsome tension were removed, some crisis past.

The engineer looked in the direction of the soundthat had at first broken the stillness and perceived ayoung girl, with a basket on her arm, raking over theheaps of ashes outside the boiler-house in search ofstray bits of coal or co*ke.

He looked at her intently, with an unusual interest.There was a gipsy camp not far off, and some membersof the tribe were usually hovering round the worksfor what they could pick up; as a rule they were veryyoung and very dirty. This girl seemed aboutseventeen, and somewhat clean; every movement showedgraceful, even lines. He strolled towards her.

"Looking for coal?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she answered.

She stood up and looked him in the eyes steadily.

He looked at her steadily too, and so they stood;brown eyes gazing into grey. He wondered greatlyat the singular clearness of hers, big, and of a marvellousshade of dark brown, the white absolutely clear;the colour like some beautifully tinted crystal. Henoticed eyes, and he gazed into hers for some time,dispassionately, as something inanimate, noting theirmarvellous perfection.

He smiled with pleasure, and instantly noted agleam of pleasure in her eyes also. Then he shiftedhis gaze and took in a general impression of the face.It was remarkably beautiful, every feature was evenand in perfect harmony. The eyebrows were delicatelypencilled lines of deepest black. The eyelashesunusually long, they drooped downwards, andas he looked at her, the whole head took a gentle benddownwards in natural and graceful modesty beforethe open admiration in his eyes.

"You won't find much there. Come over here,"he said. He led the way to the coal heap. Shefollowed in silence.

"Help yourself," he said grandly, with a wave ofthe arm, giving away what didn't belong to him. Asa general rule he was consistently conscientious inthese details, but under the influence of those eyeshe cast honesty to the four winds of heaven.

"Thank you, sir," she said, and stooped to fill herbasket.

The graceful movements and even poise of herfigure appealed to him immensely. He was somewhatof an athlete, and he noted with pleasure the firmfulness of the arms (which were bare to the elbow),and the throat and neck (which were quite unprotected).Her jet black hair hung down below her waist in heavy,wavy tresses. Her short black skirt (faded to almosta light green) showed a neat ankle and fair proportionof shapely leg. He stood back and watched herclosely. The skin, where it was visible about the faceand throat, was rather dark, probably dirty, he thought,yet it did not seem offensive, though he was usuallyfastidious in such things. He took life very seriouslydid this young man, very seriously indeed; he wasbent on making his fortune, his fortune and aname—nothing less. He was nineteen; older than his yearsin many things, younger in a lot.

The gipsy girl stood up. "Thank you, sir," shesaid again, and moved haltingly towards the gate,glancing up at him with her big brown eyes anddropping them again as she caught his.

"Don't go!" he said, stepping forward. "Putthat basket down and come in and have a lookat the engines. Have you ever seen a dynamo?An electric machine, you know. Thing thatmakes the light for those big lamps in thestreet."

"I've seen them at the shows."

"Shows?" he repeated, questioningly.

"Roundabouts," she explained.

"Oh!" he said. "That's nothing. Come in here!"

She put down the basket and followed him with alook of pleasure. She glanced furtively at the roofas they passed through the doorway, and steppedquickly close up to him, her eyes rolled widely roundin obvious apprehension. He looked at her withamusem*nt.

She caught his eye and smiled too. "Lovely,"she said, as she glanced round the clean and well-keptlittle engine-room. "Lovely," she repeated, as hereyes were held by the bright lacquered copper switchesand instruments set on the enamelled slate switchboard.

"It's like a church."

He looked at her quickly. "Have you ever beento church?"

"I've been inside and I've looked in through thewindows," she answered.

"What do you do on Sundays?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"I work on Sundays, the same as any other day,"he said.

"It's wicked to work on Sunday," she said.

"Or any other time," he added, smiling.

"Gipsies don't do much work," she admitted,smiling too.

"I think I'll turn gipsy."

"You'll go a long way before you see gipsies yourcolour," she said, glancing at his fresh face and lightbrown hair.

He held out his hand suddenly. "Look here!Tell my fortune, will you?"

She took him by the wrist and gazed at his palmearnestly for some minutes seeming to feel his pulseall the while.

"Good," she said, "very good," and dropping hishand, moved to the door.

He looked at her curiously, the fun had faded fromher face, the liquid eyes seemed heavily shaded withsorrow. He stepped after her.

"Do you people really believe what you say?"he asked.

"Yes. Good, very good—for you," she answered,and passed through the door. With the sky overheadand the air of heaven on her face, she altered atonce. "Thank you, sir, for the coal." She smiledbrightly.

"Don't mention it," he said. "Come over again,will you? I want to talk to you." He looked intoher eyes and she flushed with pleasure under the tan,or dirt, whichever it was.

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a cakeof chocolate (that was one of the things in which hewas younger than his years). "I say, do you eatchocolate?"

She took it shyly.

He watched her bite a piece off and noticed theeven regularity of her teeth, and the perfect shape ofher mouth, though the lips were somewhat full.

"When will you come again? To-morrow? Oh!I forgot! To-morrow I shall be on all night. Willyou come over early in the morning, or any timebetween midnight and eight o'clock in the morning?I'll bring you down some chocolate, if you like it."

"Thank you, sir."

"Will you come?"

"Yes," she answered, and her head took a gentledroop downwards, half averted, the long lashes swepther cheek and a rich red flushed beneath the russetbrown of her skin.

He looked at her with pleasure, he felt his owncolour rising a little too. He experienced a strangethrill, he felt older somehow, a sense of responsibility,of protection.

She turned and went away, glancing back over hershoulder as she went.

He went inside, and spoke to the Scotsman. "We'llput the engine on now, Mac." He busied himselfwith the engine and the switchboard. The girl waslost to sight and memory, but a sense, a somethingremained.

Next day the young engineer went on duty atmidnight; he passed the gipsy camp on his way; fourcaravans stood silent and dark, and five ragged tentsshowed faint and ghostly in the moonlight, a firesmouldered in one corner. At the works he relievedanother young man like himself, and the beardedhighlander. They put on their hats and coats andbade him good-night, and he was left alone, all alonein the dimly lighted engine room with nothing running,everything still, except for the ghostly, uncannyrattle of the steam condensing in the now idle steampipes.

Going into the little room which served as office,mess room, and test room combined, he took off hishat and coat and rolled back his shirt sleeves. Hewas a well built young man, standing just on six feetin his boots, with regular, handsome features andstrong, prominent chin and nose; the arms that heexposed to view were substantial and very muscular,the hands were spread by the use of hand tools, theywere not pretty, but very strong and serviceable.He walked briskly out and carefully looked all round—theplant, the switchboard, the engines, the recordinginstrument, the battery and boilers; he openedthe furnace doors and gazed in at the fires to see thatthey were properly "banked;" then he went roundwith a scribbling block and took the meter readings,carefully entering them in the log book; then he openedthe door and stepped out into the northern summernight.

He looked round on the fair prospect with extremepleasure, the hills all round with the mountains in thebackground, the irregular patches of wood, the fewstraggling houses showing white and distinct in themoonlight, the little town close by with its fewtwinkling lights; all spoke to him of peace and pleasureyet strangely, too, of ambition. He would own one ofthose houses on the hillside as a summer resort. Timewould tell, he had no doubt, he was quite confident,he felt it in him. He worked while other fellowsplayed. Worked! Lord! Yes! he stoked boilersand drove engines, he cleaned brass work and didnavvies' work, all for ten shillings per week. Hesmiled, the idea did not depress him in the least.

Suddenly the figure of a girl appeared round thecorner of the building. The gipsy girl, he knew herfigure at once. He knew she would come, but hehad not expected her at this hour.

She advanced slowly, shyly; as she turned thecorner she had been active, full of life; she seemedto droop as she caught sight of him standing alone inhis shirt sleeves in the moonlight. She came close upand stood before him.

"I've come," she said.

She raised her eyes and looked into his—they seemedall alight, veritably to sparkle like gems.

He was rather taken aback, but did not show it;his features were impassive, he also felt a tingling ofthe pulses, and his eyes showed that as he looked intohers.

"Come inside," he said; he led the way, he wantedtime to think.

"This way," he continued. She followed him, apace to the rear.

He led the way into the little office and pulled out achair. "Sit down," he said.

She sat down, somewhat uncomfortably, somewhatnervously, as one who was not used to it.

Going to his coat hanging on the wall he took apacket of chocolate from it. She watched him witha sort of dog-like observance.

"Here you are," he said. He handed her thechocolate, drew another chair out, and sat down facingher.

"What have you been doing all day?"

"Gathering sticks," she answered. He noticedthat she did not speak with her mouth full, it seemeda natural refinement, perhaps because she observedhim carefully finish munching a piece of chocolatebefore he put the question to her—anyhow she didthe same.

They sat and looked at each other in silence for someminutes. He was observing her very closely; henoticed that her hands were clean, comparatively;they were not large and very well shaped, it was obviousthat she did not do much work; everything about herdenoted natural grace and, it seemed to him, refinement;but ever and anon her eyes rolled widely round,taking in everything; in this confined atmosphere,sitting on this made-to-order chair, she was obviouslynot at ease.

He drew his chair up closer to her and looked intoher eyes. "You're very beautiful. Are all gipsygirls beautiful?"

She flushed, gave her head a little toss, slightlyimperious. "My mother is the Queen of the gipsies."

"Then you are a princess. You look it. Tell mewhat you do all day."

"Nothing," she answered, simply.

"That's good," he laughed.

"What do you do?" she asked.

"Everything," he said, and laughed again.

"Where do you come from?"

"England, the south of England, Gloucestershire.Have you been there?"

"Yes," she answered. "I've been throughGloucestershire and Somersetshire and Devonshireand Warwickshire and Staffordshire. I've been allround England and Scotland."

His eyes lighted up. "Have you been toCheltenham?"

"Yes," she said, and told him about it and thecountry round; she seemed to have observed everything.They talked of the counties and the people,the fields and the woods, the birds and beasts, tillshe stood up and pushed the chair back.

"I don't like this—let's go out and sit on the wallby the river."

So they went outside and sat on the little low wallwith the smooth cement top that marked the tunnelwhere the water pipes went into the works.

They sat down side by side, eating chocolates andsaying nothing, looking at the east and watching thesky begin to lighten with the first faint indication ofdawn. All was hushed, and silent the river at theirfeet swirled past in glassy, rapid smoothness, on theopposite bank the sedges stirred and rustled stealthily,just moved by the scarcely perceptible breeze.

They sat there for a long time, exchanging occasionalremarks and lapsing long between replies. Thespirit of the night, the silent, pensive night, seemedon the girl and he did not want to talk. The cloak ofpeace was around her; she was at one with nature;she laughed in the sunshine and wept in the rain. Tothe young engineer the silence of the night had a verydifferent message; this universal peace and stillnessspoke to him, somehow, of strife, vigorous strife, ofgreat difficulties attempted and overcome, of progress,eternal progress; he made many resolves of what hewould do, and the more he had done, the more, hefelt, he would be able to enjoy these moments of restand reflection. Some day he would marry, and thiswas the sort of girl he would like, a refined andeducated edition of this; some one with a soul, amind, and a body, not a mere clothes-horse. Herremarks had shown a natural refinement, a depth offeeling and thought that exactly suited his own, sheappreciated nature and that was the foundation ofall things to him.

The dawn was rapidly brightening; on the oppositeside of the river a stoat poked an inquiring nose throughthe long grass at the top of the bank. Silently thegirl gripped his arm and pointed to it, together theywatched it come cautiously into full view sniffing theair; very slowly, very cautiously, it made its way, itshead upraised, moving with a graceful swaying motionfrom side to side; it was the caution of the pursuerand not of the pursued, there was no terror in it. Theyoung engineer watched it in fascination, then itdisappeared again in the grass.

"The stoat gets a better time than the rabbit,"he propounded, after a thoughtful pause.

"Rabbits!" she said, in disgust, "rabbits are goodto eat, that's all. Everything kills rabbits, they playand play and never think—I've watched them forhours and hours."

He jumped up. "I must go and have a look roundinside now." He looked at her steadily with approval,and more; there was a light in her eyes as she lookedup at him too.

"Will you come over to-morrow night?" he asked.There was a touch of suspense in his voice.

"Yes," she said.

"Good-bye then," he held out his hand.

She took it somewhat shyly.

He held her rather long, looking at her thoughtfully,he seemed in doubt, then he slowly released her handand turned away. "Good-bye till to-morrow then,"he said.

"Good-bye," she answered.

Next night he was outside before half-past twelve,waiting. He saw her leave the camp and come towardshim springing lightly from tuft to tuft over the roughground.

"Hullo!" she said, and looked up at him, herwondrous eyes beaming pleasure.

"How are you?" he answered, gravely, shakinghands. The limitations of the Englishman boundhim fast. "Come inside," he continued.

She drew back with a little expression of repugnance."I don't like houses," she said.

"I've got some sweets in there. Come in and getthem, and then we'll go outside again."

She followed him meekly, and he took her into thelittle office and tilted the contents of four differentlittle bags on to a clean newspaper.

"There you are!" he said.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, with childish glee.

He shovelled them into the bags again and handedthem to her.

"There you are, those are for you; now we'll gooutside."

"You take some too." She opened the bags andheld them out to him.

"Thanks," he answered, gravely selecting two orthree from each packet.

They walked in silence to the door, then he pausedunder the lamp. "Look here, you never told myfortune. Finish it, will you?"

She stopped and looked at the hand he held outunder the light. "I don't know very much yet.You're very strong."

"Fairly," he agreed, doubling up his biceps. "Yousaid I had a good fortune. How do you know that?"

"By the feel," she answered. She took him by thewrist again and seemed lost in wonder. "Think ofwhat you'd like," she said.

He shut his eyes and conjured up his favouritevision. A great industrial centre; a huge machineryshop; teeming workmen, strong and greasy; andhimself in the centre, thinking, feeling, living for it all.

"Oh!" she said.

He opened his eyes to find her gazing at him inopen wonder and astonishment.

"Have you ever had a wild rabbit in your handsand felt its heart beat?"

"Can't say that I have."

"I have. And a weasel and a stoat with theirheads tied. And cats and dogs and birds and allsorts. You feel like a dog, a trained fighting dogwhen he's going to fight—and win."

He smiled, somewhat indulgently. "Very probably,"he said. "I'm a bit of a sportsman, football,and that sort of thing, you know. I've got a pistolin there; I put in time shooting rats along the riverbank when I'm by myself and not reading."

"Come on down by the river bank now and I'llshow you some birds' nests. I found them to-day."

"Wait till it gets lighter," he answered. "We'llclimb up that hill and watch the sun rise."

So they started off together across the interveningspace of moorland, the tall athletic young man andthe slender graceful girl, and the great silver moonlooked down at it all with a parental smile, as he hason countless such scenes since the birth of man.

"I'll race you," the engineer said.

"All right," she answered, and broke into a run,bounding lightly over the rough ground like a youngdeer. But the trained athlete kept pace with hereasily, he did not pass her, but kept a pace behind;she glanced back and sprinted faster; still he hungon her rear till they were within a hundred yards ofthe hill.

"A final spurt," he said, and she bounded awayagain. He could have passed her then, too, but hedid not.

"I won," she said.

"Yes, you won," he agreed, looking at her withmarked approval. Her head was thrown back alittle and her breast heaved steadily, taking great deeplong, breaths. She was slightly flushed and her eyessparkled brightly. They had run a quarter of a mile,and without a pause they went straight up the hilltaking it quickly and easily.

It took them a quarter of an hour to get to the top,up the zigzag, stony pathway through the pine wood.She led the way and brought him out to a littleclearing at the head of a miniature precipice.

"There!" she said, and pointed up the valley ofthe river straight at the lightening dawn.

"Grand!" he ejacul*ted, and they sat down sideby side on the bed of soft brown pine needles wherethe ground sloped gradually towards the cliff. Thedeep gloom of the pine wood closed behind them likea curtain; down below, at their feet, they could seethe tops of the trees in the gorge; out in front spreadthe beautiful valley with the silent river threadingits way down the heart of it.

They sat and gazed in silence, listening to theindistinct rustle of nocturnal life in the wood behindthem, and the air above: a rustle of leaves, a faintcrackle of twigs, a little scream, and some woodlandtragedy was past and gone, some tiny life wassped.

An owl hooted above them many times, long-drawn,awe-inspiring, suited to the night.

"That's a brown owl," she said.

"How do you know it's not a barn owl?" he asked.

She looked at him in wonder. "Why! it's adifferent tune."

"Tune?" he repeated, in amusem*nt. "I didn'tknow there was any difference," he added,apologetically.

"Listen!" she commanded, holding his armsuddenly. There was a flutter of wings in a tree notfar away, a little agonized scream, then all was silent."That's a weasel, or a stoat got a bird," she explained.

"Weasels don't climb trees," he said.

"Don't they?" she asked, in amused sarcasm.

"I didn't know," he admitted, meekly.

The dawn was brightening rapidly, lighting up allthe valley, turning the sombre river to a thread ofsilver, throwing out the white farmhouses into strongrelief, stirring birds and beasts to a new life.

They stood up and gazed over it enchanted.

"Look at that man!" she said.

He followed the direction of her finger. "I can'tsee a man."

"There in the yard, carrying a pail."

"Good Lord! I can see a bit of a black dot, thatis all."

She laughed with amusem*nt. "A black dot,"she repeated. "What's the matter with your eyes?"

He looked into her marvellous orbs with wonder andadmiration. "I'm usually considered to have goodeyes," he said, "but they're not in it with yours.You must be related to the golden eagle."

"I've seen a golden eagle's nest, and killed one too."

He pulled out his watch. "By Jove! I must getback to the works, somebody will be stealing thedynamos, or the coal," he added, looking at her witha sudden smile.

She smiled too and they disappeared into the wood,down the stony paths and across the bit of moorland.He stopped at the gate of the works and held outhis hand.

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

He held her hand, looking into her eyes. "You'llcome again to-morrow?"

"Yes," she answered, steadily looking at him withher wonderful eyes.

Still retaining his grip of her hand, he pulled hergently towards him.

She came, somewhat reluctantly; the colour overspreadher face. There was doubt in her eyes. Hepassed his disengaged arm round her neck and kissedher on her full red lips.

A wild wonder sprang to her eyes. "Gipsies don'tkiss," she said, as she gazed at him.

"Don't they?" he said, "then I'll do it again incase you forget," and he did, a long kiss. He lookedat her in astonished admiration, the deep colour thatmantled on her cheek, and the vivid light in her eyesmade a picture the like of which he had never seen.

She turned away and bounded off across themoorland to her people's camp. He watched her withbright eyes, she turned and waved a hand to him thendisappeared among the caravans. He went into thelittle works very thoughtful for he knew that he wasviolently in love with this beautiful girl—this child ofnature, and he seemed up against a blank wall.

He paced the little engine room slowly, chin onbreast, gazing unseeing at the tiles on the floor. "I'lltell her not to come again," he said to himself. Forhe was a very conscientious and a very ambitiousyoung man.

That was decided. He threw back his shouldersand raised his head with a feeling of relief. Goingout into the boiler house, he opened the furnace doors,and taking a fire rake in his hands, pushed back thebanked fires and spread them over the grates, hesprinkled a few shovels full of coal over them, openedthe dampers, blew down the gauge glasses, and wentinto his little office again to read.

Mostly he read technical works, but the book hepicked up now contained the life story of GeorgeStephenson. There was a full page portrait in it too:this fascinated the young engineer—he gazed at itlong and earnestly. To him it seemed the face of thegreatest of all Englishmen, of all men; statesmen,soldiers, philosophers, none of them had left such amonument behind them, none had done so much forcivilization as this great man whose features he gazedupon. "And he was a fighter, too," he said to himself."Beat the prize fighter bully of his village, andwithout training. He must have been always fit andlived very straight and clean." He put down thebook and went outside.

The sun was now bright and powerful, but still lowdown in the sky. The young engineer gazed allaround at the fairy scene, enchanted with the beautyof the landscape; yet he carried in his mind's eyestill the frontispiece of the book, a strong, sturdyfigure, and a firm, composed, yet kindly face. Thepicture seemed to haunt him. "The ideal engineer,"he said to himself, "would never get angry, onlythink, think, deeper and deeper. He would beabsolutely firm, but not a brute. The engineer musthandle men as well as material, and this north countrycollier did it!" He felt his biceps. "A greatengineer of to-day has laid it down that physicalfitness is the essential ground work of engineeringsuccess."

"Why not me too?" he asked himself.

Next night the gipsy girl appeared earlier than usual,he was not outside, and she ventured timidly in,walking on tip-toe, her eyes glancing quickly all roundher. She advanced to the foot of the switchboardsteps and stayed there.

He saw her then and went down to speak to her.She held out her hand. He took it gravely. Shelooked up at him underneath her long lashes, then hereyes drooped, the colour mounted to her cheek, shelet her hand rest limply in his. He looked at hersteadily for a minute, holding her hand, then he drewher towards him and kissed her.

"You like kissing," he said. She looked up at himwith all her soul in her wonderful dark eyes.

"Yes—you," she said, simply.

"Go and sit down, I've got some work to do yet.My coat's hanging up in the office there. There'ssome sweets in the pocket, take them out."

She went like an obedient child.

In ten minutes' time he went to her. "We'll goup on the hill again," he said, "and you shall tell mewhat all the sounds and squeaks and all that we hearin the wood mean."

So they started off, and at the edge of the wood adusky shape scampered off from the grass anddisappeared into the gloom.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Badger," she answered, promptly, in some surprise.

They commenced the ascent of the steep, stony path.

"Supposing I broke my leg, what would you do?"he asked.

"Carry you," she said.

"Think you could?"

She laughed, and going close up to him, put herarms round him and lifted him easily.

"Well done," he said.

They went to the top and sat down again in the oldplace, the little clearing, overlooking the valley. Theysat for some time in silence.

"Who are you going to marry?" she asked.

He looked at her sharply. "Poor little devil,"he thought, "is it possible—" Then he looked intoher eyes very steadily, rather sadly. "I haven'tany idea who I shall marry, yet," he said. "Probablysome girl that I shall meet at home, some girl wholives in a house about the same size that my fatherlives in. A girl who reads and writes, and perhapsplays the piano and sings, who can look after ahouse and manage servants and see that everythingis looked after properly. That is," he added,thoughtfully, "if I can ever make enough money to keepsuch a girl."

She was silent, and he thought perhaps he had beentoo brutal.

"I hope that she will be as beautiful and graceful asyou, but one can't have everything."

"What does your father do?" she asked, and hertone was one of interested inquiry simply.

"He's a parson."

"Keeps a church?"

"Exactly, or the church keeps him."

"I can play the fiddle and concertina and sing,"she said.

"Can you?" he asked, in surprise.

"Yes, father says I'm good."

"I've no doubt you are," he said, with some amusem*nt.He wondered what the gipsy standard ofmusic was.

Suddenly he noticed her raise her head, listeningintently, he watched her with interest; the delicatenostrils quivered, she seemed to be smelling something.

"There's someone in the wood," she said.

"All right. Let 'em stop there."

"Come into the dark," she whispered. She movedsilently into the shadow of the pine trees.

He was getting up to follow her when a roughlooking man in a round fur cap, a suit with bigpoacher pockets to the coat and gaiters protectinghis trousers, and carrying a big stick under his arm,came out into the moonlight.

"So I've caught you, have I?"

"What do you mean?" The young engineer'stone was angry, imperious.

"You knows, you an' that girl. I seen her goaway." Without more ado, he rushed viciously atthe engineer and lashed out a sweeping blow with hisbludgeon.

The young athlete sprang nimbly aside, and as thegipsy turned to make a second onslaught, the girlcame out of the darkness of the wood behind andsprang on his back like a wild cat, pulling him overbackwards and wrenching the stick from his grasp.She threw it to the engineer. "Take that," she said,"and watch him."

The gipsy, cursing and spitting like an angry cat,lashed out with his feet and caught the girl in theribs.

With a little sob, like a punctured balloon, she sankdown, a huddled, helpless heap. The gipsy lashedout again at her and then scrambled to his feet.

The engineer stood over him. "You swine," hesaid, and he brought the stick down over the man'sshoulders for all he was worth. It was ash and verystout; there was not much "give" in it. He gave acoughing gasp, then closed with his assailant.

They wrestled fiercely. The gipsy was shorter andnot so heavy, but exceedingly strong; he strove towork the engineer backwards towards the cliff, hishands sought his throat.

The girl sat up. "Mind the edge," she screamed."Throw him over."

The engineer had dropped the stick, he passed hisforearm across the gipsy's throat and forced his headbackwards so that to save his neck or his back the manhad to relax his grip. Instantly the engineer dealthim a severe blow on the chin with his fist.

The gipsy staggered backwards.

The latent savagery of the chimpanzee and thefierce deep passion of the sportsman who had been"fouled" were aroused side by side in the breast ofthe young engineer. He sprang forward again andstruck the falling man another furious blow; heseemed to yield easily; it was almost like striking theempty air. There was not that sense of springyresistance which is the whole source of pleasure in ablow well delivered and reaching well home.

With a sudden chilling of the blood he realized thatthe man was over the edge, falling downwards on tothe trees. He felt sick with horror and tried to throwhimself back, only to discover that the impetus of hisown forward progress was too much for him. Heslowed up and hung for (it seemed to him) manyminutes just balanced, then gradually tilted forwardstowards the tops of the trees that showed down belowin the faint light of the rising dawn. He seemed to bemoving very slowly—slowly, forwards. He glancedout over the valley below him and got a clearimpression of the view; he saw an owl flit past betweenhimself and the tree tops; he heard it hoot, its longdrawn, melancholy hoot. Then he felt a sudden jerkbehind, something pulled him backwards, he felt hiscentre of gravity shift till his legs had control of hisbody again. Then the blood rushed from his heartwith a mighty bound; he sank down on the soft bedof the weather-browned pine needles.

"Good God!"

The girl leaned over him, her eyes alight. "Ithought I was over too," she said.

"I thought that brute had killed you," he said.

She stretched herself and suddenly relaxed with alittle gasp. "I'm all right. I've got a pain, that's all."

The horror of the whole situation was suddenlyborne in upon him.

"Holy God!" he said. "That's man killed."

"I hope so," she said.

"Hush!" he said, "you mustn't say that. If heis, I'm a murderer."

"Then I hope he's not."

"Who is he?" he asked.

"My sweetheart—the man I'm going to marry—ifhe's alive," she answered, simply.

"Oh! Great God in heaven!" he said, and heheld out his hands to the rising sun, gazing out on thesmiling valley and beautiful hills in the peacefulstillness of the early dawn.

CHAPTER II

They wended their way slowly down the steeppath, the girl giving little gasps of pain at everyfew steps.

"Look here!" he said, "you're damaged. Letme carry you."

"I'm all right. I've got a pain, that's all."

"Rot!" he said, and without more ado he pickedher up in his arms. She was very light consideringthe strength she had displayed. "Say how you areeasiest," he said.

"Quite easy like this," she answered.

So they proceeded slowly down the stony, rockyhillside, the girl cradled in his arms with her armsround his neck easing her weight as much as possible.

He had to stop and rest frequently, laying hergently on a bed of pine needles or moss.

"You're very strong," she said.

"Yes, by God, too strong sometimes," he said,bitterly.

She put her fingers gently on his wrist and felt hispulse. "You're a winner," she said.

"Meaning that I shall out distance the constable,"he asked with a grim humour.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Carstairs. Jack Carstairs. It'll be in all thepapers soon. Can you read?"

"No."

"Lucky girl."

So carrying on a disjointed conversation they workedtheir way round to the foot of the cliff.

"Shall I take you back to the camp or shall I havea look for the—man, first?"

"We'll have a look for Sam first. I'm all right onlevel ground."

"No, you're not. You stay there." He put herdown on the ground, and made his way through thetrees to the cliff.

He searched up and down; there was no sign of abody dead or alive, no sign of derangement, nothingto indicate tragedy. There was a rustle of bird lifeall round him and a cheerful chorus of early morningsong in the bushes outside, for this was just on theedge of the wood. He went up and down gazing overhead and under foot; the trees here were mostly firs,young spruce firs with heavy, carpety foliageinterlocking, shutting out the light.

He went back to the girl. "I'll take you back andgo for a doctor while your people come and look forhim."

"He's gone home," she said.

That one word "home" is used to describe a vastnumber of widely differing places.

"I hope to God he has—to the camp, I mean."

Picking her up in his arms again, he carried her outacross the strip of moorland to the camp.

The gipsies were out and astir, there seemed to be asort of meeting going on among the tents and caravans.Jack Carstairs walked into the centre of them anddeposited his burden on the ground.

The girl sat up. "There's Sam," she said, pointingto a young gipsy sitting propped up against thewheel of a caravan. His face was deathly pale, andone eye was bulged out like a small balloon.

The young engineer's heart gave a great bound atthe sight of him.

"So you were not killed," he said.

"'Taint no fault of yours," the man growled. Thegipsies gathered round.

"Where's mother?" the girl asked.

A woman of about fifty, eagle-eyed, black-haired,descended the steps of a particularly well-appointedcaravan and went over to the girl, and felt hercarefully all over. "Who did it?" she asked.

"Sam kicked me," the girl answered.

The gipsies made no sound, but dark glisteningeyes rolled from the recumbent gipsy to the tall,fair-haired young Englishman.

"Who's this?" the mother asked.

"The man at the electric light, that gave me thecoal."

The young man felt a pair of piercing black eyesgazing searchingly into his, they seemed to see rightinto his brain: he was aware of a strange tinglingsensation in his blood as the woman looked at him.

"Are you going to marry the girl?" she asked,

"No!" he said, simply.

The gipsies gathered in closer.

"Come here," the woman said.

He advanced and looked her squarely in the eyes.

She caught hold of his wrist, and lifting his handexamined his palm. She gazed at it long andearnestly, ever and anon glancing up into his eyes.She dropped it suddenly.

"Alright! Go away," she said.

The little circle of gipsy men fell back and openedout for him to go his way.

"What's the matter with that man?" he asked,pointing to Sam.

"Broke his leg," a gipsy man answered.

"What saved him?"

"The trees—he fell on the fir trees."

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out all themoney he had, about seven shillings. "Here, getthe girl whatever you can. Shall I send a doctor?

"Doctor?" the woman repeated in scorn, "no!"

"Alright," he said, and made his way unmolestedpast the silent, fierce-eyed men.

He went back to the little works and fired up theboilers and got steam ready for the day man to startthe engine when he came in.

That night he went down about ten o'clock andcrossed over to the gipsies. The whole camp wasgathered in a circle round the embers of a fire.

He stopped on the outside edge. "How's thegirl?" he asked.

"Alright," the old woman answered.

"And the man?"

"Alright," she repeated.

He was turning to go away when she spoke again insingularly sweet and winning tones. "Won't youcome and sit down, sir?"

"Thanks," he answered, stopping in doubt.

"And father'll play."

A young gipsy immediately got up and disappearedinto the flashy looking caravan, to reappear with aviolin and bow in his hands.

An old man who had lain stretched out before thefire arose and took the instrument; he fingered itlovingly. Carstairs looked at him with curiosity;he was attired in an old frock coat, green with age,and the silk facings threadbare; straightened out hewould have been as tall as Carstairs himself, but hewas bent and bowed, his knees tottered, his face wasthe uniform purple-red of the confirmed drunkard.He tried the strings with his fingers, tuning up. Theybrought forward a chair, and he sat down. The face,Carstairs thought, showed something of refinementand good breeding even in its bloated, blotchedcondition. He pushed back his greasy cap and showeda head of fine silver-grey hair; the mouth was inconstant motion, twitching, compressing, relaxing.He passed the bow across the strings, making a harsh,jarring scream; then he seemed to settle down, andCarstairs was entranced.

He dropped down beside one of the gipsies and satsilent, lost in beautiful, entrancing thought. Allthat was best in his life came back to him, his highestthoughts and loftiest ambition were stirred andenlarged, his resolution strengthened, his soul uplifted.He glanced round the circle of rough, mahogany-colouredfaces. Dark eyes glistened like preciousjewels in the flickering firelight, the rough lines of thefeatures seemed softened.

And all this achieved by a tottering, degraded olddrunkard.

The player passed on from tune to tune, only pausingto take a drink from a bottle that the old womanhanded him. Many of the strains were familiar tothe young engineer; he understood they were "masterpieces"difficult to render. And wonder and a greatpity stirred in him side by side at the awful contrast,the inexpressible beauty of the music and the despicablecondition of the player. But he, too, seemed tostraighten out and grow taller; he stood up, themouth became steadier, the bleared eyes seemedquite brilliant in the dim light.

Slowly dying down, growing gradually less, themusic stopped. Then dropping bow and fiddle themusician made straight for the brass-finished,leather-upholstered caravan, and disappeared inside.

There was silence round the little circle of thegipsies, no one stirred; Carstairs was lost in reverie,ideas thronged through his brain; he was lost to thepresent, his soul seemed free of his body, delvingabout in the unknown depths of the future.

A young gipsy started up from the circle and pickedup the fiddle and bow. For Carstairs that broke thespell, he looked up and found the gipsy woman's eyesupon him.

He arose and went over to her. "What lovelymusic," he said. "Who is he?"

"My husband," she answered.

"Oh!" he said. He held out his hand. "Good-bye! youmust thank him very much for me."

She took his hand and looked into his eyes in thefixed firelight. "You like music?" she asked.

"Very much," he answered.

He felt a strange feeling of friendliness for thiswoman, her presence seemed to give him a sensationof comfort, of hope.

Wending his way out of the gipsy camp he crossed tothe little works.

"Sorry I'm late."

"Oh, it's alright."

They passed the technical news of the day, thenthe bearded Scotsman and the other young engineerdeparted.

Carstairs stood at the door watching them go awayalong the winding path beside the river, towards thelittle town. He hadn't altogether shaken off thereverie induced by the music; he gazed out into thesilence of the night; in the beautiful half light of thenorthern night, he could see far up the valley. Longafter his companions had disappeared from view hestood there gazing out over the silent landscape, andfor once his thoughts were not entirely of himself, ofhis ambitions and resolves: he wondered at the oldman who played the beautiful music, the old womanand the girl, their offspring; it seemed incredible, thegirl was so different from either of them. He wentinside, closing the wicket gate in the big doors behindhim, then going into the little office he produced adrawing-board and instruments and settled downresolutely to work; for he had ideas, many of them,and his occupation gave him ample time for thought.

Next night he went down early to call at the campagain, but when he got there, he found, with adisappointment he was astonished at, the gipsies weregone.

"Cancelled out," he said to himself, for Carstairsthought mathematically. Still, as he spoke, he felta doubt if the factor were really eliminated.

So time, relentless time, passed away, and Carstairswent his daily round, working and studying, planningand dreaming. Very often in the early summermornings when he had been on all night, and found itimpossible to study any more, he would take his pistoland wander out along the river bank looking for ratsor water voles. Always the vision of the gipsy girlcame back to him. Her verdict "you're a winner,"occurred to him as he fired at the rats or selected someinanimate mark to aim at, and always hit, for his handwas strong and steady and his eye very keen. Oneday as he wandered so, pistol in hand, there was asudden swirl in the water, a gleam of silver shotheavenwards, he pointed the pistol and pulled justas the salmon touched the water again, it divedinstantly, but there was something wrong with it,the white belly seemed unduly prominent, it wasobviously impeded by something.

"Hit! by Jove!" Carstairs said, as the big fishcame to the surface and lay quite still floatingdown with the stream. "A winner," he said, andhe wondered thoughtfully if it would always be so.

Then he went on holiday, ten days, back to hishome in Gloucestershire, the country vicarage andthe Cotswold hills, where the pick of the old prizefighters came from; and there was much of the prizefighter in Carstairs' composition, perhaps it was in theair.

The Reverend Hugh Carstairs was tall and wellbuilt, silver haired and clean shaven; his religion wasof the comfortable order; he did not consider itnecessary to be miserable in order to be good. Hewas clean in mind and body, rather sporting andrather intellectual. His good lady was somewhatsimilar, less sporting and less intellectual, more homelyand more pious. The product of the union was sixwell-grown, healthy Englishmen. Jack was theyoungest.

His parents received him with undemonstrative butdeep-felt pleasure. Up to the present Jack had been,if not the most prosperous, the least expensive of thesix; engineering to him had been more or lesscompulsory because cheap, or comparatively so. Theother five had absorbed large sums in their education,and up to the present made small return on capitalinvested. Jack didn't gamble or drink expensivedrinks; he didn't paint pictures or play any musicalinstrument. As far as his parents knew he had hadno love affairs. He was a very sober young man. Hismother said he feared God. His father, that herespected himself. The truth was that he had anambition to bulk very big at some future date, andso had not the time for indulgence in the ordinarycommon or garden vices and pastimes.

He kissed his mother and shook hands solemnlywith his father.

"I want to take some of your books away with mewhen I go, guv'nor," he said.

His parents looked at him with approval. "Whatsort of books?"

"Oh! 'maths.' I find I don't know as muchmathematics as I thought I did."

His mother looked somewhat disappointed, hisfather pleased. The dividends on classics did not panout very well in his experience.

"I'm working out an idea, you know; rather goodthing if it's workable. Want some more 'maths,'to read up the authorities on the subject."

"A patent?"

"Yes."

"Ah," his mother sighed, something seemed totouch a sensitive chord. "You know Phillip is goingout to India?"

"Yes. Plantation, isn't it?"

"Yes, in a very nice part of the country, I believe."

"What's he going to get?"

"Twenty pounds a month," his father answered.

"That isn't much for a man twenty-four years old,is it? Fitters get that out there."

"My dear boy!" His mother was grieved.

"What's the matter, mater?"

"You have such a sordid way of looking at things."

"Have I? I'm sorry. The aim and object oflife at present is to make money."

The Rev. Hugh regarded his son with quietapproval. "It keeps you occupied," he said, "andas long as you're honest."

Jack was silent. "As a general rule I am," hesaid, at length. "Stole a basketful of coal the otherday, though."

"Coal? Whatever for?"

"Gave it away to the poor." He waved his armlightly with a smile.

His father smiled too, he had Jack's eyes, grey andshrewd. "To a certain extent the end justified themeans," he said, "That is, in the common court ofour conscience. I suppose it was very cold up inScotland?"

"On that particular day it was, I think, if anythingwarmer than it is down here to-day. I shouldlike to be whitewashed, but—the end was a verypretty gipsy girl, whom I afterwards kissed, andpunched her affianced husband—broke his leg."

"Good gracious! you're joking."

"Not a bit, mater. I'm going to shine as thevillain of the family; it's in me, for under the givencirc*mstance, I'd do the same again." He gave themthe main outlines of the case, concisely, hiding nothing.

"I think you'd better leave Scotland," his mothersaid.

"So do I, mater," he agreed. "I want more money."

The Rev. Hugh's grey eyes twinkled merrily."Everything comes to him who goes and fetchesit," he said.

"That's an engineering precept, guv'nor. Anengineer is a man who fetches things. You ought tohave been an engineer, not a bally old parson."

"Jack!"

"Sorry, mater, that's a lapsus fungus, or words tothat effect."

"Lapsus linguæ, you mean."

"Is it? Oh! fungus seemed to me rathersuggestive of the tongue."

Jack was standing up with his back to the mantel-piece.His father smiled, then he stood up, too, and,laying a hand on his son's broad shoulder, looked withsolemn, benevolent eyes into the eyes that were levelwith, and so like, his own. "Go on fetching things,my boy, but never forget that the object of life ishappiness. And happiness is only possible to aneasy conscience. It is nice to win the match, butbetter to lose than cheat. I should leave these gipsygirls alone, if I were you."

"Singular, if you please, guv'nor, it's only one, andshe's gone away."

"Quite so. I was generalizing."

Jack was thoughtful. "Up to the present," hesaid, "it is not necessary to generalize, but thanksall the same."

The Rev. Hugh looked at his son, at the steady eyesand close, firm mouth; the lines were very definite,almost cruel; such men do not have many love affairs."I think you can take care of yourself," he said.

Jack was perfectly sober. "I think so, too," heagreed.

CHAPTER III

The vicarage at Chilcombe, Jack's home, was afairly large, well-built house with plenty ofground round it, forming a complete rectangle. Twosides of it (bordering the road) were bounded by seven-footwalls, a third side was a thick, tall hedge, and thefourth (furthest from the house) was a brook, or river—asort of cross, a big brook or a small river—deeplybordered with willow trees and blackberry bushes.Two close wooden gates in the seven-foot wall openedon to a small brown-gravel drive, which led by a singleshort curve through a shrubbery of laurel bushes to thefront entrance porch. A big room at the other sideof the house opened out by French windows on toa lawn. There was a big chestnut tree in one cornerof this lawn, with a seat round it; in the summerthere were usually two or three hammock chairs spreadout in the shade of it also. Jack was lounging in oneof these latter the morning after his arrival, while hismother did knitting in a more sedate-looking but lesscomfortable chair at his side, when Mrs Bevengtonand Bessie came round the corner of the house. MrsBevengton was the doctor's wife, and Bessie was herdaughter. Bessie was fairly tall and distinctlyplump—"fatty" Jack used to call her when he wasyounger; she was not really fat, though not angularlyhard; there was no superfluous tissue about her. Shecould play tennis all day long, run with the beagles,or row two or three miles on the river without getting"done up." She had a good pink colour and dimpleson each cheek which were nearly always in evidence,for she smiled at most things. Her hair was lightbrown and curly; it was always straying out of placeand framing her happy, smiling face in little lightbrown curves.

Bessie said, "How are you Jack?" and Jackanswered, "First-class. How are you?"

Mrs Bevengton looked at him critically. "Whatare you doing now, Jack?" she asked.

"Earning ten bob a week, Mrs Bevengton," heanswered, with just a flicker of a smile. The doctor'swife was inclined to be a materialist in worldly matters.

Bessie's dimples burst into renewed prominence,and a frizzy curl strayed out from over her forehead.She said nothing, but her blue eyes danced in thesunlight as she glanced round the three faces in front ofher, and endeavoured to suppress the rebellious curl.

Mrs Carstairs looked severe. "How absurdly youtalk, Jack."

"The truth is usually absurd, mater."

Mrs Bevengton continued to regard him with acritical, calculating eye.

"That's just a start, of course?" she said.

"Well, I hope it's not the finish, Mrs Bevengton."

Mrs Bevengton looked at Bessie, then back againat Jack. He seemed very steady-looking andconfident; she had only a vague notion of what he wasdoing, but had an impression that electrical engineeringwas a safe sort of thing, displacing the Church asthe thing to put the fool of the family into. Still,the Carstairs so far had not "got on."

"I suppose it's a good er—profession, isn't it, Jack?"

Jack looked at his hands which would have comparedfavourably with a young carpenter's. "Fairlygood, I think," he said, "for the right men. Aboutthe same as doctoring, only more pleasant—to theyoung mind at least."

Mrs Carstairs smiled approval.

The doctor's wife was puzzled. He spoke toosoberly for a Carstairs—and nineteen. She lookedat Mrs Carstairs. "When does Phillip leave?"

"Oh, not for six weeks yet."

Jack looked at Bessie. "Come on, Bessie! I'llgive you a game of tennis. Expect you'll beat meeasily now. Haven't had a game since last summer."

"Don't they play in Scotland?"

"Oh, yes, they play, but I don't."

So they played, and it was very close, but Bessiedid not win.

"I believe you've been practising," she said.

"No, I haven't," he answered. "Come on downto the brook and see if that old trout is still there."

"That old trout," was an ancient retainer of theCarstairs family, weighing some two to two and a halfpounds. Six successive sons had tried to catch him:bright red worms, "dopping" blue bottles, artificialflies, gentles and green caterpillars had been tried invain; the veteran shook his head and slowly winkedthe other eye as he lazily flapped his tail in the gentlecurrent, regarding the tempting baits and eager facespeering over the blackberry bushes with easyunconcern. Twice they had waded through the shallows,three abreast, with butterfly nets, after frighteninghim from his deep hole, but without success: once,indeed, with the aid of wire netting, was the speckledwarrior landed, high and dry; but after performing ajoyous war-dance, hand in hand, round the panting,kicking champion, the means were voted underhandand mean—not sporting—so by unanimousconsent he was consigned to the deep again, neverafterwards, by fair means or foul, to be lured thence.In later days he reigned supreme, monarch of all hesurveyed, for many yards on either side of the willowtree, his seat. It was considered the correct thing,when on holidays, to feed him with worms andgentles and other tit-bits.

So, rackets in hands, they strolled down to the brookand peeped cautiously over the top of a blackberrybush, down into a deep hole under the roots of anoverhanging willow tree; silently they pressedforward, for the bush had grown and obscured the viewmore than it used to. Suddenly there was a slip,a little scream, a sound of tearing dress material, asplash, and Bessie was in the stream.

Jack knew that Bessie could not swim, one of thefew athletic accomplishments she had not acquired.The water was six or seven feet deep for two or threehundred yards on either side of the hole, whichwas nine or ten feet deep, the banks were verysteep.

Without a second's pause, Jack burst his waythrough the bushes and into the stream; the bramblesclung to him and let him down gently. He foundBessie floundering hopelessly, head under water, oneleg elevated in the air, held securely by a tangle ofbrambles, so keeping her in an inverted position.

He grabbed an overhanging branch of the willowtree with one hand and reached down for Bessie's hairwith the other. He succeeded in raising her headabove water. She clutched his arm frantically,half-unconscious, she had quite lost her reason.

"Steady! Steady!" he said, soothingly. "Kickyour leg free."

She was unable to comprehend, so he gave a vigoroustug at her; the brambles yielded pliantly, but did notlet go.

"Damn the thing," he said. He tugged again, andthe fresh green willow branch broke off short at therotten old trunk. Bessie's head sank under wateragain, and she clutched him in a despairing grasp;he "trod water" vigorously and tried to pull her clearof the bramble; then he tried to get free of her grasp sothat he might get at the bramble at close quarters,but she clung to him in despairing energy, and she wasvery strong. Twice he lifted her head out of waterand let her get a breath, but the effort drove him verydeep down himself, and he was beginning to feel thestrain.

He looked round him in search of inspiration. Thewater was running very placidly and calmly past him,all dappled with round spots of sunlight comingthrough the leaves of the trees. A little way off, hismother and Bessie's mother sat quietly chatting in theshade of the chestnut tree, a cow grazed peacefullyvery near the opposite bank; he could hear the steady"munch" of her jaws; a willow wren trilled out apretty little warble on a tree near by; and Bessiewas drowning. Jack wondered what to do. It neveroccurred to him to shout for help, he never shouted forhelp—he was not built that way.

"Her grip will relax when she gets unconscious,"he said to himself, and thinking so, he pulled her headdeeper under water and tugged to get free of her grip.This time he succeeded, and instantly hauled himselfup the bank by means of the entangled leg and set itfree. It was very simple; two interlaced briarsformed a stirrup, that was all. He raised the footand it was free at once. Then he dropped back intothe water and getting under her, raised her head, andswam with her down stream where the bank shelveddown; getting out and laying her on the grass, heapplied his rudimentary knowledge of artificialresuscitation; he saw a gentle heaving of the breast,then picked her up and hurried towards thehouse.

Mrs Bevengton saw him coming and ran to meet him.

"Whatever is the matter?" she said. She wasvery pale, but not hysterical. Jack noted herbehaviour with approval.

"Bessie fell into the brook, got her head fixed underwater for some time; she's breathing alright." Hehurried on into the house with her.

The doctor was immediately sent for while MrsBevengton administered all she knew, and in half anhour Bessie was sitting up in bed, Jack's bed, drinkinghot beef tea. She smiled genially. "I'm sorry to giveyou all this trouble, Mrs Carstairs," she said.

That evening Jack's sailor uncle paid a surprisevisit—his were nearly always surprise visits; he cameand went like the sea breeze, fresh, boisterous, andinvigorating. As they sat smoking after dinner andcommenting on the morning's catastrophe, CommanderJohn Carstairs, R.N., looked across at his nephew andnamesake through the smoke.

"You didn't shout?" he asked.

"It didn't occur to me."

"Like to bully through on your own, eh?

"That's it, I suppose."

"You ought to have put that boy in the service, Hugh."

"Er—yes, perhaps so."

"How would you have liked it, Jack?"

"Oh, first-class, I think. However 'what is, isbest,' you know, 'the moving finger writes,' etc.I'm going to make money."

The sailor's merry blue eyes became thoughtful,and so, even the casual observer must have beenstruck by the sense of power the whole man conveyed.The face was clean shaven and of an even pink-red allover, the jaw very strong and square, the cheek boneshigh and the nose prominent, the mouth a straightline, the eyes deep set and not too close together asdeep-set eyes usually are; in repose they looked sternand hard, when he smiled they were the most kindlylooking in all the world; his figure, particularly theshoulders and chest, gave one the impression that heswung heavy-weight Indian clubs for many hours eachday.

"The service makes men, but not millionaires," heremarked, and his own personality seemed the proofof the assertion.

The Rev. Hugh chimed in. "It's better to be aman than a millionaire."

The sailor smiled again. "Nature has done thatfor Jack," he said.

Dr Bevengton (who stayed to dinner) broke in."It's possible to be both, I imagine."

Jack Carstairs puffed slowly at one of his father'scigars. "The line of demarcation between a manand a fool is rather hard to draw, I think."

The sailor laughed uproariously.

The parson's eyes twinkled merrily.

Dr Bevengton seemed more surprised than amused."How?" he asked.

"Well, I've heard both a man and a fool defined inso very many different ways. One of our Scotchlabourers assured me that a man who couldn't takea half tumbler of whisky neat was 'nae man at a'.'Then one frequently hears such terms as 'an ass whoplays football,' or 'a fool who reads Shakespeare.'"

The three older men regarded the solemn-facedyoungster with much amusem*nt.

"What do you propose to do about it then, Jack?"the sailor asked.

"Please myself," Jack answered.

The sailor slapped his knee. "Well done!" hesaid. "By Jove, that's good! What about thegirl?" he asked, suddenly.

"What girl?"

Commander Carstairs looked towards the ceiling."Upstairs," he said.

"Oh, she'll be alright, thanks," the doctor answered.

"Be about again soon, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes. To-morrow."

"Then you'll have a chance before you go back,Jack, to prove yourself a man or a fool."

The sailor smiled genially at his nephew, and hisnephew regarded him in solemn silence. The doctorcoughed, so did the parson.

The sea develops to a remarkable degree the Englishtrait of persistence. Nothing short of a twelve-inchshell would have diverted Jack's uncle from his"chaff."

"In these cases, Jack, there's nothing like strikingwhen the iron's hot," he continued.

The doctor and the parson were distinctly ill atease, the sailor was happy, the young engineer quitecalm. He puffed away slowly at his cigar while thesailor looked laughingly into his eyes.

"I perceive, uncle," Jack said, at length, "that it'spossible to be a fool and a man at the same time."

All three men burst into a hearty laugh, the sailorleading.

Next day Bessie was about again, and Jack met heron the lawn. Her dimples were as deep as ever andher hair as rebellious. She held out her hand,"Thanks very much for pulling me out, Jack,"she said.

"Oh! it's alright," he answered.

God, in His wisdom, has denied speech to theEnglish, but has specially endowed them with feeling.

They played tennis again and went down and lookedat the place where she fell in.

"Did you have a job to get me out?" she asked.

"Oh, fair!" he answered.

So time passed away and the ten days were soongone. Jack visited all his old haunts and friends andsaw a good deal of Bessie. Their relations werechanging, they were merging into man and woman, theincident of the brook seemed to have hastened it.Jack saw a difference in her; she seemed a trifle shyat times, and he never failed to notice it. He noticed,too, that she seemed to defer to him more, and notdispute, as they always used to. When he was goingaway, he said good-bye to her alone, and as he shookhands he noticed a look in her eyes that surprised him.She blushed slightly.

"I'm sorry I'm going back," he said.

"So am I," she answered. She seemed distinctly sad.

One evening, before his uncle had left, they had allspent the evening with the doctor. As the men satalone smoking, his uncle had questioned Jack abouthis work. Jack remembered that the doctor hadlistened with marked interest.

"They call me an Improver," Jack had explained."Certainly, I've improved lots of things since I'vebeen there, and wrecked others. 'Improver wantedfor Central Station in Scotland, must have workshoptraining and theoretical knowledge, good opportunityto gain a thorough insight into Central Station work.Salary (they called it salary) ten shillings perweek.' That's how the advertisem*nt ran. They are correctin describing the insight to be gained as 'thorough.' Myfirst job was to sweep out the engine room and todo it thoroughly, then I had to clean the switchboard,thoroughly too, then, as I had shown my ability, Iwas allowed to wipe down the engine, thoroughly.Now I stoke boilers and drive engines and operate theswitchboard—all for the same pay, while the latestcomer sweeps the floor, etc."

The doctor, Jack had noticed, looked considerablydown in the mouth. The sailor only laughed."That'll do you good," he had said.

All these things Jack thought over after he had leftBessie, and the train was speeding him northward.

CHAPTER IV

Back in Scotland, Jack Carstairs took up thethread of his work where he had left off, steppedinto the old routine again. He had "started applying,"that is to say he carefully scanned the advertisem*ntcolumns of the Electrical Review, and thenin dignified and appropriate language submitted a listof his qualifications to those people (and at this timetheir name was legion) who required the services ofjunior station engineers. Nearly all of these weremunicipalities, and they set out gaudy, lengthilyworded advertisem*nts occupying about a quarterof a column, with elaborate specification of dutiesand qualifications. They finished up with the mildand modest statement that the salary (?) would beat the rate of one pound (or perhaps twenty-fiveshillings) per week.

Jack answered dozens of these; sometimes hereceived a little printed slip to inform him that hisapplication had not been successful, which usuallyarrived by the time he had forgotten all about it, orelse he heard nothing whatever. He usually wroteout these applications at the works and posted themon his way home. His route, via the post-box, layalong a road deeply shaded with big beech trees onone side and an open space on the other, the footpathran along under the trees.

One night, coming off duty at midnight, as hepursued his usual way home, enjoying the deep peaceof the night, carrying a bundle of letters in his hands,he felt a sudden, violent blow on the back of the head,and the next thing he knew was that he woke up witha violent headache, and found himself lying on hisback, under the shade of one of the big trees. He puthis hand to the back of his head and felt a big lumpthere. He staggered to his feet and searched hispockets; everything was intact, nothing gone ordisplaced; his letters were lying scattered on theground; painfully and slowly he gathered them up,the stooping made his head seem about to burst.Then he staggered home to his diggings, posting hisletters on the way, and wondering with the vague andpainful persistence of the fevered brain who or whathad struck him and why.

He let himself into his diggings, and going to hisbedroom, carefully sponged his head with water.Then he wiped it dry, sat down and ate his supper,and went to bed.

His sleep was somewhat fevered and disturbed, buthe woke up in the morning feeling only a bad headache.

"Damn funny thing," he said to himself, then heturned over and went to sleep again. His landladyknocked at his door and told him it was very late, sohe got up and felt fairly fresh.

"You're looking pale, Mr Carstairs," his landladyremarked.

"Yes, I'm feeling a bit pale," he answered.

She looked at him searchingly. Scottish womenhave an equal curiosity with other women but lesstongue; she said nothing, and he volunteered nofurther information, partly because he was naturallyuncommunicative, and partly—well, he could not saywhy exactly, but he did not.

There are so many things which one does not quiteknow why one does, which afterwards prove of vastconsequence, which is probably why most men whoobserve and think are superstitious, religious, orfatalistic. The man who can only read plain printdoes not believe in these things.

Jack Carstairs said nothing, but he went down tothe works as usual, and they remarked there that helooked pale and had a lump on the back of his head.

"What's up?" the vociferous young Englishengineer asked (it is astonishing what a number ofEnglish electrical engineers there are in Scotland).

"The sky," Jack answered, laconically.

"Alright! Go to the devil!" the other mananswered, and went away.

The bearded, blue-eyed Scotsman looked at himin solemn seeing silence; he said nothing, and his gazewas not obtrusive. The Scotch are a pleasant peopleto live with because they have grasped, above allothers, the art of minding their own business, whichpossibly also explains why Scotsmen occupy highplaces all over the world.

Carstairs went back the same way that night again,but he took a handy piece of light, strong iron pipingwith him. He walked clear of the trees and lookedcarefully all around, but saw no one.

He walked on and had just reached his diggingswhen he heard a light step behind him; he turnedand saw a tall girl quite close to him.

"Good evening, sir," she said. It was the gipsygirl.

Carstairs face brightened with pleasure and surprise."What are you doing here?" he asked.

Her eyes seemed to glow as she looked into his."Following you," she answered.

Suddenly he noticed she carried a substantial ashcudgel. A great wave of wonder passed over him."Good God, was it you who flattened me out lastnight?

"No, that was Sam."

His face relaxed with a look of relief. "Were youthere, then?"

There was an involuntary twitch of the cudgel inher hand. "He wouldn't have done it if I'd beenthere."

Carstairs' look showed admiration and appreciation."That's jolly good of you," he said. "Where areyou—er—where is the camp?"

She mentioned a place twenty miles away.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How did youget here, then?"

"Walked," she answered, simply.

"How'll you get back?"

"Walk," she said, again.

"But you can't walk all night—all that distance." Heglanced helplessly up at the window of his littlesitting-room.

She followed his glance. "I'll have a sleep out inthe fields before I start," she said. She stepped upcloser and looked into his eyes.

"Sam's going to 'do' for you." She watched himintently. The grey eyes hardened down till theyglinted like steel in the moonlight.

"That's very kind of him," he said.

"But he won't do it," she added. "You'll do for him."

"Perhaps," he admitted, slowly. "I rather hopenot. Are you—er—married yet?"

"No! Not going to be."

"Oh!"

"Mother said I needn't, and I don't want to. I'mgoing to work in a house, a farm," she watched himclosely, "not far from here."

With a spontaneous movement he held out hishand. "Good, then I may see you sometimes.Good-bye."

She held up her face expectantly and he kissed heron the lips.

"Good-bye again. You're quite alright now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dash it! Drop the sir. Can I bring you outsome food?"

"No, thank you."

"Well, good-bye. Come over and look me up atthe works when you've time, will you?"

"Yes," she answered. She turned and went away.He stood looking after her as she went away down thelong moonlit street. He stood at the mouth of the"close" (the common entrance to a number of flats),his latchkey at his lips, whistling softly, in doubt.Suddenly he started off at a run after her. Sheturned quickly, grasping her cudgel, at the sound ofhis footsteps.

"Look here, I'll let you into my digs, my rooms,you know, and you can stay there till the morning.I'll stroll around."

"No!" she answered, not aggressively, but quitedecisively.

"Alright! I'll stay out with you then, till it'slight."

She laughed in real amusem*nt. "I'm going tosleep," she answered.

He looked at her and saw she meant it; doubt againassailed him. "I suppose you're used to it?" he asked.

She laughed aloud. "I've never slept in a bed,"she answered.

He laughed too. "I've never slept out of one," hesaid, "good-bye." He went back again and lethimself into his diggings, and went to bed.

Next morning there were two letters waiting forhim, both with the city arms of a municipalityembossed on the flap of the envelope. "The mayorand corporation, or the City Electrical Engineerregret," he said to himself with a smile as he openedthem. In the first, the city electrical engineer of amunicipality in the north of England had to informhim that his application for the post of switchboardattendant at a salary of one pound per week had beensuccessful, and would be pleased to know the earliestdate on which he could take up his duties.

Carstairs read over the short, concisely wordeddocument a second time. With a little thrill ofpleasure he repeated the name of the town to himself."That's a big job," he said, "and likely to grow." Heopened the other letter. Another BoroughElectrical Engineer in the Midlands had pleasure inoffering him an appointment as switchboard attendantat a salary of one pound per week, and desired that hestart as soon as possible.

He smiled over his lonely breakfast table, at thesoup plateful of porridge, at the fried bacon and eggs,at the brown bread and the coffee-pot. It was thesort of smile one must share with somebody or something,or burst; for Jack Carstairs was nineteen. Heate his breakfast with much zest, but before it wasover he got up and fished out directories and lists ofCentral Stations from a pile of books and papers in acupboard; with these spread out on the table beforehim, or propped up against the sugar basin, he tookintermittent mouthfuls of food while he carefullyscanned the lists. Then having found both the townsand noted the capacity and peculiarity of their plant,the population, etc., he gave his whole attention to hisplate, thinking deeply as he ate. "Not much tochoose between them," he said to himself.

Then he went out for a walk and walked along,deep in thought. "I think," he said to himself, atthe end of his stroll, "I think Muddleton (the townin the Midlands) will be the better experience."

He went down to the works to see his chief and findout if he could get away earlier than his legalagreement allowed him to. Then he went back to his digsand wrote accepting one and refusing the other.

In after life he often wondered what would havehappened had he chosen the other. This seemingfree choice, is it really free, and if so, how far?

Next day he hired a bicycle (he did not own one,could not afford the time to use it and look after it,he said) and cycled over to the place where the gipsygirl had told him their camp was pitched. He triedevery road that led out of the little Scotch village, butcould find nothing of the camp. He made inquiries,and the dour highland policeman looked at him withopen suspicion.

"Gipsy camp," he repeated, "na, there's nae gipsycamp around here."

So Carstairs went back the way he had come, andin a week was in the train for England. He washurried out of Scotland, over the moorlands andsouthwards through the wilderness of little townsthat cluster, thick as blackberries (and about thesame hue), all about the heart of England. At fouro'clock in the morning, he was turned out, bag andbaggage, in a great industrial centre, on the middleplatform of a vast and gloomy station. By eighto'clock a.m. he had reached his destination.

He got out at the dirty little station with somewhatof the edge taken off his enthusiasm. Leaving hisluggage in the cloak-room, he went out and wanderedround the town, looking at the smoke stacks and thefactories, the squalor and the dirt.

He located the works in the lowest and dirtiest partof the town, and next to the gas-works, as usual. Theextent of the buildings and the two towering chimneystacks acted like a tonic on his somewhat jadedspirits. At ten o'clock he went round again andinterviewed his new chief, a tall clean-shaven youngman of twenty-six, who drew a modest salary of £400per annum; he was very affable and pleasant, but notin the least impressed by the gravity of the situation.

"Oh, yes! you're the new switchboard attendant.Have you had a look round? No? Oh, go out andstroll round the works, then. Mr Thomson will be inshortly."

Carstairs went out into the engine room andwandered in and out amongst the big engines, tillanother very young man, in his shirt sleeves, cameup and asked him what he wanted.

Carstairs explained.

The young man smiled a pleasant smile, and heldout his hand. "I'm the Shift Engineer. My nameis Smith. Come on upstairs." He took Carstairs upthe switchboard steps, along the gallery, and into abig room at the end. It was very light, with largewindows and glass doors, and numerous lights, allburning. Five other young men, very young (theeldest of them not over twenty-two), were loungingaround on tables and chairs. All had their coats off,and some their collars as well. One had a piece offlexible wood with a large piece of cardboard fastenedacross the end; with this instrument he gravelyhunted flies, squashing them flat on walls or windowpanes, remarking "exit," in a mechanical sort ofvoice at every stroke. A long sloping-topped drawingtable occupied the whole length of the room underthe windows, another large drawing board was supportedon light trestles in another part, an ordinarywriting table occupied the centre. Instruments,paper, pencils, ink, technical journals, and pocketbooks, were scattered about broadcast.

Seated on the table in the middle, idly swinging hislegs, a young man was telling a story; all the others,except the fly hunter, listened attentively. He wastall and dark, with a small neat moustache andmarvellous large brown eyes.

The Shift Engineer introduced them. "Darwen,this is Carstairs, the new switchboard attendant."

The dark young man reached out a hand—a strong,sinewy hand, with long, taper, artistic fingers; hesmiled, such a genial, winning smile, that Carstairsfelt friendly towards him at once.

The Shift Engineer continued the introduction witha light wave of the arm. "Green, Brown, Jones,Robinson." Then he perched himself on the table."Go on with the yarn, Darwen," he said.

The dark man smiled, and Carstairs noted theremarkable perfection of his face; the forehead wasbroad and not too high; the nose strong but delicatelychiselled; the chin, well moulded and firmbut not aggressively prominent; the mouth wasalmost perfect. The whole man presented a strikingpicture: the head was perfectly shaped, and thefigure gave every indication of great strength andactivity; the deltoid muscles at the angle of theshoulder showed very prominently, the neck was bigand firm. The pectoral muscles were clearly definedunder the tight-fitting waistcoat, the leg, bent overthe table, showed a well-developed thigh and knee.

Carstairs eyed him with pleasure, he had a keenappreciation of a well-built man. Darwen's browneyes seemed continually to meet Carstairs' steadygrey ones, and always there was the light of pleasurein them. He went on with his tale, and the otherslistened and laughed at the right place, which wasthe end. Carstairs smiled a solemn sort of smile,The story did not appeal to him very much.

Darwen caught the smile, and his own eye seemedto kindle with an appreciation, though it was hisstory. "What shift are you on?" he asked.

"I don't know yet. I've got to see Mr Thompson."

"He'll be in now, I expect." With a sudden springhe threw himself off the table and went to the glassdoor. "There he is, down in the engine room now,"he said.

Carstairs went out and perceived another very youngman talking to an engine fitter down below. At thattime Central Stations were very young and most of thestaffs were very young also. When municipalities wereputting up electric lighting stations faster than menwere being trained to fill them, young men passedquickly from charge engineer to chief engineer,and from that to bigger chiefs. All sortsand conditions of men drifted into station work.Now they are drifting out again; sick of councillorsand contractors; sick of mayors and corporations;sick of red tape and Bumbledom; sick of life.

Mr Thompson was smartly, rather horsily dressed.He eyed Carstairs over somewhat in the manner of ahorse fancier. He let it be evident also that he wassatisfied.

"Have you been round yet?" he asked.

"No, not all round," Carstairs answered.

"Alright, come round with me."

"Thanks," Carstairs said. Thompson, he thought,was probably only about three or four years olderthan himself, and he looked less. They walkedround together, Thompson explaining and pointingout peculiarities, Carstairs listening and askingquestions. In ten minutes they were as chummy asschool boys.

"Have you got digs?" Thompson asked, suddenly,pulling out his watch.

"No, not yet."

"Well, look here, you'll be on the day shift thisweek; you can go out now and get fixed. Some ofthe other fellows will perhaps be able to give yousome addresses."

"Thanks, I'll try." Carstairs went up to thedrawing office again. "I say, can any one put meup to some digs?"

Darwen was leaning over a drawing board doingsome fine work, whistling softly to himself. "I can,"he said. "Half a minute." He put in one or twomore strokes, then he looked up. "I've got prettydecent digs; there's another bedroom empty in thehouse I know. You can share the sitting room withme, if you like."

"Right you are! What's your address, and howdo I get there? I'll go round and fix it up at once.Thompson said I could."

CHAPTER V

Carstairs and Darwen were on the same shifttogether, that is to say, they put in the sameeight hours of the day at the works, day, evening, ornight; and they shared diggings. They were aboutthe same height and the same weight, they were bothextremely interested in their work, both came fromthe south of England, and consequently both felt likestrangers in a strange land. The first evening theywere off, Darwen showed Carstairs round the town.

"That's the theatre," he said, with a smile, pointingto a dingy-looking building in a dingy-lookingstreet. He watched Carstairs' face curiously as hespoke.

"I thought it was the prison," Carstairs answered,with his sober smile.

Darwen laughed outright. "This is the last placeGod made," he said.

They walked round the dingy main streets withtheir surging crowd of factory girls and factory men,flashily dressed in their evening attire, of poor physiqueand unhealthy looking.

"Is it possible," Carstairs asked, "to get out intothe country?"

"Oh, yes!" Darwen answered. "Can you walk?"

"Pretty fair."

"Come on then. I'll show you a field."

Carstairs looked pained. "The landlady," heremarked, "described that acre or so of bare earthopposite our window, as a field."

"I know, but this is a real field with grass and allthat."

"Come on then," Carstairs said, briskly.

Darwen stopped and looked at him impressively."Mind, I promise nothing! But last time I wasthere, there were three cows in it." He suddenlyrelaxed into a sunny smile. "Come on," he said,and started off briskly.

They walked about five miles, past endless rows ofsymmetrical, dingy, box-like, red brick houses. Itwas getting dark when they reached the field, but thecows were there—three sorry specimens, grazing onthe smoke-grimed, subdued-looking grass. The youngengineers sat on the gate and looked at them in amusedpity.

"We've come through one town, and we're on theborders of another," Darwen remarked. "It's hardto say just what town you're in at any given moment,about here."

"It seems very bracing although it's so smoky,"Carstairs said. "I wonder why any one lives herewho could live anywhere else."

"Lord! Don't tell 'em that. I nearly gotmobbed for making a similar remark last week. Theythink these places are very fine towns. When they'vemade their pile they still stay here."

"How long have you been here?"

"A month."

"How long are you going to stay?"

"Oh, I shall start applying when I've put in fourmonths. Might get away at the end of six, then."

"That's my idea, too. They've got some goodplant here, though."

So they lapsed into technicalities; and as theystrolled back, the dingy houses and the smoke andgrime were all forgotten. Community of interestwas drawing these two young men very close together.They sat up late into the night smoking and comparingnotes of what they had seen and wished to seein the engineering world. As they went to bed,Carstairs passed Darwen's door.

"Oh! if you come in half a minute, I'll show youthose drawings," he said.

He went in, and while Darwen rummaged about ina big trunk, Carstairs glanced round his bedroom.The walls were hung with framed photographs offootball teams and cricket teams, school teams andtown teams; Darwen's handsome features and sturdylimbs were prominent in all. Carstairs examinedthem with keen interest. "You're a rugger man, Isee," he said, with great appreciation.

"Yes, are you?"

"Oh, yes. I play, but I haven't got an internationalcap, or—" Carstairs mentioned the name ofone of the teams on the wall. Darwen stood up witha roll of engineering drawings in his hand. He flushedslightly with pleasure. "I only played for them oneseason," he explained, "left the town at the end ofit."

Carstairs looked at the drawings and Darwenexplained. They sat down together side by side on thebed; for half an hour longer they discussedtechnicalities, then Carstairs went out. He noticed twophotographs on the mantelpiece as he passed, bothof girls, both pretty. He noticed also that both ofthem were autographed across the corner. One ofthem he thought had "with love" written on it too."Shouldn't have thought Darwen was the sort of assto get engaged," he said to himself as he went into hisown room and glanced round at the landlady'swishy-washy prints and cheap ornaments.

At the works Carstairs and Darwen were always ontogether, with Smith as charge engineer. On thenight shift (that is, from midnight to eight in themorning), Smith spent most of his time in the drawingoffice reading novels or newspapers, and sleeping; hetook periodical walks round to see that the otherswere awake, then he went back into the drawing officeand reclined peacefully in a chair, his head thrownback against the wall (cushioned by a folded coat),and his feet supported by a small box. During thefirst two or three hours the two juniors spent theirtime tracing out connections behind the switchboard,making diagrams, and clambering about on thetops of engines or boilers; later on, they too, usuallydozed off, sprawling over the switchboard desk, orstretched out on the floor somewhere out of sight.After about two o'clock a.m. the whole works, infact, became a sort of temporary palace of sleep;the stoker dozed on his box in the boiler house,the engine driver made himself snug on the bedplate of an engine, the fires in the boilers diedgradually down from a fierce white to a dull red glow,the steam pressure gauge dropped back twenty orthirty pounds, the engines hummed away merrily,with a rather soothing sort of buzz from the alternator,and a mild sort of grinding noise from the directcurrent dynamos, with a little intermittent sparkingat the brushes. On the switchboard, the needles ofall the instruments remained steady, the pressureshowing perhaps a little drop. At irregular intervalsthe driver would get up and slowly oil round hisengines, feeling the bearings at the same time; thestoker would arise and throw a few shovelfuls ofcoal on his fires, glance up at his water gauges andregulate the feed water, perhaps putting the pump ona little faster, or stopping it off a bit; a switchboardattendant would open one eye and glance sleepily atthe big voltmeter swung on an arm at the end of theswitchboard, note that the pressure was only a littleway back, and close his eyes again in quiet unconcern.

One night Smith had been drinking a lot of strongtea and couldn't sleep; he strolled round at anunaccustomed hour and surveyed the sleeping beautieswith a little smile of glee, for Smith was twenty-threeyears old, and to the healthy young man at that agemany things appear humorous which a few yearslater take on a hue of tragedy.

Going through the boiler house, he carefullyexamined the steam and water gauges. Then hestood for some moments gazing interestedly at therecumbent stoker; he was rather a ferocious-lookingman in ordinary wakeful moments, but thus, with hisbig jaw dropped to its full extent, his eyes closed,and every feature relaxed, he seemed singularlyfeeble. Smith took a shovel and threw it with aclatter down on the iron checker plates.

It was quite an appreciable number of secondsbefore the man moved, then he sprang bolt upright,with his eyes wide open, both arms extended abovehis head, and every expression of alarm on hiscountenance; he saw Smith standing there smiling, butit was some moments before his face resumed itsnormal expression; he looked at the shovel on theiron plates. "Did you drop that, sir?" he asked.

"Yes," Smith answered.

"I must a' dropped off," the man said, halfapologetically, half humorously.

"I think you must have," Smith agreed, smilingbroadly.

A joke loses more than half its zest if there's noone to share it with. "I'll have those chaps in theengine room now. Come in and see," Smith said,as he led the way to the engine room door. The heavystoker followed; he was a man over forty, but hegrinned like a boy of twelve.

"Half a minute," the engineer said, in a whisper.Leaving the expectant stoker at the door, he carefullysurveyed the engine room and switchboard, then hereturned with an oil bucket in his hand. "Shut thedoor, and when I switch the lights out, rattle that likeblazes." He handed over the bucket and crossedthe engine room again to the station-lightingswitchboard, picking up two more buckets as he went.Then he switched off the main switch, putting the placein inky darkness; instantly the stoker rattled hisbucket with great vigour. Smith bowled one of hisalong the iron checker plates on top of the pipe trench,and rattled the other vigorously in his hands.

From the security of their corners they heard voicesshouting in the darkness, and the sounds of men inanger swearing.

"What the hell's up?"

"Stand by your engine, Jones!"

"Got a match? Let's have a look at the bloomingvolts."

Smith heard a bump above his head on the switchboardgallery as though some one had fallen, a matchwas struck down in the engine room and another onthe switchboard, then he heard Darwen's voice say,"Good God! Smith! Hullo! Smith!"

He switched on the lights and ran up theswitchboard steps.

Carstairs was lying limp and helpless on his backwith Darwen bending over him. Smith turned aswhite as a ghost.

"What's up?" he asked, in an agitated voice.

"I don't know. Got a shock, I think. Look athis hands, got across the contacts in the darksomehow."

They stretched him out on his back with a foldedcoat underneath him, and put him through the motionsfor artificial respiration. The driver and stokerwaived ceremony and mounted the switchboardsteps to see what was wrong; they stood leaningover the prostrate form watching the anxious effortsof Smith and Darwen in silent, interested sympathy."Shall I have a spell, sir?" the brawny stoker asked,as the agitated Smith paused for a moment in hisefforts.

No one present was ever able to say precisely howlong they worked at Carstairs, probably not manyminutes before his chest began to heave in a naturalbreathing motion. They carried him out into theyard, and the fresh air so revived him that in halfan hour he walked through the engine room unaided,and lay down on the floor of the drawing office,made comfortable with coats and newspapers, anddozed off into a sleep. When he woke up, and had hada wash, he seemed quite normal again.

Smith was profuse in his apologies. "I'm beastlysorry. I never dreamt of anything of that sort,etc."

"Oh, it's alright," Carstairs answered, with a sinceredesire to let the matter drop. "I ought to have stoodstill, went shoving my hands out, knew I was somewherenear the machine switch, too. Got right pastthe guards and touched the bare metal first go off,wouldn't happen once in a thousand times. Not yourfault at all."

So the incident passed, and remained a secret inthe bosoms of those five men till years later, when,Carstairs and Darwen were dim and distant memoriesat those works, a driver or a stoker would sometimestell wondering pupils a tale of how a man was nearlykilled on the night run through the Shift Engineer"skylarking."

Things went very smoothly for a bit. Darwenand Carstairs got more chummy than ever. Theywere leaning over the switchboard rail together, itwas not quite a week since Carstairs had got the shock."I rather wanted to see a chap get a shock, notkilled, you know," Darwen was saying.

"I was rather curious on the point myself, too."

"What was it like? Just a two hundred shockmagnified?"

"Very much magnified. It was devilish."

They drifted off. "I've never seen an alternatorburn out yet, have you?"

"No! Wish number three would go now."

They separated to take reading; it was half-pastnine in the evening; Carstairs stood looking at anammeter which was set some way above his head.The divisions on the scale were small and indistinctlyfigured; Carstairs stood very close in, on tip-toe,straining his neck upwards; the high tension fuseswere at the bottom of the board, about level with hisknees (carefully calculated as the most awkwardpossible position), they were seven inches long andenclosed in porcelain pots, which invariably shatteredwhen a fuse blew. As Carstairs stood there takingfeeder reading, with what he afterwards learnt wasunnecessary accuracy, the needle of the instrumenthe was looking at gave a sudden violent plunge, the fusepot, almost touching his trousers, was shattered intoa hundred pieces with a report like a miniature cannon,and a vivid arc blazed away under his eyes with arattling, screaming roar. Carstairs jumped backin an instant, to the furthest limit that the width ofthe gallery would allow.

Darwen came along from the low tension switchboard;he was all eagerness, his eyes were bright. Hestopped and looked at his new friend in amazement.Carstairs cowered against the handrail, gripping hisscribbling block and pencil, palpitating, useless.

For two or three seconds Darwen gazed at him inastonishment. Then he fetched the long, insulatedcrook kept for that purpose, and himself pulled outthe feeder switch.

"Bring down your volts, Carstairs," he said, in akindly, soothing voice, avoiding his eyes.

With a deep, gasping sigh Carstairs pulled himselftogether, and with an unsteady hand adjusted therheostat.

They looked down into the engine room and sawThompson, the chief assistant, looking up, watchingthem. He came up the steps and looked at theshattered fuse pot and burnt slate; he expressed nosurprise, nor even anger; in those early days sparksand blinding flashes were the daily fare of the electricalengineer, very much more than they are now.Thompson picked up one or two of the pieces of partiallyfused porcelain and examined them with interest,then he glanced at Carstairs with a great wonder inhis eyes, but he spoke to Darwen.

That night, as they walked home together, Carstairswas more than usually silent, and the remarks ofDarwen were choppy and abrupt. They ate theirsupper almost in silence, then they lit their pipes andsmoked, in easy chairs, one on each side of thefireplace. They puffed in silence for some time, thenCarstairs spoke.

"I'm going to start applying," he said.

"Why? You haven't been here three months yet!"

"No! Quite so! But I'm going to look out fora nice, quiet little job in the country with two lowtension machines, where the wheels are very small,and fuses never blow."

"My dear chap, you'll get over that; the first oneI saw go knocked me all in a heap."

Carstairs appreciated Darwen's sympathetic lying,but it cut him more than all. "Don't give me sillylies, for God's sake," he said, letting his temper getthe better of him. "I have found out that I am askunk with no nerve, not a ha'porth, so I drop behind,into my place, the place of the cur. And the bottomis knocked out of my universe." He puffed vigorouslyat his pipe, blowing great clouds of smoke.

Darwen was silent, too, for some time, then he spokeslowly, thoughtfully, punctuating his remarks byblowing softly at the wreaths of smoke about him."I must say (puff), honestly (puff), I was never moresurprised in my life (puff). You're such a deliberate,cool sort of chap (puff). Thought earthquakeswouldn't upset you."

"Damn it! I thought so too."

Darwen proceeded: "Surely must be somethingabnormal (puff). I mean to say, a fuse going isstartling, and all that—but (puff), damn it! (puff)you haven't got over that shock, you know, that'swhat it is." He sat upright with a sudden vigourand a light in his expressive eyes. "That's it, man.You want to go slow for a bit. Dash it! two thousandvolts, that usually 'corpses' a chap, you know."

Carstairs brightened somewhat. "Yes," he said,"I'm convinced that's it, too, but how long will ittake to get over it? If ever?" He stood upexcitedly; it was obvious he was not himself even then.His hand was unsteady as he held his pipe outwards,pointing with the stem at Darwen. "That shockwas devilish, Darwen. A nightmare. Devilish. Icould feel you chaps working at me, for hours it seemedto me, working so damn slowly. And I wanted totell you to get on, to keep it up, to go faster, and Icouldn't, couldn't budge, couldn't get out a word.Did I sweat? You didn't notice if I sweated. ThinkI must have. There was a sensation of somethingfluttering round me, something like a damn greatmoth in the dark. I could hear it, and I was frightenedof the thing, frightened as hell. I wanted to put myarm up to shield my eyes, to beat the thing off, tolash out in sheer terror, and I couldn't budge. God!It was awful! I had no idea terror was so reallyterrible. Wonder what the moth thing was?"

Darwen looked at him steadily with bright eyes,a world of sympathy in them, sympathy and interest."Your face was very drawn, I noticed that. Youlooked terror-stricken."

"I was. And when that fuse went to-night, thebang and the flash and roar brought it all back. Ilost control of myself. I wanted to be steady, but Icouldn't, I shook like a leaf; you saw it, and Thompsonsaw it. You'd hardly believe how angry I was, howI was cursing myself." He broke off suddenly andshook his clenched fist in the air. "Curse that blastedsilly Smith and his blasted monkey tricks." It wasalmost a scream.

"Sit down, old chap. You want a rest, that's whatit is—shock to the system and that sort of thing, youknow. I'll go round with you in the morning and seea doctor."

Carstairs sat down, he seemed almost himselfa*gain; calm, discerning, calculating. "Can't do that!What am I to say? Sure to get old Smith into arow. These bally doctors and councillors they're allmixed up, you know, sure to get round."

"My dear chap, damn Smith! You have yourselfto consider."

"He'd get the sack; it would wreck him. Hispeople are not very well off; he told me once thatbefore he came here he was getting a quid a week inLondon—and living on it."

Darwen spread out his hands with an almostcontinental gesture. "My dear chap, you're followingquite an erroneous line of reasoning, it's rather a pettheory of mine, as an engineer. However, tell thedoctor you had an accident in the execution of yourduty, etc., etc. No need for it to get round at all.He'll forget all about you as soon as you've paid himhis fee."

Carstairs was thoughtful, he puffed his pipe insilence for some minutes, then he stood up. "Alright,let's go to two while we're about it, then we can check'em one on the other. I'm going to bed."

CHAPTER VI

In the morning Carstairs and Darwen wenttogether to first one doctor and then another.Their verdicts were remarkably alike. "Shock! you'llfeel the effects for some time. You really wanta month's rest."

"Shall I get alright again in a month?" Carstairsasked.

"Probably, most probably."

"What are you going to do?" Darwen askedwhen they got outside. "Ask for a month?"

"No!" Carstairs answered, definitely. "Smith'sthe sort of chap who'd own up at once if the subjectwere brought up; I'll sit it out, now I know it's onlytemporary, I don't mind. The thought of itotherwise fairly took the stuffing out of me."

Darwen reasoned with him. "My dear chap, youfly in the face of providence all the way round. As anengineer you should have learnt to pursue truthrelentlessly."

"That is my desire," Carstairs grunted.

"Well, the elementary truth underlying all thingsis that a man's first duty is to himself. When youintroduce sentimental side issues, you overloadyourself and consequently shorten the run of yourexistence. You also render it less pleasant."

"What are my sentimental side issues? I'm notengaged on anything of that sort." Carstairs shot aquick glance at Darwen.

He was quite unmoved. "Your idea about screeningSmith, etc. The fool must pay the penalty of hisfolly. Smith is a fool. In the great scheme of theUniverse all things are interdependent. Naturalistssay that if there had been no worms there would beno men, and an engineer is a man who uses thisinterdependence to his own advantage."

Carstairs gave a grudging assent. "Where is thelimit?" he asked.

"I see no limit," Darwen answered.

"Then you're a common or garden rogue."

"Perhaps! Rogue is so often simply a termapplied by fools to men smarter than themselves.However, I said, 'I see no limit'; I should add 'asyet.' My theory is incomplete, I am expanding it asI grow older."

"You'll expand yourself into prison if you don'tlook out."

Darwen laughed. "Have you read 'The Prince'?"he asked.

"No."

"You're an ignorant chap, Carstairs. I'll lend itto you."

"Thanks. What's it about, engines?"

"No—men."

"Then I won't borrow it, thanks all the same."

"It's part of my theory that every man should bea sort of little Prince, as far as his intellect, etc., willallow him."

"Hear, hear! Go on."

"Well, the essential part of a prince's job ishandling men."

"So is an engineer's."

"Hear! hear! to that. Now our views beginto converge. The engineer is essentially analyticaland mathematical. Why not apply his abilities tomen as well as engines, eh?"

"No reason at all."

"Good! then as in engineering it is necessary notonly to have theory, but practice as well, practise,practise, practise, eh? We will experiment so thatwe may know the limit of the truth of our theories, sothat we may know and recognize the little difficultiesthat crop up in the application of all theories. On thenight shift next week we'll experiment on Smith andJones and Foulkes."

The following week as they were preparing to go onnight shift together, Carstairs noticed that thelandlady put up a bag of large onions for Darwen. "Whatin thunder are those things for?" he asked.

"The experiment. We'll see if we can persuadethose other chaps to eat raw onions. I believe you canmake most men do anything if you have observedthem closely and drawn accurate deduction fromyour observations. Now Foulkes, the stoker, is astrong, hard-headed sort of chap, but he's immenselyimpressed with his own hardihood. We'll attack himon that side. Twig?"

"I think a sledge-hammer would be a moreappropriate weapon to tackle old Foulkes with."

"That's the good old masculine idea. In thesethings you want to take a line from the feminine."

"Alright. I'll be a spectator."

So shortly after midnight Carstairs and Darwenrepaired to the boiler house.

"Hullo, Foulkes," Darwen said, cheerily. "Howdid you sleep to-day?"

Foulkes was gruff and hearty. "I can sleep anytime," he said.

"Lucky dog! wish I could. My landladyrecommended me to eat onions. Jolly good things, butthey burn my mouth out."

Foulkes laughed, a great guffaw.

Darwen laughed too. "I suppose," he said, "thatthey don't have any effect on you. I daresay youcould eat 'em like apples." He pulled an onion from hispocket and threw it up and caught it. "I've heardof chaps with very strong heads being able to do it,"he remarked, gazing at the onion in his handtentatively. "I couldn't tackle 'em like that. No morecould you, Foulkes."

Foulkes stretched out a big, black paw. "Giveme ta onion," he said.

Darwen handed it over. "I bet you'll soon chuck it."

They stood and watched. Carstairs very solemn,Darwen with just a flicker of a smile of satisfaction,as the big stoker ate the best part of a raw onion tillthe tears ran down his cheeks and he almost gaspedfor breath. Darwen kept him at it. "That's beatenyou, Foulkes, you can't go on with it." But he did,and finished it.

As they turned to the engine room Darwen said:"How's that for an experiment."

"I call it underhand, unsporting."

"My dear chap, you don't give sporting chances toan engine." He looked at Carstairs curiously. "Wehave different methods of looking at things; I wonderwho will prove most successful in the end."

"Your experiment would have failed any way ifFoulkes hadn't been a plucky, obstinate sort of chap."

"Exactly. That goes to prove the correctness ofmy observations. I had placed Foulkes rightly asthe man to eat onions. That is to say, to eat an entireonion. The successful man is the man who can makeothers eat onions, and also pair up the right manwith the right onion. I have an ambition to be asuccessful man."

"So have I, but I also wish to play the game."

"Again we disagree, I wish to collar the stakes."

Carstairs was silent for some time. "Let us agreeto differ. You don't mean all you say, or all thatyour words convey to me. You're a sportsman."

"That's true. I'm somewhat hampered by asporting instinct, and if I followed my theory to itslogical conclusion, I should not now be reasoningwith you."

They sat down on the switchboard and glancedover the technical papers that were just out that day.

Two months passed away and Carstairs found tohis very great pleasure that his nerves had regainedtheir normal steadiness. He and Darwen were bothscanning the advertisem*nt columns of the technicalpress with great anxiety and interest; they were bothanswering advertisem*nts, and they had come to anagreement not to both apply for the same job. Theywere watching with eager interest a town in the southof England. They had both seen tenders out forplant about a year ago; then they saw an advertisem*ntfor a chief engineer.

"In about a month he'll want shifts," Carstairs said.

Now the advertisem*nt was before them, set outwith much pomp and ceremony among a long list ofother stuff. Three shift engineers at a salary of £104per annum.

Carstairs felt a singular sense of satisfaction as hesurveyed the advertisem*nt. "We'll toss for firstchoice as usual, I suppose," he said.

"Of course," Darwen answered. "They'll neverselect two chaps from one station, and I'm certain itreduces the chances of both." He threw a coin inthe air.

"Tails," Carstairs said.

Darwen turned it up. "Tails" it was. "Thereyou are," he said, with a genial smile, pocketing thecoin.

Carstairs wrote out his application, and copied histestimonials with great care on unruled foolscap.About a fortnight later, Thompson, the chief assistant,called him into his office.

He picked up a letter from his desk. "I've got aletter from Southville in reference to your applicationfor Shift Engineer. The chief there asks myrecommendation between you and Darwen."

"Darwen?" Carstairs repeated in astonishment.

Thompson glanced at the letter. "Yes, Darwen,"he said. He hummed and hesitated a minute, whileCarstairs was turning over various thoughts andreasons in his mind. "You see it's a new job,Carstairs. I have a very high opinion of yourabilities. The testing and that, that we have donetogether, but—er—things are always going wrongin a new job, you know. I think it will be better foryou if you stay here till you get more accustomed tofuses, etc., going."

Carstairs flushed; from his neck to the roots of hishair he was a vivid red. Thompson looked down atthe letter he held in his hands.

"Then you're recommending Darwen?" Carstairs asked.

"Ye-es, I think, for a new job, you understand.Darwen would be rather more suitable. I tell youthis because I thought probably Darwen would tellyou, and you might misinterpret my action."

Thompson was a sportsman, he liked to have thingssquare and aboveboard.

"Thanks! I understand," Carstairs said, and wentout. He crossed the engine room and looked for Darwen.

"So you're putting your theory into practice,"he said, looking Darwen sternly in the eyes.

"What do you mean?" he asked, flushing angrily,and Carstairs couldn't help thinking what aremarkably handsome fellow he was.

"Why, you've got Southville."

"Yes, I know. Thompson told me just now. Whatabout it?"

"You're a damn skunk, that's all. I won the toss."

"You're a liar or a fool, and I'll punch your headif you call me a skunk."

Carstairs looked at him in astonishment, his angerseemed so genuine and righteous. "You're welcometo try any time you like," he answered.

Darwen gazed at him a moment, then he suddenlysmiled. "Look here, old chap, I can see you believeyou're in the right, but I assure you you're not. I'mpositive I won the toss."

"And I'm equally positive I won it."

"My dear chap, I held the coin right under youreyes, and I remember distinctly it was a tail."

"Precisely; that's what I guessed."

Darwen's face seemed to lighten with a suddencomprehension. "I'm devilish sorry," he said. "Iremember now. I didn't notice particularly at thetime what you said. I was watching the coin."Head" is so often the choice that I assumed it washead. Look here, I'll withdraw my application. I'lltell Thompson." He started off.

Carstairs followed, and stopped him at the office."Let it go now, Darwen," he said.

Thompson looked from one to the other inquiringly.Darwen explained.

"It's too late now, any way," Thompson said."The letter's gone. I think it's best as it is, too."

They went out into the engine room again together.Darwen was profuse, more than profuse, in hisapologies. "I'd sooner almost anything had happenedthan this," he said.

Carstairs watched him closely. "Oh, it doesn'tmatter. Let's drop it," he said.

In a week Darwen left for Southville. Theyparted excellent friends, almost the same as beforethe unpleasant incident, but not quite. There wasa "something."

The new man who came to fill Darwen's place wasvery bumptious and very conceited, the son of alarge shopkeeper. He would have been a decentfellow if he had not been so conceited. For his firsttime on night shift he was as lively as a cricket forthe first two hours, singing and whistling and tryingto startle the stoker and driver by dropping heavyspanners on the checker plates unawares, etc.; then heannounced loudly that he'd "keep the beggars awake."

At three o'clock Smith found him tilted back inhis chair, mouth wide open, fast asleep. Smith'seyes sparkled, he gently called Carstairs; they bothrepaired to the drawing office and came back withbottles of ink of various colours—red, green, black,and purple—and two fine camel-hair brushes: delicatelyand with great care they painted his face withstreaks and circles and elaborate scrolls of manycolours; every now and again during the processthe sleeper raised a hand to brush away the flies. Heturned his head uneasily occasionally too, but theyfinished it in style, and stood back to regard theirmasterpiece with keen satisfaction; he looked amost fearsome warrior. Then they stood back anddropped a heavy book with a bang on the floor. Hejumped up startled, but saw them laughing.

"I wasn't asleep," he said, with a self-satisfiedpomposity.

"Pretty nearly, though," Smith suggested.

"Oh no, I wasn't. I bet you don't catch measleep."

Smith smiled. "Alright, don't get your hair off,"he said; he strolled towards the steps, Carstairsfollowed, and the new man dropped in behind. Theystrolled across the engine room in solemn procession,and the engine driver, catching sight of the new man'sface, went off into shrieks of hysterical laughter.Smith and Carstairs took no notice, but the new manhurried up alongside, frowning severely, which addedexceedingly to the comic effect of his countenance.

"That chap's mad, I think," he said.

The other two turned and looked at the driver witha sort of tolerant good humour. "He is a bit touched,I think," Smith observed. "He's been in India fora long time—in the army, you know."

"Cheeky brute, he broke out like that when hesaw me. I'll ask him what the hell he's laughing atif he doesn't shut up."

"Never mind him," they said, "he can't help it,he'll be alright in a minute." They went out intothe boiler house and the new man followed; thestoker was asleep on his box against the wall; theypaused, all three, and stood looking at him.

"They are a drowsy lot, these chaps," the new manremarked. "See me wake him up." He picked upa heavy firing iron, and, standing in front of the stoker,dropped it on the iron plates with a huge clatter.

The stoker—he had been in a very light doze—jumpedup instantly and stood fronting the new man, face toface, directly under a lamp; for fully half a minutehe stared, in speechless, motionless, wonder, then heburst forth into mighty guffaws that shook the verybuilding. He caught sight of the others standing afew yards off.

"Strike me pink! Take 'im away. Take 'imaway," he moaned in piteous appeal, squirmingpainfully with his hand on his stomach.

The new man stared at him in petrified rage andastonishment. "What the hell is the matter with you?"he asked. "You were asleep," he said, severely, "andit's no use trying to pass it off by laughing."

"Oh, go away, go away." The stoker motionedwith brawny hand and averted face. He took asideways glance out of one eye, and burst forthinto fresh paroxysms.

Smith and Carstairs retired somewhat precipitatelyinto the yard, and under the friendly shadeof night, behind a big cable drum, they screamedin unison.

The new man after vainly endeavouring to quellthe stoker with a frown, went back to the engine roomagain; as he opened the door the driver, who wasjust mopping his eyes with a red cotton handkerchief,caught sight of him and burst forth anew.

Smitten with a sudden suspicion, the new manglanced hastily over his clothing and passed hishandkerchief over his face, but the ink was quite dryand gave no evidence.

"Everybody in this place seems to be mad to-night,"he said, and the driver screamed louder.

With increased suspicion, the new man went off tothe lavatory and looked in the glass. What he saidis not known, but later, when Smith and Carstairsreturned to the drawing office, they found him witha clean face. He didn't look up when they entered,but continued to read in moody silence. They satdown and read too, while the stoker and driver at thedoor of the engine room conferred notes with muchlaughter.

Not very long after the stoker appeared at theglass door of the drawing office. He knocked andcame inside; his face was pale beneath its grime,and his eyes were full of apprehension, which heendeavoured not to show.

"Low water in number five boiler, sir," he said.

All three were on their feet in an instant.

Probably eighty per cent. of boiler explosions are dueto low water. Smith's merry, boyish face grew paleand stern, as he moved quickly to the door. "Howthe devil is that?" he asked.

"Dunno, sir. Check valve hung up, I think."

"Have you lost sight of it altogether?"

"Yes, sir." The gruff, hearty man was very meek.

They arrived at the boiler house, all four. Smithlooked at the water gauge glasses and blew themthrough.

"How long have you lost it?"

"Only just noticed it, sir."

Smith stood for a moment, his hand on the checkvalve, his eyes far away. The weight of responsibilitycomes early on these young men, especially ifthey have a tendency to skylarking and letting thingsdrift occasionally; as a rule they look old beyondtheir years.

Only for a moment Smith hesitated.

"Damp your fires! Get some of those wet ashesand cover them over! Let the stream drop and shutthis one in as soon as it's back twenty pounds!" Hestood in front of the boiler and watched the stokerthrow ashes on the fires; he looked a different man;he was very steady and calm. This young man withthe vulgar name of Smith had some excellent Britishblood in his veins, as who shall say in England here,that any navvy in the street has not?

Carstairs stood behind him, his heart beatingconsiderably faster; only the day before he had beenreading a detailed account of a disastrous boilerexplosion. He felt a tingling, pricking sensationin his blood; afterwards he learnt to look for thistingling of the blood, it was one of his chief sourcesof enjoyment.

The big stoker watched Smith very intently witha sort of child-like dependent observation. Heobeyed his instructions quietly but quickly, veryquickly. He was very silent, and very meek, butthere was a tinge almost of fever in his movements.

The new man watched them for a moment, then withevery assumption of languor he strolled off—and hedid not come back till the boiler was shut in and thepressure very low.

When, after about half an hour, everything seemedsafe again, Smith gave a sigh of relief as he andCarstairs returned to the engine room. "I don'tmind sparks, but I'm darned if I like steam," he said.He looked at Carstairs with approval. "You didn'tseem to be very much impressed."

Carstairs smiled, his slow, steady smile. "As amatter of fact, I felt like a chap who's found a bomband doesn't quite know whether it's exploded orabout to explode, or whether it really is a bomb."

That night as Carstairs went home his ambitionsbegan to soar very high again.

CHAPTER VII

At the end of a month Darwen wrote a ratherlong letter, giving a detailed description ofthe station and staff. "The plant is good," he wrote,"all brand new and full of possibilities. The chiefassistant is a delightful thickhead, and the chief—wordsfail me to describe him. The possibilities andprobabilities of this job are immense."

Carstairs read it through twice carefully andthoughtfully; he penned a brief reply. "No newshere. New man an utter ass, blown out with conceit,impossible to share digs with him." That was aboutall, it was almost telegraphic.

At the works things went on much as usual.Thompson made more than usual overtures of friendliness;he wished to impress on Carstairs that it wasthrough no feeling of personal bias that he had notrecommended him for the Southville job. Frequentlywhen they were testing with high tension currents hecaught Thompson looking at him with a sort of wonderand distinct approval.

One day when there was a fault on the mains, andThompson had been out all night in the rain testingand digging out cables and opening junction boxestill he was tired and weary of all the world, he cameinto the works in a fine spirit of irritation. "We'llhave to burn the damn thing out," he said. "Runup a machine on it."

By a specially complicated arrangement of thealready complicated switchboard, it was possible torun any machine on any feeder. The Shift Engineersignalled for another machine, and Carstairs pluggedher in on the faulty circuit. The fuse held for aboutone minute, then it blew with a flash and a bang rightin Carstairs' face. Promptly and coolly he switchedout and went through the complicated operationnecessary to isolate that section.

Thompson watched him in some surprise. "You'vegot used to fuses, then," he said.

Carstairs flushed. "Er—" he hesitated a moment.Thompson waited in expectant silence, which is theseverest cross-examination to a very young man. "Igot a shock some time ago and it upset my nerves abit. I'm alright now."

"It does upset you if you get it badly. What didyou get, four hundred?"

"Two thousand."

"Good Lord. That's usually fatal. How did youmanage it?"

Carstairs was silent for a moment; he looked atSmith who was down below in the engine room, thenhe turned and faced Thompson.

"It was my own fault. I was fooling about, tryingsome experiments, you know—and tired. It knockedme over. Smith and Darwen brought me round;Smith was jolly decent. You needn't say anythingto him about it if you don't mind, it was hisrequest." He looked Thompson steadily in the eyes like apractised liar.

Thompson smiled with a sort of admiration andpleasure. "You'll be more careful next time," he said.

"I shall, very careful," Carstairs answered, andThompson smiled; he started to go away, but turnedat the head of the steps.

"I shouldn't be in a hurry to leave this job if I wereyou. If a vacancy occurs, I think I can promise youa Shift Engineer job here." He went down the steps.

Carstairs felt a glow of exultation. "Thanks verymuch," he said.

It has been observed that misfortunes never comesingly, it is equally true that good fortune comes inlumps also. The observant man like the successfulgambler may gain much profit by regulating hisactions to the ebb and flow of fortune. What appearsto the casual or timid observer to be a particularly"long shot" is often the outcome of close observation,and not the mere freak of a desperate plunger.The tide of affairs never sets either way withoutwarning. The watchful man, like the careful mariner,knows fairly well what to expect. Carstairs was aparticularly close observer, and after Thompson'sremarks and other things, he had an idea that theluck was flowing his way again; he was not muchsurprised therefore to find a letter waiting for himnext morning from Darwen telling him of a vacancyat Southville, and urging him to run down and seethe chief. "I have so strongly recommended youthat I think the job is yours," he said.

Carstairs felt a singular satisfaction that he hadgauged the trend of his luck so accurately. He wentdown to the works to see Thompson and get a day off.Thompson looked rather disappointed. "You'll getthat alright," he said, "but I'm rather sorry. I'vehad an inquiry about Smith here (he held up a letter),there'll probably be a vacancy soon. I suppose youdon't think it worth while waiting?"

Carstairs stood for a few minutes in deep thought."I think it would be rather stemming the tide of myluck, wouldn't it?" he remarked, quite seriously.

Thompson smiled. "Alright. I'll write to thechief at Southville telling him I have had reason toconsiderably improve my opinion of you."

A slightly increased colour mantled on Carstairs'cheek. "Thanks! if you will," he said. Next dayhe went to Southville. He saw the chief and wasappointed there and then. He spent the rest of theday with Darwen who showed a somewhat un-Englisheffusion in his greeting. They strolled round thepleasant southern town together.

"This is civilization," Darwen said.

"That's so," Carstairs agreed.

In a week he left the grimy, little midland town,but before he went, there was a solemn gathering ofthe shift engineers and switchboard attendants inthe drawing office for the purpose of presenting himwith a standard work on electricity (Darwen had hada silver cigarette case). Smith made the presentation.In a somewhat nervous little speech, he expressedregret at Carstairs' departure, and rosy hopes of hisfuture, with a few glowing tributes to his personalqualities. Carstairs thanked them very solemnly,and deflected the glowing tributes on to the assembledcompany. These little gatherings were a recognizedinstitution in Central Stations; about every three orfour months there would be a "whip round" of halfa crown or so each to present some man who had beenthere about six months with a small token of esteemon the occasion of his departure to a better job. Somemen have quite a collection of pipes, cigarette cases,walking sticks, slide rules, books, etc.

Just before he left the works for the last time,Foulkes, the stoker, accosted him.

"There was some gipsy-looking bloke asking if aman called Carstairs worked here, yesterday," he said.

"Did he say he wanted to see me?"

"No, sir, just asked if you worked here."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said you'd just got another job at Southville."

Carstairs was very serious. "What was he like?"he asked.

"Not quite as tall as you, sir. A rough-lookingcove. Walked with a bit of a limp, like as thoughhe'd bin shot or something sometime."

"A young man?"

"'Bout the same age as yourself."

"Ah. Poor devil! Limp, eh?"

"Not much, sir."

"Still quite enough, I expect. Poor devil! Well,thanks very much, Foulkes, good-bye." Carstairsheld out his hand. "May bump up against youagain some day. Good-bye!"

He turned and walked out across the yard, and theburly stoker looked after him with interest and curiosity."They comes and goes," he soliloquized. "Rumthing about that gipsy bloke, still it ain't no businesso' mine." Which was a point of view he had acquiredin the army.

Darwen met Carstairs on the platform at Southvillestation.

"You're on with me for the first week," he said.His marvellous eyes sparkled with delight. "Where'syour luggage? I've got a cab waiting. The newdigs (I swopped this morning) are about two miles out,first-class place; thirty bob a week each. You don'tmind that, do you? Piano too. Do you vamp?Never mind, I can do enough for two."

He seemed unusually excited. Carstairs couldn'thelp feeling flattered at the obvious pleasure hisarrival caused.

As they rattled away in the cab, Darwen explained:"I'm jolly glad you've come, sort of levels up overthat misunderstanding about this job."

"Oh! that's all right."

"Yes, it is now. You're a damn good sort, youknow, Carstairs. You and I ought to run this job.Chief and chief assistant. How would that suityou?"

Carstairs smiled, a steady smile. "First-class,"he answered.

Darwen was watching him closely, he seemed quiteexultant at Carstairs' reply. "I knew it would.You wait till you see the chief and chief assistanthere, they're not fit to run a mud dredger."

"Why don't you sack 'em then?" Carstairslaughed.

Darwen's eyes glittered strangely. "By Jove,that's it, they can't stick it much longer. Don't yousee. Damme! I wouldn't give either of 'em a shiftengineer's job."

"He seemed alright when I interviewed him."

Darwen snapped his fingers impatiently. "Bah!He's civil and all that, but he'll never be an engineer."

They pulled up at the diggings, a nice-lookingsemi-detached villa, with big, bay windows, and awell-kept front garden.

"This is alright," Carstairs commented, "if thegrub's any good."

"Leave that to me, old chap. There's a daughterin the house, not bad looking."

"Go steady, Darwen."

"I'm as safe as houses, old chap! She's engagedto a grocer's assistant in the town here, and describesherself as 'a young lady'; 'me and two other youngladies,' you know the sort."

"H'm—ye-es."

They got the luggage stowed away and sat downin the sitting-room, a large room on the second floorwith a big, bay window looking out on the quiettree-shaded road. Some of Darwen's technical booksand papers were scattered on the table; there weretwo big easy chairs and a comfortable-looking couchwith numerous cushions scattered about; the carpetwas light-coloured and thick. The general tone ofthe room was light, a sort of drawing-room effect.Probably to the expert feminine eye the curtains andother things were old and cheap, and dirty, andeverything dusty. To Carstairs, straight from the dingynorth, it appeared a palace. He threw himself intoan easy chair and putting his legs up on another,sighed with content.

"This is jolly good, after that grimy hole!"

Darwen looked at him with sympathy. "That'sso," he agreed. He sat down at the piano. "Thisisn't a bad instrument," he observed, "it is stipulatedthat the daughter may be allowed to play on itwhen she likes."

"Oh; the devil!"

"Not at all." He sounded one or two notesthoughtfully, then he glided off into something slowand soothing with a tinge of melancholy in it too.He stopped and looked at Carstairs critically. "That'show you feel," he said.

"Precisely," Carstairs answered. "What is it?"

"Chopin's Nocturne."

"Never heard of it."

"No? It's not supposed to appeal to the vulgarmind," Darwen laughed.

"Well, do it again. I like it."

Darwen swung round on the stool and "did itagain," and went on and on, seeming to lose himself;his long, artistic fingers moved with a graceful, lovingpoise across the white keys. He stopped abruptlyand wheeled round. "How's that?" he asked.

"First-class," Carstairs answered.

"What did you think of while I was playing?"

"What I want to do. As a matter of fact I elucidateda knotty point in connection with an idea I'mworking out."

Darwen's dark eyes lighted up into a positivegleam. "It's curious," he said. "I bet when oldChopin composed that thing he had no ideas ofelectrical machinery in his head. What's the line ofthe invention?" He swung round and toyed with thekeys; a low, sweet strain welled out, pleading, winning.

"Well, it occurred to me one day that there wasno adequate reason why—" Carstairs stopped,seemingly interrupted by his own thoughts. "No," hesaid, as if speaking to himself. "It's not quite rightafter all." He laughed aloud suddenly. "Thereasons," he said in his normal voice, "appear moreand more adequate as I investigate the case, still——"

Darwen waited in expectation for some time, butCarstairs remained silent, lost in thought. SuddenlyDarwen burst into life and rolled out an immensevolume of sound from the piano.

A look of pain crossed Carstairs' features. "Whatthe devil do you make that row for?"

"That row, as you call it, is from Wagner's'Lohengrin.'"

"Is that so? Well, it's a jolly good imitation ofa breakdown in the engine room."

Darwen laughed. "You have a vulgar mind, oldchap." He branched off into an Hungarian waltz.

"That's better."

"Suited to your taste, you mean." He wanderedon through numerous scraps of dance music. "Doyou dance, Carstairs?"

"Not much."

"Oh, you must. You and I are going strong thiswinter."

"I'm going to work."

"Quite so, so am I. So much that the averageman considers work is painful, misdirected effort.Do you want results, financial results?"

"You can bet your boots on that."

Darwen's fingers moved very slowly, it was a slowwaltz tune, very slow; his gaze was far away. "Thewhole world is a shop," he said, speaking very slowly."Everything is bought and sold; the most successfulsalesman is not the man who has the best goods, buthe who shows them most advantageously. We sellour brains, you and I, our brains and nerves. Thebuyers are the Corporation; this collection ofgreengrocers, drapers, lawyers, doctors, and one navvy.They are entirely incapable of judging our technicalabilities, they rely on the opinion of a fool; a sort ofpromoted wireman, the chief." The music ceasedaltogether, and he wheeled round facing Carstairs."And however much you grind, and swot, and work,this fool (who only got his job because these peopleare unable to distinguish between a man who can usehis hands and one who can use his head) will alwaysfix your market value, and by his own little standard.The obvious conclusion is to get a better place in theshop window than the fool occupies."

Carstairs was silent.

"Do you agree with that?"

"Conditionally; depends on the method adopted."

Darwen blazed out into a sudden anger. "You'rea fool, Carstairs. You and your methods. It doesn'tmatter a curse to you how you generate your electricity,does it? You want results, that's all! The correctmethods are the most successful, the most economical." Hesobered down again suddenly and smiled. "Lookhere, Carstairs, I want to make this job, yours andmine, worth more than it is. I like this town and Iwant to stay here, but I must get some bally pay."

"Hear, hear!"

"Well, I'm going to work the oracle. I'm goingto know every man on the council, then I'm going toapply for a rise."

"I'm with you entirely."

"These things are easily worked. A man who'snot handling his own money is very generous to hisfriends. Can you lie?"

"I'm an expert."

"Well, we shall want to lie sometimes. The ageof truth has not yet arrived, and the man who sticksto the truth is before his time, consequently he's notappreciated, which means, he's not paid. I want pay.How's that?"

"Very good."

"I think so too. The mistake most people make isnot knowing when to lie. To be a good liar requiresmore brains and just as much pluck as to tell the truth."

A slow smile flickered round Carstairs' face. "Youintroduce me to the proper people, and I'll tell 'emunblushingly that we're two jolly smart engineersvery much underpaid."

"That's the idea! And they'll believe you, suchis the paradox of this lying and trustful generation."

These young men, it will be seen, were very young,but their wisdom was much in excess of thepig-headed obstinacy of the average greybeard.

CHAPTER VIII

The works at Southville were rather larger thanthe works he had just left in the Midlands,and Carstairs felt a delightful sense of exaltation ashe first took charge of a shift by himself. For eighthours he was entirely responsible for the efficient,economical, and safe working of about 6000 horsepowerof plant. He felt a sense of responsibility, ofa*ge; he felt uplifted and steadied. He was verythoughtful, but very confident; he had taken greatpains during the week he was on with Darwen to makehimself thoroughly acquainted with everything aboutthe station. His confidence was the direct outcomeof his knowledge; he looked at the various engines,dynamos, boilers and switch gears, and felt that hefully grasped the why and wherefore of it all; hereviewed the possibilities of what might happen,what might break down, in the various componentparts of the complicated whole, and what he woulddo to tackle it. He considered it all very solemnlyand felt very confident; he knew he would not scare.Physically he was in the pink of condition, his headwas very clear and his technical knowledge very brightfrom constant use.

The chief, an awkward-looking, flabby man, camedown to see him on his first shift. "Well! do youthink you can manage it?" he asked.

"Yes," Carstairs answered, looking his chiefsteadily in the eyes; the eyes were lack-lustre andheavy, they shifted uneasily and roamed round theengine room: he stepped up to a bit of bright brasswork and rubbed his finger across it. "That won'tdo," he said, holding up a finger soiled with greasydirt. "Make that man clean that." He turned andwent away abruptly.

Carstairs called the engine driver, a little man ofherculean build. "I knowed he'd spot that," theman said, in a tone of protest. "Got a eye like ahawk, he have."

It was the first time Carstairs had noticed this manparticularly; they had been on different shifts before.He looked him over with approval; the arms, bareto the elbow, were astonishingly big and sinewy-looking;the chest was immensely deep, it archedfully outward from the base of the full, white throat;the top button of his shirt, left undone, showed aglimpse of a very white skin and the commencementof a tattoed picture ("Ajax defying his mother-in-law,"the man called it); his eyes were a bright hazelbrown, singularly piercing and steady.

"What's your name?"

"Bounce, sir." He stood up very straight, hispiercing eyes resting with steady persistence onCarstairs' face.

The name seemed remarkably appropriate. Thewhole man was suggestive of indiarubber.

"Been a sailor or soldier, haven't you?"

"Sailor, sir. I done twelve year in the navy."

"Did you?" Carstairs looked at him, thoughtfully."I've got an uncle in the navy."

"What name did you say, sir?"

"Carstairs."

"Carstairs, I knows him. Commander Carstairs.I was with him in the 'Mediterranean.' Nice blokehe was. You ask him if he remembers Bounce, sir,Algernon Edward Bounce, A.B., light-weight championboxer of the Mediterranean Fleet. He was therewhen I won it at Malta."

The man's manner was exceedingly civil andrespectful, but there was something about it that keptirresistibly before your mind all the time that he wasan independent unit, a man. After twelve years ofthe sternest discipline in the world this man was asfree as the air he breathed, there was no sign ofservility. The thought passed through Carstairs'mind, as he looked at him, that this breed, truly,never could be slaves.

"I'll ask him when I see him. So you're a boxer,are you?"

"Yes, sir. Light weight, though I ought to gomiddle; eleven stone two pounds, that's my weight.I can get down to ten, but I ain't comfortable, thoughI 'ave a done it."

Carstairs measured him with his eyes. He seemedvery little over five feet. Later on, he ascertainedthat he was exactly five feet three inches.

"I see. Just wipe over that brass work, will you?"

With remarkable alacrity, and a peculiarly promptand decisive manner, the man saluted and set abouthis work.

Carstairs watched him in silence for some minutes,struck more than ever by the appropriateness of hisname; he marvelled too at the singularity of his chief.In all that clean and bright engine room there wasonly that one bit of obscure brass work uncleaned,and the chief had spotted it. "An acutely observantman, evidently," Carstairs meditated.

Later on in the evening, the chief assistant droppedin. He was a big, heavily-built man with awell-shaped, massive head and handsome, even featureswith general indication of great strength—mental,moral, and physical; the sort of man many womengo into ecstasies over: the element of the bruteseemed fairly strong in him. To Carstairs' criticaleyes and slow, careful scrutiny, he appeared, however,somewhat flabby. He stood behind Carstairs on theswitchboard and watched him parallel machines.

Now the process known as "paralleling" or"synchronizing" alternating current dynamos or"alternators" is somewhat critical; the operatorhas to watch two voltmeters and get their readingexactly alike; he also has to watch two lamps (nowusually supplanted by a small voltmeter) which growdull and bright more or less quickly, from perhapssixty times a minute to ten or twelve times per minute,as the engine drivers slowly vary the speed of theengines. When the voltmeters are reading alike,and during the small fraction of a minute when thelamps are at their brightest, the operator has to closea fairly ponderous switch; if he is too late or tooearly, but particularly if he is too late, there areunpleasant consequences: the machines groan andshriek with an awe-inspiring sound, keeping it up veryoften for a considerable time; all the lamps on thesystem surge badly, and the needle of every instrumenton the switchboard does a little war dance onits own, till the machines settle down. Sometimesthe consequences of a "bad shot" are even moredire. There once appeared in one of the technicaljournals a pathetic little poem about a pupil's "firstshot," how "he gazed severely at the voltmeters,"and "looked sternly at the lamps," then he "took ahowler," and "switched out again," "wished hehadn't," "Plugged in again and—bolted." In asimilar journal there was another sort of prose poem,too, written in mediæval English which finished up along tale of woe thus: "He taketh a flying shot andshutteth down ye station."

This was the operation then (in which every manneeds all his wits and some more than they possess)in which Carstairs was engaged at a critical period ofthe load (for be it remembered the time available isalways strictly limited) when the chief assistant stoodbehind him. He remained calm and impassive, asbehoved his countenance, for some time, then, justwhen the phases were beginning to get longer, andCarstairs took hold of the switch handle in readinessto plug in; the chief assistant stepped excitedly upbehind him. "Now! Be careful! Watch yourvolts! There! There! You might have had thatone! Look out, here she comes! Watch your volts,man, watch your volts!"

Carstairs felt like knocking him down, he missedtwo good phases that he might have taken, then he"plugged in" rather early. The machines groaneda little, but soon settled down.

"Too soon! Too soon!" the chief assistant said,

In angry silence Carstairs turned and signalled theengine driver to speed up the machine. The chiefassistant left the board, and went out without furthercomment.

"Does that ass always play the mountebank behinda chap when he's paralleling?" Carstairs asked hisjunior.

"Sometimes, he gets fits now and again: Fitsgerald,the chap that's just left, turned round andcursed him one day. I nearly fell off the board withlaughing. Old Robinson looked at me. 'What thedevil are you laughing at?' he said. I might havegot your job if it hadn't been for that. Fitsgeraldgot the sack over it."

"Apparently I shouldn't have missed much,"Carstairs said as he went away.

When he got home at about half-past twelve,Darwen was sitting up for him. "How did you geton?" he asked, with his genial smile.

"Oh, first-class." They sat down to supper."Took rather a howler, paralleling six and seven.That ass Robinson was jigging about like amonkey-on-stick behind me, telling me what to do. Nexttime I shall stand aside and ask if he'd prefer to do ithimself."

"Don't do that, old chap, he's a malice-bearingbeast. Funks always are! Don't take any notice ofhim. Forget him, or send him away; ask if he'dmind watching the drivers, as they brought her downtoo quick, or something, last time."

Carstairs was silent.

"Fitsgerald got the sack for cursing him overthe same thing. He was a red-headed chap. Wewere talking about Robinson's unpleasant ways (he'dhad a go at me the day before). I said he wanteda good cursing to cure him of it, and I'm blowed ifFitz didn't curse him about a couple of dayslater." Darwen's eyes seemed to flicker with an uncannysort of light, his voice dropped into a reflective tone."Threatened to chuck him over the handrail if hedidn't go off the switchboard. Hasty chaps thosered-headed fellows are. We had a chap at school—whatschool were you at, Carstairs?"

"Cheltenham."

"Were you? I was at Clifton, went to FaradayHouse, after."

Pushing back his chair, Darwen, got up and wentto the piano, he played some very slow, soft music,slow and soothing, it breathed the breath of peaceinto Carstairs' troubled soul.

"Robinson is only a fool," Darwen said over hisshoulder. "I feel rather sorry for him—hasn't gotthe heart of a mouse—gets in a frightful stew whenhe's got to parallel himself—he's not a bad-heartedchap—done me one or two rather good turns."

"I thought he was alright too, at other times."Carstairs felt the spirit of peace stirring within him.

"It's kinder to him to let him drift, he doesn'tmean anything—can't help himself—nervous, youknow. I just smile at him."

"Suppose that is the best way. I'll have a shotnext time, anyway. Made me rather ratty to-night."

Darwen played for some time in silence. "Chiefcome in at all?" he asked, at length.

"Yes. Came in and groused about a bit of brasswork being dirty."

"That's like the chief. He'll never express anopinion on anything except its external appearance;very safe man, the chief, extremely safe, but stupid:he'll fail, not through what he does, but what he leavesundone." He ceased speaking, but the music wenton slowly welling out, breathing good will and trustto all mankind. It died slowly away leaving the tiredlistener in a blissful state of rest. Darwen got upand looked at him with sparkling, observant eyes.

"Good-night, old chap. I'm going to bed."

Carstairs arose slowly from the big, easy chair,"Wish I could play like you, Darwen."

The rest of the week passed (at the works) withsingular uneventfulness, in fact never afterwards didCarstairs have such an uneventful week on load shift;but all the same the memory of his first week on shiftby himself remained always clear and distinct aboveall other experiences; never afterwards did he feelthe delightful thrill of responsibility, of excitement, ofawe almost, as he walked round the engine room andboiler house surveying the men and plant, for thosefirst few days, and felt that for eight hours he wasmonarch of all he surveyed; with all the other menfar out of call, spreading out in different parts of thetown, reading their papers, at the theatre or musichalls, while he was responsible for the lightening oftheir darkness, and the safe keeping of the men andplant around him. In after life he often reflectedthat the princely salary of £104 per annum wassingularly inadequate for the kingly nature of hisoffice; but the greengrocers, the doctors, and publicansthought it was remarkably good for a man who spentmost of his time walking about with his hands in hispockets. These works had been making a financialloss of from £100 to £2000 every year since theystarted, with the exception of one year, when, by carefulmanipulation of the accounts, they managed to showa profit of £20, which, under the expert examinationof a proper accountant, would probably have beenconverted to a loss of £500.

Darwen watched the finances with a keen interest.He was very chummy with Robinson; they studiedthe reports of the various stations together with greatearnestness. "A loss or a profit doesn't mattermuch to a corporation as long as they havecontinuity of supply." Darwen laid it down as a law,and Robinson heartily agreed. That axiom was onlya half truth, but the foundation of all municipalwork is only a half truth, so it did not matter much.

Robinson was very proud. "We never have thelights out here," he said. And Darwen smiledapproval. "That's so," he agreed, and on his shifthe took care that it always should be so; he had everyengine in the place warmed up, ready for instant use,and two boilers always lighted up and under pressurein case of necessity. Robinson approved of hismethod, and the chief—the chief grumbled about theboiler house being dirty, but on Darwen's shift itwas cleaner and more tidy than on any other shift;also the engine room was brighter and more spotless,so much and so persistently so, in fact, that thecautious chief was drawn out of his shell to expressa decided opinion to the chairman of the electricitycommittee (who remarked on it). "Yes," the chiefsaid, with a little flicker of enthusiasm, "that manDarwen is decidedly the best engineer I've everhad." Which remark was not overlooked by the chairman,a doctor, a large man with a large imposing blackbeard, who had been struck, as who could fail to be,by the remarkable beauty of face and form and generalimpression of intelligence of the athletic youngengineer.

It was not very long after Darwen had observedthe chief and chairman in conversation and lookingpointedly at him, that he developed certain symptomswhich, in his opinion, necessitated medical advice.Common sense, he explained to Carstairs, pointedout the chairman as the man to go to.

The doctor recognized him at once. "Hullo!"he said, looking him over with distinct approval,for Darwen's winning, frank smile captivated himat once. "Has the electricity got on yoursystem?" The doctor was a jovial, hearty man.

Darwen laughed. He showed precisely the rightamount of amusem*nt at the joke, then, shortly andprecisely, he stated (almost verbatim from a medicalbook he had looked up in the reference library) thesymptoms of a more or less minor complaint.

Recognizing it at once, "I'll soon put that rightfor you," the doctor said, in his hearty, jovial way.His extensive practice was largely due to his jovialmanner; he appreciated the clear and precisestatement of the symptoms.

"It's nothing serious then, doctor?"

"Oh, no!—no! It might have been, of course,if you'd let it go on."

"Ah! that's just it; it's the same with an engine,you know, 'a stitch in time.' I like to get expertadvice at the start."

This was business from the doctor's point of view.He became serious. "Most true," he said. "Still,people will aggravate their complaints by so-calledhome treatments."

"The penny-wise policy, doctor, the results ofcombined ignorance and meanness."

"I wonder," Darwen said, later on, as he pouredthe contents of a medicine bottle down the bathroomwaste pipe, "I wonder what in thunder this is,a sort of elixir of life served out to most people formost complaints at a varying price. Funny whatstuff people will pour down their necks."

Some hours later, as they sat facing each other intheir big easy chairs, Darwen said: "Didn't you sayyour guv'nor was a parson, Carstairs?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because the time has arrived to trot him out."

"What do you mean?" Carstairs flushed ratherangrily.

"I have not got a guv'nor," Darwen observed,sadly; "haven't any recollection of my guv'nor.He went down with the Peninsula coming homefrom Australia. He was a mining engineer."

Carstairs was softened. "Hard lines," he said,and there was much sympathy in his tone.

"It is," Darwen agreed. "A guv'nor helps one somuch. I want you to get your guv'nor to come downand stay with us for a few days. What College washe at?"

"Christ Church, Oxford."

"Then it's almost a cert he'll bump up against someone he knows down here, some other parson, orsomebody. I want to get into the chairman's crowd,he's churchwarden at St James'. I'm going there."

Carstairs removed his pipe slowly from his lipsand stared more or less blankly. It was the limitof surprise he allowed himself ever to express.

"Yes, and I'm joining St James' Gym. and theConservative Club. Robinson has introduced me toone or two rather decent people, too; Robinson belongshere, you know. To-morrow you and I are goingto sign on for a dancing class; Robinson's peopleput me on to it; Robinson doesn't dance. I'm prettygood, and you'll be good with practice. Every fitman can dance well with practice."

Carstairs puffed silently at his pipe for some minutes."Will the dividends on dancing, gymnastics, church-going,etc., pan out better than working?" he askedat length.

"Do you think you are getting the full value of yourpresent stock of knowledge?"

"Not by chalks, but one never does."

"I beg to differ; some men get paid considerablyover the value of their knowledge."

"Perhaps you're correct," Carstairs admitted, aftera pause.

"Well, I want to join the happy band. Shoveyour knowledge forward, having due regard to themanner of your doing so, that it does not defeat itsown ends. And that is wisdom; you're paid for thecombined product of your knowledge and yourwisdom. Wisdom is the most scarce, the mostvaluable, and the most difficult to acquire: it isthe knowledge of the use of knowledge. Do you see?"

"They bear the relation to each other of theoryand practice in engineering."

"Not quite. Theory is an effort of the imagination,either a spontaneous effort of your own, based onknown facts, or an assimilation of the results of othermen's practice as recorded by them in books. Thesources of error are twofold; the limits of your ownimagination, your own conception of the other man'sdescription, and the limit of the other man's gift ofexpression and explanation. Practice is your ownconception and remembrance of what you yourselfhave personally experienced. Both are knowledge;wisdom is distinct from either."

Carstairs smiled. "Well, it's your wisdom I doubt,not your knowledge. I mean to say, that my applicationof my knowledge to my conception of yourapplication of your knowledge, as expressed by youin the present discussion, leads me to doubt theaccuracy of your application of your knowledge tothe case under discussion. The possible sources oferror being in my imagination or your expression,and as my imagination is a fixed quantity, unless youcan improve your expression, I shall fail to coincidewith you. How's that?"

"That's very good." Darwen took a deep breathand laughed. "Let me have another shot. Whogets the most money, the successful professor or thesuccessful business man?"

"The successful business man."

"Hear, hear! That's because he's selling wisdom,while the professor is selling knowledge."

"I disagree, on two points. Number one, thebusiness man sells necessities, boots for instance;the professor sells luxuries, quaternions, forinstance." Carstairs paused and quoted, "'What I like aboutquaternions, sir, is that they can't be put to any baseutilitarian purpose.'"

"Quaternions, my dear chap——"

"Half a minute! Number two, the business mansells knowledge of men and affairs as opposed to theprofessor's knowledge of things only."

"The Lord has delivered you into my hands, Carstairs."

"I saw it as soon as I'd spoken."

"Well, let us acquire knowledge of men and affairs,instead of merely of things—engines."

"I admit that my conception of——"

"Chuck it."

"Well, you've made a good point."

"You're Harveyized steel, Carstairs, and it givesme immense satisfaction to see that I'm makingsome impression on you. Well, you may go on grindingaway all your life, and if nobody knows of theknowledge you possess, you'll never get paid for it."

"But I will show it by the application of it in mywork. The chief is bound to see it."

"Not a ha'porth, my boy. And if he does, thechances are that he'll depreciate it in the eyes of theworld, or get you the sack, because he'll be afraidof you."

"I admit the probability of those possibilities."

"As an engineer you must never forget theinterdependence of parts: as a successful man you mustnever overlook the interdependence of everythingin nature. Smile at men as if you were overjoyedto see them and they'll give you anything, as long asit's not their own property."

"Hear, hear!"

"Our object in life is to persuade the councillorsto dole us out an extra dose of the ratepayers'money."

"I admit the correctness of the conclusion."

"Then let us, with all circ*mspection, smile onthe councillors and their wives and daughters,particularly the daughters."

"Nothing would please me more, provided thedaughters reciprocate the smile."

"They'll do that alright, old chap, if you only doit the right way. The most potent force in natureis the love of women; it behoves us as engineers toutilize this force. There is nothing much that awoman in love won't do, and there is even less thatshe won't make the poor fool, who imagines she is inlove with him, do."

"It's supposed to be specially dangerous to runtwo girls in parallel."

"You may take it as proved that, 'In the same townand on the same side of it, there cannot be two girlsin love with the same man, etc.' All the same, theidea of it is rather fascinating." Darwen's eyessparkled.

"We are wandering from the point."

"Quite so. Are you going to get your guv'nor down?"

"Look here. Have you got any money?"

"Well, I'm not absolutely stony."

"Then lend me two quid and I'll go home for aweek-end and bring him back."

Darwen fished out his purse with a smile. "Theseeds of wisdom are in you, I perceive," he said.

Suddenly the strains of music were wafted in tothem through the open window. "What in thunderis that?" Darwen asked, getting up with a puzzledlook and gazing out into the street. "By Jove,it's a kid with a mouth organ, looks like a gipsy kid."

With a serious face Carstairs got up and lookedout of the window too. The boy was looking directlyup at the window; as soon as he caught sight ofCarstairs, he changed his tune abruptly.

"What's that tune, Darwen? I seem to know it."

"That's 'The Gipsy's Warning.' The kid playsvery well, too, for an instrument like that. I thoughtit was a violin for a minute."

They stood up at the window and watched. Theboy played the same thing twice over, then he playeda Scotch tune. Then he opened the gate and walkingacross the little lawn stood under the window andtouched his cap.

Carstairs put his hand in his pocket and pulledout sixpence. "Wait a minute," he said to the boy.He went downstairs and spoke to him. "Do youcome from Scotland?"

"Yes, sir; I seen you there. Sam's down here andhe's after you." He turned and went out into theroad again and disappeared.

Carstairs looked after him with a troubled frown,then he returned to the sitting-room.

Darwen looked at him with observant, surprisedeyes. "Did you know that kid?" he asked.

"No, but he knew me. I once had a row with agipsy in Scotland; flattened him out, broke his leg;he's been after me ever since. That kid came to tellme he's in this town now. Next pay day I shallinvest in a young bull dog."

Carstairs sat down again in the big easy chair andgazed at nothing. His thoughts were far away;he had no doubt who had sent the gipsy boy to warnhim. "The most potent force, the love of women." GoodGod! and what of the love of men? A gipsygirl. It was quite impossible.

Then Darwen played—pleading, soothing music—andCarstairs told him the whole story.

"You'll have to remove that gipsy, that Sam—inself-defence, mind, of course. And the girl—youcouldn't marry a gipsy, of course, but it's notnecessary."

And Carstairs listened in silence.

CHAPTER IX

Time passed, and although Carstairs kept a goodlook out, he saw nothing of Sam, the gipsy;he bought a substantial ash walking stick which hekept constantly by him. On the night shift hetackled Bounce, the ex-sailor. "Can you fence?"

"Yes, sir, I'm very good at fencing."

Carstairs smiled, but he knew all the same that itwas a simple statement of the truth without anyaffected modesty or blatant boasting. "I'll bringdown a couple of sticks, and you can give me a littleinstruction if you will."

"I shall be very pleased, sir."

He had a manner all his own of making even thissimple statement; it suggested an equality of manhoodwhile admitting an inferiority of station; everyword and action showed a confident, self-contained,self-respecting man.

So in the wee sma' hours of the morning, when everyoneelse was in bed, Carstairs and Bounce fenced withsingle sticks in a clear space in the engine room.They got very chummy over these contests. Carstairshad frequently had long yarns with Bounce beforein the quietness of the night watch, but now asthey smote each other good and hard (for they woreneither helmets, jackets, nor aprons) and Carstairssmiled and Bounce grinned like a merry imp, andoccasionally apologized for an "extra stiff un," theyseemed to draw very close together, so much so, thatone night Carstairs told him the tale of Sam thegipsy.

Bounce shook his head seriously. "Gipsies isnasty blokes," he observed, pondering deeply."Some good fighting men amongst 'em, too." Hepondered again. "I should think now that a bit ofboxing would be more useful to you than fencing.Or—have you got a pistol?"

"Yes, and a set of gloves. I'll bring them bothdown to-morrow."

Next night Bounce's eyes scintillated light as hefingered the well-made brown leather boxing gloves,and examined the beautiful little American targetrevolver. "This is fancy," he said, in regard to thelatter. "It wouldn't stop a man, though."

"Depends where you hit him," suggested Carstairs.

"That's true, sir."

They retired to a secluded corner of the boilerhouse, and Bounce fastened a piece of board on thewall and stuck three tin tacks in it, then he drewback as far as the dimensions of the place wouldadmit, which was about fifteen yards. "Shall Ihave first shot, sir?" he asked.

Carstairs handed him the revolver, and then abox of cartridges. He loaded, then raised his arm,and, taking a fairly long sight at the board, fired."That's a miss," he observed. "I'll get a bit ofchalk."

Stepping up to the board, Carstairs saw that hehad missed the head of a tin tack by about a sixteenthof an inch.

Bounce returned from the engine room with a pieceof chalk and whitened over the heads of the tin tacks."I ain't had a shot with a revolver for two years, ormore," he observed, apologetically. Then he tookanother shot and burst the head of one tin tack;his next shot bent the second tin tack over on one side.The third shot drove the remaining tack right home."There you are, sir," he said, with some pride,handing Carstairs the revolver.

"Look here, Bounce! Is there anything muchin the way of offence and defence that you can'tdo?" Carstairs asked with open admiration.

"Well, I don't think there is very much, sir. I'vefired everything up to a six-inch gun, over that Iain't quite sure. Mind, I have afired a twelve-inch,but I ain't quite sure. A twelve-inch takes somehandling, see." He stood up very straight, lookingCarstairs steadily in the eyes as he made this simplestatement.

Then they boxed, and the applicability of hissurname struck Carstairs more than ever; he seemedliterally to bounce out of the way, just when Carstairswas going to hit him, and he bounced in again withsingular directness and precision immediatelyCarstairs had missed him. Every night for the rest ofthe week they boxed for half an hour at a time,and Carstairs, with his clear head and steady nerves,soon began to make progress.

"What you wants, principally, is to hit hard, an'quick an' straight." Bounce laid it down as a law,and suiting his own actions accordingly, he bouncedin and hit Carstairs in the eye, so that it afterwardsturned a lively shade of deep, blue-black.

Bounce apologized, then he grinned like a healthyfiend. "It do show up," he observed, "but a blackeye ain't near so painful as a good un on the nose."

Carstairs smiled too. "Oh! it doesn't matter inthe least," he said. "It's part of the game.Unfortunately I'm going home to see my peopleto-morrow." He gazed at it thoughtfully in thelooking-glass in the lavatory. "The guv'nor'll understand,but the mater——"

"I knows, sir."

Next day Carstairs went home to the little vicarageof Chilcombe, and on his way to the station he caughtsight of a rough-looking man in well-worn gaiters,a fur cap and a heavy coat with big poacher's pockets,limping down a side street. Carstairs felt angry."That's the swine," he said, to himself. Then asudden surge of pity overwhelmed him. "Poordevil! he does limp."

He got a seat in the corner of an empty third-classcarriage and opened a paper he had purchased, buthe did not read, he thought of the rough-looking manwith the limp, of the beautiful girl in Scotland andDarwen—the three seemed inextricably mixed up,somehow. "Darwen's a skunk," he said, but that wasthe only definite conclusion at which he could arrive.

Meanwhile the train hurried him homewards, andvery soon he arrived at the main line junction, andchanged into the crawling local. He had writtento say which train he would arrive by, and as the traindrew up at the pretty country station, he saw thetall, black-garbed figure of his father on the platform.They shook hands solemnly, and eyes so much likehis own beamed approval and pleasure as the strongbrown cricketer's hand gripped his. Suddenly theysobered down into a look half amusem*nt, half pain,as they rested on the discoloured skin (by carefuldoctoring reduced to a bright yellow) round his eye.

"What's the matter with the eye, Jack?"

"Oh, that's boxing."

"Ah!" It was a sigh of relief and distinctapproval.

"Yes; a man at the works, engine driver, you know,ex-sailor, light-weight champion of the MediterraneanFleet, he's coaching me."

"Ah, very good, excellent sport. Suppose youdon't lose your temper?"

"Oh, no! Not with Bounce." He laughed."How's the mater and all the rest of them?"

"Your mother's very well, very well indeed.Phillip is going on very well in India."

"Got a rise yet?"

"Rise?—er—no. In fact, you're doing the bestof any, so far. Mrs Bevengton was inquiring aboutyou; she and Bessie are coming over to tea to-morrow." Heshot a sudden, keen glance at his son. "Very nicegirl, Bessie, extremely nice."

"That's so," Jack admitted.

"Have you seen anything more of your gipsymaiden?" There was a note of anxiety in hisfather's voice.

"Yes; seen her once for a few minutes."

"Ah!" It seemed as if Jack had explained something,some obscure point.

"Her fancy man flattened me out."

"Flattened you out?"

"Hit me on the back of the head with a stick."

"Nothing very serious, I suppose; still it's a pityyou got mixed up with those people."

"Yes; the girl came down next night with anotherstick to flatten out her fancy man." Unconsciouslythere was a note of pride in Jack's voice.

"Dear me, what terrible people! It's a very greatpity you got mixed up with them at all—a verygreat pity."

"Yes, it is a pity," Jack agreed. He seemed sopensive that his father regarded him in some concern.

"Many young men entirely wreck their lives bythese youthful entanglements," he said. "Thosesort of girls, who appear beautiful and fascinatingat your age, usually strike one as coarse and outréa few years later."

"That's very possible," Jack admitted, and hesmiled as though a weight had been lifted off hismind.

They turned in at the big double gates.

"By the way, there is—er—no necessity to mentionthat little affair to your mother. Women brood overthese things, and build up all sorts of vague horrorsand possibilities of their own."

"Quite so," Jack admitted, very soberly, so thathis father glanced quickly at him again. But theywere at the house and there was no time for furtherquestioning.

Jack's mother noticed his discoloured eye at once."Oh, Jack, whatever have you been doing?"

"Only boxing, mother."

"I wish you'd be more careful; you're so violent.I'm sure cricket and lawn tennis are much nicer."

"They're nice enough, mater, but not nearly souseful."

There was a seriousness in the way he said it thatmade both father and mother look at him sharply."Useful?"

He smiled, his calm, easy smile. "I mean to say,stokers and so on sometimes get abusive, you know,and in the interests of real peace it is best to knowhow to flatten 'em out if necessary."

"I wish Jack, you wouldn't use such slangyexpressions."

"Very sorry, mater."

But his father's keen, blue eyes continued to watchhim steadily, and after Mrs Carstairs had gone tobed, he stayed down for half an hour chatting with hisson. "I suppose," he said, "there is no possibilityof those gipsies molesting you further?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "Can't say," hedrawled. "I left them in Scotland."

"They wander, these people, you know."

"That's true; however, there is always the police,you know." Jack was very unconcerned. "Bythe way, guv'nor, could you come back and stay withme for a few days? Another fellow and myselfare digging together, you know. He's a jolly decentsort; opens his mouth rather wide at times, says morethan he means, you know, but he's a good sort. Gotme my job, as a matter of fact. He wants you tocome too. Wants to get to know some decentpeople; he's a dancing man and that sort of thing.Thinks you'll probably bump up against some one youknow, give us a lift in our jobs besides makingthings more pleasant. You understand."

The Reverend Carstairs' shrewd eyes twinkledmerrily. "You want to utilize your old father, eh?What about this young man's father?"

"He hasn't got one; drowned at sea when he wasa kid."

"Ah!" The grey eyes softened into sympathyat once. "Of course I'll come. It's quite the rightview to take; young men cast adrift in a strangetown usually get acquainted with quite the wrongpeople. Southville? Southville? Ah, yes. I thinkthe vicar of St James' there is an old Christ Churchman. Let me see." He got up and reached downa book of reference. "Here we are. Southville,St James. Yes! Moorhouse. Ah! I thought so.He was not exactly a chum, but a friend. I've nodoubt he'll be pleased to see me. What is yourfriend like?"

"Oh, about the same as myself, but exceedinglyhandsome, striking, you know. Sort of chap you turnround to look at. Very dark, almost Italian looking."

"Ah! You ought to be able to make things verypleasant for yourselves down there. I'll go backwith you on Monday." His father stood up.

"Thanks very much. Shall I turn out the light?"

"Thanks, if you will. Good night."

So Jack turned in once more in the old familiarbed in the old familiar room at the corner of thehouse, with windows overlooking a wide sweep of therolling Cotswold Hills.

Next morning after church he met Mrs Bevengtonand Bessie; she coloured slightly as she shook handswith him, and her dimples sprang into prominentevidence in a smile that expressed more than pleasure.

Jack regarded her thoughtfully, with very greatpleasure too. She seemed the personification ofbeauty, not so much in the physical as the moralsense; as he walked by her side slowly down thebrown-gravel path in the warm light of an autumn sun,countless little incidents of his childhood's daysreturned to him, bearing a fuller and a newer meaning;this girl had always been clean, clean as it isunderstood in England, honest and unspiteful, she nevercheated. When he parted at the gate it was with adistinct sense of pleasure that he was to meet heragain in the afternoon. She laughed, a jolly, happylaugh, when he explained the discolouration of his eye.

Mrs Carstairs and Mrs Bevengton coming behindhad observed them with mutual approval: "Don'tyou think Bessie's improved?" Jack's mother saidto him as they walked home together.

"She's better looking if that's what you mean,otherwise she was always a jolly decent girl."

"Yes, there are not many girls like her."

"In that, mater, your opinion should be ofconsiderably more value than mine, I haven't met verymany girls."

"You're getting old enough to think about thesethings now."

"Yes, mater, to think about them."

About three o'clock in the afternoon, Dr and MrsBevengton and Bessie arrived. After half an hour'sexchange of family greetings, Jack and Bessie wentout into the garden, leaving the old people indoors.

"Shall we go for a stroll through Cleeve woods?"Jack asked, presently.

"Yes, I haven't been there for a long time."

Cleeve woods were the private property of LadyCleeve, but Jack and Bessie were privileged persons,allowed to trespass whenever they liked. Theywandered along the well-known paths, going veryslowly; every tree and bush held its own secret forthem, recalling each its own little tragedy or comedyof their early lives.

Bessie stopped in front of a tall pine tree. "Doyou remember when you climbed up there and tookthe kestrel's eggs?"

"I remember curly-haired 'Fatty,' and Jim downbelow keeping 'cave,' in case the keeper came."

The dimples burst out anew. "I was a fatty then,wasn't I? You came down all the way without aword. I knew you'd got eggs by the careful way youwere watching your pockets. I thought it was onlya magpie's, then you glanced round like a burglarand just showed one eye over the top of your pocket,I knew it was a hawk's because it was red."

"A kestrel is a falcon, Bessie, not a hawk. Yousaid, 'O-oh,' under your breath, and Jim whispered'what is it?' Jim never could tell one egg fromanother."

"We all felt like desperate poachers and crept outof the wood in breathless haste, and you blew themunder the chestnut tree on your lawn."

Jack looked at her with a sudden admiration.

"You were always a pal and full of pluck," he said."When I was up old Giles' apple tree and he cameout with his dog, Jim bolted like a rabbit, but youstayed behind like a brick and waited for me."

"Yes, I remember, my knees were knockingtogether with fright."

"Oh, you crammer, you threw an apple at the dog."

Bessie laughed. "Old Giles was a good sort. Heknew who we were right enough, but he never toldfather."

Talking thus they strolled on till they came out onthe trimmed laurels and well-kept lawn that surroundedLady Cleeve's house. Jack stopped. "I expect thefootman will come out and ask impertinent questionsif we go over the lawn, won't he?"

"Oh, no! he knows me very well."

Still they stopped for some time admiring the houseand the well-kept grounds. It was just getting duskand lights were already beginning to appear in someof the windows of the big old house. "I shouldlike to own a place like this some day," Jack said.He stepped on to the lawn. "By Jove! these lawnsare grand, aren't they? Do you remember that timeI was on holidays from Cheltenham, when they gave asort of tea fight to the whole village? And theyokels were playing kiss-in-ring on the lawn?"

Bessie coloured a good red and looked down atthe smooth carpet-like grass, poking aimlessly withthe point of her umbrella. They were fairly closeto the house. Suddenly one of the near windowssprang into a glare of light, showing up everythingwithin with great distinctness. A female servant,in cap and apron, was lighting the gas. Her profileshowed clear and distinct against the light.

"Oh! there's that new maid who's just come tothe Hall. Don't you think she's remarkablyhandsome, Jack?"

Carstairs looked up, the girl in the room turned,so that the light was full on her face, and every featurewas distinct: the blood seemed to bound in his veins,he was astonished at the thrill he felt.

It was some seconds, perhaps a minute, before heanswered, then it was a very slow drawl. "Yes,exceedingly handsome."

Then they went home almost in silence, for Carstairshad recognized in Lady Cleeve's new housemaid,his gipsy girl from Scotland.

CHAPTER X

Early on the Monday morning the ReverendHugh and his son Jack entrained for Southville.Jack was pre-occupied with some deepthought, and his father noticed it.

"Sorry to leave the old place, Jack?"

"Er—yes. Nothing touches this place for me."

"You must get to know some nice people at Southville."

Jack pulled himself together; he had been gazingearnestly at Lady Cleeve's house nestling in amongthe pine trees; the slope of a hill suddenly shut outthe view, and Jack turned to his father with attentionundivided. "You know I'm not so keen on the peopleas the work, but Darwen seems to think that inmunicipal work you can't get on at all without friends."

The parson's eyes lighted up with approval as helistened to his son. "Work is the thing that makeslife enjoyable, but you must have friends, you know."

Jack was silent for some time. "It seems a rottenstate of things," he observed at length, and his fatherlaughed aloud.

Darwen was on shift when they arrived, but Jacktook his father to their diggings, and very soon afterDarwen came in; his handsome face lighted up witha beaming smile as he shook hands with the ReverendHugh. "I say," he said, "I should have knownyou for Jack's father if I had met you in the streetalone."

The old parson smiled with approval as his shrewdgrey eyes took in a complete impression of face andform and expression. He succumbed at once to thecharming manner and charming personality of thetall, clean-looking young engineer. "Wholesome,athletic, happy-go-lucky, but intelligent," was hismental summing up. Such were the sort of friendshe expected his son to make; he looked from one tothe other with keen approval. They pushed forwardthe easiest chair and plied him with cushions andtobacco. They took him back to his own collegedays.

"You fellows seem very comfortable here," he said.

"Not bad," they agreed.

He smiled. "It was always 'not bad,'" he said."Hullo!" he glanced along the backs of the bookson the shelf at his side. "Tennyson, Keats, Dante,Shelley, 'Hamlet,' 'Julius Cæsar,' 'Barrack RoomBallads,' 'The Prince'! I didn't know you had afancy for poetry, Jack."

"Not guilty! Those are Darwen's." Jack wasstretched out, six feet of muscularity, full length on aslender-looking couch. He puffed slowly at his pipe."Those are mine"—he pointed to a shelf on the otherside.

His father glanced along the backs of them, readingthe names aloud. "'Dynamo, Electric Machinery,'h-m, bulky volume that! 'Manual of the SteamEngine'; 'The Steam Engine,' h-m, three volumes.'Polyphase Currents,' ah! 'Text Book of Heat,''Theoretical Chemistry,' 'Trigonometry,' 'IntegralCalculus,' 'Differential Calculus' (Todhunter). That'smine, I think. I thought Edwards was the man on theCalculus nowadays."

"Ye-es, Darwen's got him somewhere. I preferTodhunter, leaves more to the imagination, you know."

"Ah, the imagination. Quite so."

"Seems to me the limit of a man's possibility inanything is the limit of his imagination."

"And his control of it, Jack."

"Exactly."

Darwen had his chair tilted back wards, blowing cloudsof smoke vertically upwards to the ceiling. He spokeslowly between the puffs. "Carstairs—Jack, has gotno soul above machines, inanimate lumps of iron; thehum of a smoothly running engine is the only poetrythat appeals to him, so it does to me, but I like a change;little bits of Shelley, little drops of Kipling——"

"I admit that 'M'Andrews' Hymn' is a real poem."

"Shut up! You reek of the engine room. I likea change. Variety is the soul of amusem*nt." Hedropped his chair on to its front legs again and lookedat Jack's father. "Hasn't some one said that?"he asked.

"I really couldn't say, perhaps so." He smiledwith amusem*nt.

Darwen looked at him steadily, thoughtfully, for amoment. "Do you know I think there's a touch ofthe Dago in me—or perhaps it's Celt. Do you thinkI'm Irish?"

"My dear boy, you should know that best."

"That's so! English, the mater says, pure English,but I don't know. I'm a bit of a rogue, you know;the instinct of dishonesty is very strong at times."

The Reverend Hugh laughed, and Darwen jumpedup. "I'll play you a tune, if you'll stand it," he said.He sat down and played, wandering on from one thingto another, ever and anon glancing at the old vicar,then he got up. "Does that bore you?" he asked.

"Bore me? My dear fellow, you are an accomplishedmusician."

He flushed slightly with pleasure. "I like music.Let's have a trot round the town and show yourguv'nor the sights, Carstairs."

"The guv'nor knows the vicar of St James."

"Does he? By Jove! that's good."

So they went avisiting.

The Reverend Moorhouse was short and very broad,he had more the legal than the clerical type of face;an old international Rugby footballer, the impressof the game was still strong on him, vigorous, keen,bluff. It was evident he was pleased to see his oldfriend, he said so, and invited all three of them todinner the next night.

The dinner was good; Mrs Moorhouse was plain,stout, chatty, and exceedingly kind; the MissesMoorhouse, two of them, were tall, athletic, and pretty.They talked about hockey and tennis and swimming;the two young men were charmed. Carstairs wasquite vivacious, Darwen seemed to scintillate; MrsMoorhouse watched him with approving eyes, andlater on, when he played and sang with the elderMiss Moorhouse, she took possession of him; crossingthe room she sat down beside him. "You mustcome and help us at the church," she said.

"I shall be delighted," he answered, with realpleasure shining in his eyes.

The vicar's wife was business-like and decisive, shefastened him down by compact and contract at once.

Altogether it was a merry and delightful evening,and when they at length departed it was in aparticularly bright and happy mood. They walkedback; it was not very far and a beautiful starry night;there was a tinge of frost in the air; Jack Carstairsthrew his chest out and took a deep gulp of the fresh,crisp air.

"I believe these little diversions do improve one'sform, you know, I feel like a sprint." He looked upand down the long silent street of semi-detached,shrubbery-enclosed villas. As he looked back hisface suddenly hardened into a fierce look of anger,his mouth shut like a steel trap, and his grey eyes tookon a cold, steely glitter; for just as he glanced round,a rough-looking man, carrying a big stick had limpedpast a lamp light on the other side of the road.Carstairs said no word, but there was an abruptnessin his manner that attracted his father'sattention.

"What's the matter, Jack?" He glanced roundand Darwen followed suit, but the man was now inthe shade and hardly noticeable.

"Nothing," he answered, staring straight ahead;but out of the corner of his eye he caught a meaninglook from Darwen, and in response jerked his headever so slightly backwards and to one side.

Promptly Darwen dropped back to do up his bootlace.A few seconds later, the man with the limp,who had crossed the road and was now directlybehind them, quickened his pace and limped past.Carstairs stopped and faced round as the limping stepdrew near, but the man's face was averted and he wenton without a word or sign; some way ahead they sawthat he was joined by another man, hithertounobserved, who, without any word of greeting, steppedout of the shadow and walked along with him; heseemed exceptionally short, but his hands hung downbelow his knees—probably a hunchback.

"Those men are after no good," the Reverend Hughobserved.

"No. I expect not. There have been severalburglaries round here lately."

Darwen held out his walking-stick. "Do younotice the sticks we carry? Guaranteed to kill atone smite." He laughed lightly. Something of thespirit of the party returned to them, and they wenthome more or less lighthearted.

After the old vicar was safely in bed, Darwen wentalong to Jack's bedroom. He was half expected;he sat down on a chair while Carstairs stretchedhimself, half undressed, on the bed.

"That was Sam?" Darwen asked.

"Yes, I'm sure of it! Don't know who the otherchap is, seems as if he's rounding up a gang. Whatdo you think of putting the police on it?"

"Don't see how you can! Anyhow the scandalof it, if there was an exposure, would wreck your rosyprospects in this town. A young man with a fancyfor spending his nights in the woods with charminggipsy maidens is not the sort that the wife of thevicar of St James can allow to associate with herdaughters."

Carstairs swore volubly. "Do you know she'sgot a slavey's job at Lady Cleeve's, the local big bug'sat home."

"Did she know where you lived?"

"Yes, I told her."

"You were a fool."

"I don't know." Carstairs was very thoughtful."Damn it, she knocks spots off any girl I've seen yet.She's improving, too."

Darwen's eyes glistened. "I like playing with firemyself," he said.

"It's our job," Carstairs answered, cynically."We're paid to do it."

"It is damn rotten for you, I admit. Have yougot a revolver?"

"Yes."

"Oh! but that's no good either, you mustn'tattract attention in that way. I tell you what, we'llset a trap and collar the brute. You'll have to be thebait. And—say Bounce and I, we ought to be ableto effect a capture."

"That's so, but what then?"

"Oh, anything. Bribery, threats, or we mightshanghai the beast off to Australia."

Carstairs was dubious. "They'll give it a restfor a bit now. He's as cunning as a fox, that gipsy,he knows I recognized him. Damn him! I'd havehit him over the head with my stick as he passed ifthe guv'nor hadn't been there."

"Well, anyway, shall we call in Bounce? You'vealready told him the story, haven't you?"

"Yes. Bounce's great idea is a heavy right onthe jaw. 'Get in close and hit hard,'" he said.

"That's very sound, too. After your guv'nor's gone,we'll hold a council of war. Bounce may have somereliable pals. Good night, old chap, keep your pecker up."

"Thanks. It's jolly good of you to lend me a handover a rotten business like this."

"That's alright. As I observed before, I like playingwith fire."

"Well, I hope you won't get burnt over this.Good night."

"Good night."

Next day the old vicar went back to his flock againleaving a cordial invitation for Darwen to come andsee them. Jack saw him off.

"A very fine young fellow that. I'm glad you'vemade friends with him."

"Yes! he's a jolly good sort," Jack answered,enthusiastically, having fresh in his memory Darwen'soffer of assistance.

The same night, Carstairs, Bounce, and Darwenheld a council of war in the shift engineer's office."What we wants to do," Bounce said, "is to findout what 'e wants. If it's murder 'e's after, we'llshanghai 'im, if it's only a row, we'll give 'im that, butthe first thing to do is to capture 'im."

Carstairs sat on the side of the table puffing slowlyat his pipe. "Thanks very much for the suggestionand offer of assistance, Bounce, but I don't want toshanghai him, I only want to get a fair show, alsoI don't mind giving him a fair show if that will satisfyhim."

The Quixotic strain of the Englishman wascoming out in him. They observed him in wonder."Giving him a fair show?" they queried in a breath.

He drawled very slowly. "I mean to say," hesaid, "I broke his leg. I beat him once, but I hadsome assistance; if he fancies he can give me a lickingfair and square, I don't mind giving him a trial,provided, of course, that that is really what is worryinghim, you understand."

Bounce nodded, a compound now of comprehensionand disapproval, his face expressed a keen appreciationof the principle involved, but a strong objection to thepractice suggested. "It's revenge 'e's after, 'e don'twant no fair play. Them sort o' blokes don't appreciatefair play. You give 'im a licking once, 'e wants togive you one in the back now. Most like you couldbuy 'im off."

"A mixture of threats and bribes," Darwensuggested. "We'll capture him and frighten the witsout of him; say that we're going to give him in chargefor attempted murder. Then you can offer him asmall sum to go away and stay away. We'll explainthat if he ever gets within speaking distance of youagain, you'll promptly have him arrested."

"That's it," Bounce agreed.

"I suppose that is the best," Carstairs said,thoughtfully. "Do you know I feel when I think of himthat a damn good licking is the only thing I can offerhim. Yet when I consider that the poor devil ispermanently lame because—well, because I went offwith his girl, well, dash it, he has my entire sympathy.In my case I remember distinctly that it gave me asensation of extreme pleasure to think I was whackingthat brute for the sake of the girl. I'm not exactlypugilistic, but I've never experienced anything sopleasureable as the one or two smites I got home onhim with the idea that they were for the girl. I canunderstand the persistence with which he is followingme. She's the finest girl in all the world." His keengrey eyes seemed to glow with a fierce ardour. At thatmoment he was violently in love.

They looked at him in open wonder.

He stood up and stretched himself. "I shouldfeel a better man if I went out now and searched outthat gipsy and bashed him, and then went straightacross to the girl and married her. What the devilare these wishy-washy dances, these tuppenny ha'pennyjobs, this sham respectability? Simply adrag on a man's actions. I want to do something."

Bounce nodded vigorously. "You're fit," he said,"trained fine. In the pink of condition. That'show you feels when you comes ashore after a threemonths' cruise. 'To hell with everything. Let'sdo something.' That's it, ain't it?"

"That's it precisely."

"How you feel at the end of the 'footer' season,"Darwen chimed in. "Or when a match is postponedand you've got to dissipate your energies on the desertair. Usually you make a thundering idiot ofyourself."

"I suppose that is so, but you enjoy it." Carstairsbecame thoughtful again. "There are only certaintimes, practically moments, when you can do thesethings; you do not appreciate them in your normalcondition, besides there's the guv'nor and the mater,and really I know very little about the girl."

Darwen clapped him on the shoulder. "Wakeup, old chap! You're dreaming. You can't marrya gipsy girl; she'd want to feed you on gipsy stewand half-hatched pheasant's eggs."

"When you goes off to-night at twelve o'clock,me and Mister Darwen will shadow you like, and catchthis yer Sam if he's knocking about. I'll have a linein my pocket so's we can tie him up." Bounce wasvery serious; he turned to Darwen. "When shallI meet you, sir?"

"Oh, at the corner, at five minutes to twelve."

"Five minutes to twelve at the corner? Verygood, sir. Good night." Bounce was just goingwhen a boy came in to say that a policeman had cometo report some street light out. Darwen went outto see him. "Half a minute," he said. He was backin a few moments with glowing eyes. "By Jove! that'sa whacking great chap, somewhere near sevenfeet, I should think."

Bounce snorted. "Them big blokes ain't muchuse," he observed.

"Would you like to take him on for a few rounds,Bounce?"

"Well now, maybe 'e'd be mistook if 'e was to tryto 'lift' me an' I didn't want to go."

Darwen clapped his hands. "Well done. I'lltell you what. We'll put down five bob for the winnerand half a crown for the loser, and you shall mutuallyarrest each other. Start at the boiler house and youchuck him into the street, or he lugs you into the engineroom. How's that?"

"Very good, sir. If 'e'll take on, that five bob'smine." The little sailor was very confident.

"Hurray!" Darwen rushed out to the door tointerview the policeman and explain the terms tohim. The big man's eyes glistened. "There ain'tno man in this town as I can't arrest," he said. Heglanced up and down the street. "You'll make itall right if the sergeant comes, sir? You wanted myassistance to eject a drunk bloke or something, eh?"he winked, knowingly.

"That's alright. We'll put a boy to watch for thesergeant."

"Right you are, sir." The big man followedDarwen into the engine room with long, stately stridesand easy, confident air. He towered a good sixinches over Darwen's head.

Bounce stood up and eyed him up and down, thenhe put his hands to his mouth and gave a mock hail."Main top there!" he yelled.

The policeman smiled. "Don't you come talking togrowed-up men," he said. "Shall I take 'im now, sir?"

"Half a minute," Carstairs said. "Let's weighthe combatants."

So they proceeded in solemn procession to the coalscales.

Bounce was eleven stone eight and a half pounds."'E oughtn't to be out without his p'rambulator,"the guardian of the law remarked, as he stepped intothe scales, and brought them up with a bang. Theyshifted the weight along the rod till at nineteen stoneeight and a half pounds it balanced.

Bounce nodded approval. "'E'd go near ten stonewith 'is boots off," he said, with conviction.

"How tall are you?" Darwen asked.

"Six feet and a half. I was the tallest man in theGrenadier Guards when I was in it."

They went back to the boiler house and stood in aclear space under an arc lamp. The policeman tookoff his long coat and helmet, "In case 'e wipes 'isboots in it while I'm carrying of 'im."

"Open them big doors," Bounce requested, "soas I won't 'ave to push 'im through the window."

The two men stood facing each other with smiling,confident faces. The big man stretched out a handthat would have supplied a whole cannibal tribe witha substantial meal. "Are you coming quiet?"he asked.

"No! I ain't," Bounce answered, circling slowlyround him.

The whole works watched in eagerness.

Suddenly the big man made a short rush and a grab,but Bounce was not there; instead he had dived atthe policeman's legs and pulled him down. He madeanother grab as he was falling, but the sailor was likean eel. He dodged, and slipping round to the backof him, took a grip with both hands on the policeman'scollar. "Open them doors," he shouted, shufflingbackwards and dragging the big man all along thedirty floor.

The entire staff, on the broad grin, lined thedoorway, as Bounce dragged his burden through anddeposited it on the pavement. Then he stood up andtossed his shoulders with a jaunty, nautical air."Now, my lad, you run away, and play with thenurse-maids," he said.

In angry silence the policeman reached out for hishelmet and coat; Darwen slipped half a crown intohis hand, and he went out into the night, trampingsullenly along his beat.

Bounce beamed and pocketed his five shillings."Them big blokes ain't never no use," he said. "Fiveminutes to twelve? Good night, sir!" He departed.But Darwen sat down on the edge of the table.

"Wonderful chap, Bounce." They chatted for someminutes, then dropped into silence. Darwen broke it.

"For God's sake, Carstairs, don't go and do anythingsilly over that gipsy girl. It would break yourpoor old guv'nor's heart; he was holding forth tome, when you were out, about how very careful ayoung man ought to be to avoid awkward entanglements:you were so very steady, he said. I thinkhe rather fancied I was not so steady. 'Young menfly into an engagement with a girl because she singsnicely or something superficial like that.' Doesthe gipsy sing?" Darwen laughed.

"Yes, said she sang very well."

"Did she? What becoming modesty."

"She was natural, that's all. Her father told hershe was good, and she repeated it."

"Her father? I didn't know that gipsies werealways certain on these points. Did you see him?"

"Oh, yes, spoke to him; at least, listened to hismusic."

"His music?" Darwen made a motion of turninga handle.

"Oh, no; the violin. I'm not much of an authorityon these things, but it seemed to me good, exceedinglygood, the best I'd heard."

"This is interesting. Couldn't you introduce meto the family?"

"No. For the sake of my peace of mind I shallhave to avoid that girl like the very devil."

"My dear chap! probably St James, the footman,has already supplanted you in the lady's affections.Wonderfully fascinating chaps, those footmen. Bythe way, it's not usual for gipsies to go into domesticservice, is it?"

"No, I don't think it is." Carstairs pulled outhis watch. "I must go and have a look round; theload is heavy to-night." He opened the door andDarwen followed him.

They went out through the engine room into theboiler house. Carstairs brightened up at once, thehum of running machinery, and the bustle of workingmen, was the breath of life to him; his face hardenedand his eye brightened with the "splendidpurpose." Darwen observed him closely.

"You're a born engineer, you know, Carstairs."

"Do you think so? Sometimes I think so myself." Helooked around him with keen appreciation atthe long row of boilers under steam, with the furnace-doorsred hot, "a beautiful orange glow" he was wontto describe it as; at the coal-grimed, brawny men,with the sweat running off them as they sliced up thedazzling white fires. He gazed critically into theblinding glare as they opened the red hot doors, theradiant heat scorched his face and the intense lightdazzled his eyes, so that for some minutes afterwardseverything was green and blue to him. He looked atthe men with their hard, strong faces and their baremuscular arms and chests, the whole scene gave hima sensation of extreme pleasure. To him it was morethan beautiful, it was sublime. A sensation ofmajestic force, of overwhelming power, such as atowering mountain, the limitless ocean, or a vastmoorland conjure up. This sensation was his now,and it was uplifting, artistic; he felt beyond the earth;yet in many ways there was little of the artist in him,he was essentially of the earth, earthly. Such is thebest type of that modern product, the Engineer.

And that you may know him when you meet him,I will tell you that he is rather a rare bird. At thepresent time, probably, no profession contains more"wasters" than electrical engineering; this is becauseany man who can persuade a mayor and corporation ora chief engineer to give him the job, can take charge ofmany thousands of horse-power in boilers, and enginesand dynamos, with infinite possibilities of damage, andthe lives of many men resting on his direction, nerveand knowledge. Those dear men, who scorn to takean interest in their work, are not the breed I mean;nor are those greasy individuals who have arrived,oilcan in hand, from the engine bed: they are practicalthey say, which means that their minds are a storehouseof undoubtedly useful facts, they have a fairlyclear recollection of a great number of engineeringpossibilities which they have actually witnessed;but, their reasoning powers are undeveloped, and theirmethods of procedure on new lines are particularlyhap-hazard trial and error. The engineer to whomI refer is essentially a man of science; he ismathematical, theoretical, and practical; he holds anengineering degree and has been through the "shops";he understands both men and materials and themethods of handling them; frequently he is a lonelysort of savage. He knows little of billiards, cards, ordancing; his work precludes him from much intercoursewith other men except in business hours; oftenhe is silent and somewhat shy with women; usuallyhe is of good physique and logically minded; his life-workis the pursuit of truth; in the "shops" he learnsto file "truly," then he learns to set a thing in thelathe "truly." He tests his finished work carefullyto see that it runs "true," and on the test plate helearns to measure accurately, in the drawing office tocalculate exactly; he works under, with, and overthe working man, and learns to know him better thananyone else; he does not shine at football or cricket,but is often a particularly useful man in a rough andtumble fight, an accomplishment he acquires in hisprogress through the "shops"; he is an individual;he thinks and sees things as they are, for that is whathis work teaches him; he regards things carefully,observing their quality, and speculating on the processof their manufacture; he sums up men quickly. In myopinion, he is only inferior to the sailor.

The æsthetic soul of Darwen was moved, too."You're making 'em do their damnedest," he observed.

Carstairs nodded. "That's what I like; you knowthe Yankee definition, 'An engineer is a man who cando for one dollar what any fool can do for two.' It'snot bad, but like most Yankee things, it's cheap andincomplete."

"The taint of the cheapness, old chap, is passingfrom the Americans to us. You can get quality inthe States, if you pay for it, now."

"That is so in some things, and to my mind that'sthe most marked sign of progress; the nation withoutquality is as a house built upon the sand. The moraleffect on the workman who manufactures cheaparticles must be disastrous."

"The workmen, dear boy, are the people, and thepeople are mud. That is the one point upon whichI disagree with dear old Nick Machiavelli."

"And probably, as far as I know, the one point onwhich I agree with him, if he says the people are notmud."

"He does. He quotes a proverb, 'He who buildson the people, builds on mud,' and disagrees with it.Personally, I think the people, the mass, don't mattertuppence. Our officers have made the riff raff of allnations fight like tigers."

"That's not correct. A relative of mine was inAshantee, and the coast nigg*rs there ran like sheep.They had to give them up as fighting material."

"Perhaps so, but it's only the exception that provesthe rule, and that was because we were hampered bysentiment. A coward rightly handled, that is to say,brutally handled, will achieve more than many reallybrave men."

"I very much doubt that too. I get good resultsby giving the stokers a drink occasionally."

"Also you curse them occasionally."

"Well, not exactly curse them; you can't listento all their complaints; some of 'em would never doany work at all if you did."

"Quite so!" They passed on into the engineroom. "I observe again, Carstairs, that you makethem do their damnedest."

"Again, I explain that I like doing so."

"Your coal costs are always points below mine."

"I am aware of it."

"Yet I bet the chief and old Robinson don't thinkany the more of you for it."

"I have heard that the chief so far committedhimself as to say that you were the best engineer he'dever had."

"I heard so too, which goes to prove my point.You are paid in this world, not for pleasing yourself,but pleasing others. I believe I could get my costsdown to yours, but the chief and Robinson areeminently 'safe' men. I shall never get a shut-down.Old Robinson is on tenter hooks whenever you areon evening shift. 'That chap cuts things too fine,'he told me the other day."

"Did he? Well! he always leaves me severelyalone on the evening shift."

"Of course, because if you get a shut-down it willbe 'in the unavoidable absence of Mr Robinson orMr Chief.' See?"

"Yes; I see and comprehend, but don't care."

Darwen's eyes glistened with honest admiration."There is much of the aboriginal Saxon in you,Carstairs, with your grey eyes and light hair and thatbig, bull-dog jaw. Rightly, you should worship Thorand Odin, the gods of force. It's absurd for yourguv'nor to be a minister of the Christian religion."

"I agree with your last point; we're a family ofseamen, really. We worship Neptune."

"Ah! the sea, water, steam, electricity. HenceJack Carstairs, electrical engineer, seaman twiceremoved, eh?"

"About that."

"These things are always interesting. It isessential to understand the machine you work with,and the people you live with. To properly grip thebent of a man's mind, it is necessary to know hisantecedents. The seaman, we observe, has a naturalaptitude for engineering, coupled with great tenacityand self-reliance, a particularly good friend, a just,but particularly unpleasant enemy; a touch ofsentiment and superstition, the results of muchbattering and erratic favours from Father Neptune.The gipsy, on the other——"

"Oh, damn that gipsy," Carstairs flushed an angryred.

"Here we have a most interesting relic of theBerserk rage of the Norseman. If within reach, thatgipsy would have a particularly rough time just atthis moment."

"Oh, go to the devil, Darwen."

"Thanks very much for the advice, but I willreturn to the gipsy, who, as I was about to observe,is, on the other hand, naturally a poacher and veryvindictive, and will therefore have to be poached,that is to say, captured by stealth which——"

A sudden flash like miniature lightning illuminatedthe engine room, followed immediately by a loudreport.

Carstairs' big jaw tightened. Darwen's eyesglittered with an æsthetic sort of joy. "Breakdown,"he observed, "and I'm a spectator."

A circuit fuse had blown, and was instantly followedby a continuous flash and bang of some half dozenfuses, going one after the other, like a straggling volleyof small artillery. By an ingenious inter-connectionof the network of main supply cables it is arrangedthat if one circuit fuse goes half a dozen immediatelyfollow suit. This is one of the many diabolicaldevices on which mains superintendents particularlypride themselves. Carstairs strode up on to theswitchboard, very alert, but very cool. He switchedout all the switches, replaced the fuses by bigger ones,and switched in again, the switchboard attendantassisting him in a high state of nervous excitement.Now there is a piece of apparatus known as a magneticautomatic circuit breaker. It is carefully designedto come out at the wrong time and stay in at all othertimes; the good chief of Southville, in the simplicityof his trust in catalogues, had, "for safety," as heexpressed it, two of these devices fixed on everymachine; when, therefore, Carstairs plugged in againon the heavier fuses, these "safety" devices promptlyopened, one after the other, all except one small one,which hung in with a tenacity worthy of a bettercause. The station was plunged into instant inkydarkness, relieved only by fitful flashes from thecommutators of the idle machines, the governor ofone of which having stuck, it raced away in a franticeffort to burst its fly-wheel and wreck the engineroom; the one small machine, left all alone strugglingvaliantly with a load four times too big for it, firstof all stopped dead till its field died away, thenpounded into the work with little spurts and pauses,being helped out with a little juice from the kindly,helpful battery (which was ruining itself in theprocess). All the boiler feed pumps, fans, and condenserpumps stopped. (The chief, being a wireman, likedto have all the accessories electricallydriven.) Pandemonium at once reigned. There was muchshouting in the darkness, an engine-driver and astoker, in their frantic efforts to do something, collidedviolently, and collapsed on the floor, groaning, to theaccompaniment of soft nothings, whispered sweetlyto the empty air; the boilers blew off, the steamroared and shrieked out of twelve safety valves liketen thousand fiends let loose; they were blowingoff for high steam first of all, and very shortlyafterwards for low water as well. In the middle of it all,the alternators (which were unaffected) hummedmerrily in the darkness, while the telephone bellscreamed an angry protest from an adjacent wall.At such moments the meek and lowly Shift Engineerfeels that he is really alive; his only wish is that hischief may happen to drop in and share his happinesswith him, or one or two of the councillors; he couldaccommodate them all with comfortable seats on thesafety valves, and the possibility of a quick passageto heaven by the shortest route, straight upwards.Most chiefs are worse than useless on a switchboardduring a breakdown; the Shift Engineer, handlingthe switches every day of his life, sometimes makesmistakes when he is in a hurry; the chief, who handlesthem once a year, always does; usually his nervesare not as steady as they should be; he wants to knowwhat the Shift Engineer is going to do, and why hedoesn't do it at once, then, just to add to the generalconcert, he plugs in a wrong switch. Councillorsgenerally stand like fools, and wonder what it's allabout, or else button-hole the Shift Engineer anddemand an immediate explanation. In this case, noone appeared to hinder him, and Carstairs proceededall alone. Striking a match, he went along theswitchboard and pulled out all the circuit switches; thelittle machine and the battery, pulling together, thenraced away joyously and lit up the station with asuperabundant light; the switchboard attendant soonaltered that, however, and Carstairs went quicklyround the boiler house, switching out all the pumps,etc., as very few of them had "no load releases" on,and some that had were tied in; he glanced up atthe boiler water gauges as he passed, for he did notwant cold water to be suddenly pumped into emptyboilers. It took him precisely one minute before hereturned to the switchboard and put in the circuitbreakers one by one, tieing them in with a pieceof insulated wire. "Now!" he said, "we'll startagain, more or less in comfort."

He plugged in a circuit and the fuse held though thelights grew dim, and the machines flashed and groaned.The switchboard attendant plugged in another, andthe fuse blew in his face. He stood shielding his eyesin a dazed sort of way, the flash had temporarilyblinded him. In those days things in central stationswere carefully designed to kill and maim as many aspossible; men have become more expensive since anda little more care is taken of them, almost as much,in fact, as of the machines. The fuses on this lowtension switchboard were accurately adjusted to thelevel of an average man's eyes and the instrumentplaced just beneath, as a sort of bait, so that as hetook a reading he got the full benefit of the flash andthe molten metal flying about if a fuse went, whichthey did frequently. Carstairs stood up and pulledthe switch out, he then replaced the fuse and switchedin again. The machine gave a groan, and a fuse atthe other end of the board blew simultaneously withthe one he had just replaced.

ejacul*ting a little word that went in rhyme with'jam,' he brought the volts down again. "Here,shove in that other fuse, will you? Put a bigger onethis time."

The switchboard attendant was dancing round likeone possessed, fumbling and twitching. Carstairsreplaced his fuse and went along to look at his assistant.He watched him fumbling for a few minutes, then tookit out of his hands. "Go and sit down," he said.He finished the job himself. "Stand clear there!" Hemotioned the switchboard attendant back. "Standby those engines. Watch the brushes and bring themforward when they spark, far forward. Do you hear?"

"Yes, sir," the engine drivers answered. Theystood in expectant attitudes by their respectiveengines just below the switchboard gallery.

"Alright!" He plugged in, one after the other,ducking his head out of the way of the possible flash.The fuses held. "Bring her up there! Steady, nottoo quickly! Whoa!" He held up his hand withthe fingers outspread, then made a circular motion."Get round number five," he shouted.

Promptly the driver ran up another engine, andCarstairs put her on. He leaned over the railing andshouted down to Darwen, "I say, would you mindringing up Farrell and telling him I'm pumping 500amps extra into something on the Moorfields Road?"

Darwen laughed. "Right you are, old chap."

Farrell was the mains superintendent; it was hispleasant duty to turn out of his bed, round up a gangof navvies, and dig holes in the street all night toascertain what that "something" was, and remove it.The only consolation a Shift Engineer feels for thearduousness of his existence is that sometimes themains man (whose life is usually cast in pleasant places)has even a rougher time than he has.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how electricityis "made"—the same as everything else that is anygood—by the sweat of men. And as men woo nature,and she reveals her secrets to them, she demands, inreturn, ever better and better of their best. Manmoves, not to peace and plenty, to cowardice andluxury, but to sublime courage and arduous, soulfulwork, and he may not look back.

Half an hour later, Farrell, a fat, prosperous lookingindividual, rode up on a bicycle.

"Is it still on?" he asked.

"No, cleared itself some time ago."

"Damn! Just my luck! We shall have thedevil's own job to find it now."

The two Shift Engineers laughed. "Sorry it's notraining, Farrell," Darwen observed.

"It's all very well for you chaps to laugh." Farrellwent away in disgust.

Soon a little stream of men filtered in; jointers,half awake and surly; navvies, limply, subdued,bearing pick and shovel; it meant overtime for them.

Darwen and Carstairs stood on the doorway andwatched them disappear into the night with ahand-cart full of tools and instruments.

They had been gone some time, Carstairs waspreparing to go home, when the telephone bell rangviolently. It was Farrell, very excited. "Whatdo you think?" he asked. "Got it first shot, justoutside that big house at the corner. When the lightswent out, the footman was rushing about to getcandles and lamps and unearthed a burglar, theburglar they think, skulking in the shrubbery. Hebolted at once and the footman chased him all downthe road. He'd have got away too, but a paving stoneblew up right under his feet and tripped him up. Ofcourse, that's the fault we were looking for."

"Of course; but how do they know he's a burglar?"

"Oh, he had a bludgeon with him and a big knife.One of the windows had been forced, and they foundsome jewellery in his pockets."

"Have you seen him? What's he like?"

"A rough looking handful, they say, sort of a gipsy,a bit lame in one leg, but he ran like a hare. Strongas a tiger too, nearly strangled the footman beforehelp arrived. The police have noticed him skulkinground that neighbourhood for some time."

"Is that so? Well, he's done us a good turn,anyhow." Carstairs was very casual, very slow, therewas no emotion whatever in his voice; he said,"good night," and rang off. "Ye gods," he ejacul*tedto himself. "That's my way home, of course.Wonder what he'll get? Jewellery in his pockets,too, those great big pockets, built for hares andpheasants. 'To what ignoble uses,' etc., as Darwenwould say. Still 'living on the country,' I suppose,as they call it in warfare."

About a quarter of an hour afterwards he sawDarwen and Bounce. It was with a keen sense ofamusem*nt that he observed them "shadowing"him. He slipped into a gateway and waitedunobserved till they approached, and then sprang outon them unawares.

"What the devil are you chaps following me for?"he demanded with mock severity.

"Hang it all, Carstairs, you fool. Play the game!You've probably spoilt the whole show now."

"I'm sorry, but it's not necessary now, the man'sin 'quod' for burgling."

"What!"

Carstairs told them the tale.

"Well, I'm blowed, these 'ere police are alwaysshoving their noses into somebody else's business,"Bounce growled.

That night Carstairs slept with singular peacefulness.

CHAPTER XI

With keen curiosity Carstairs turned up at thepolice court to watch the trial of "SamLee, of no fixed abode," on a charge of burglary.The prisoner pleaded not guilty, but the evidence wastoo damning, and he was sentenced to two years'imprisonment.

Carstairs came away with a feeling of relief like aschoolboy on holidays. Any lingering feeling ofpity that he had entertained for the man he felt hehad wronged, was dispelled by the sight of the hard,savage face in the dock. He studied it closely at hisleisure and in the daylight, as the man stood thereon his defence, the beau ideal of the Bill Sykes offiction. A face of very great animal strength, showingextreme tenacity of purpose, and unrestrained passion,in every line of the features; he was considerablythicker and heavier about the chest and shouldersthan when Carstairs had met him face to face in thedim light of the dawn in Scotland; the eyes had notthe shifty, suspicious expression that one associateswith the habitual criminal; they were dark and deepset, protected by massive bony projections all round;eyebrow and cheek bone rose in strong relief aboveand below; the eye itself was steady and slowlymoving, it glowed with a sort of slumbering, malignanthatred; he looked the magistrate and the police andeveryone else steadily in the eyes with a surly defiance.This was the child of the moorland and the woodtransplanted to the slums, absorbing into the depthsof his strong, deep nature the terrible germs of thediseased life of the city. Apparently he didn't seeCarstairs, or if he did, he gave no sign of recognition.

The following Sunday Darwen was on shift, butCarstairs went to church all alone, to St James'.On the way out the vicar's wife and two daughtersmet him. The good lady greeted him effusively.

"And where's Mr Darwen?" she asked. Carstairsobserved that both the daughters' eyes seemed to lightup with super-added interest as they awaited his reply."He's on shift," he said.

"How horrid," the elder daughter remarked,"to have to go to—er—business on Sunday."

Carstairs laughed. "Call it work," he said, "sortof thing you take your coat off to."

"But not on Sunday?"

"Well, perhaps a little less than on other days.As a matter of fact it's mostly pretence, just to showyou are really ready if necessary. But what you reallydo is to walk about with your eyes and ears as wideopen as they'll go, like the officer of a ship, you know."

"Oh, but the officers do more than that. I'veseen them."

"So do we sometimes; in fact, in some of thecheap and nasty stations, where the chief is anex-ironmonger, and the councillors are labourers out of ajob, we have to do quite a lot with our hands, and so,of course, do less with our heads."

"Why! the chief here is an ex-ironmonger, isn'the?" Carstairs raised his eyebrows. "Not exactly anironmonger, was he?"

The vicar's wife intervened. "Do you think he isreally competent? There has been a lot ofdissatisfaction in the town, you know."

"Well, we caught a burglar for you the other night,"Carstairs evaded the question.

"Yes, I'm so glad! Oh! I hope you and MrDarwen will come to our little dances; we hold aseries every winter, you know. They're rathernice. Mrs Mellor is the moving spirit and men areso scarce. They start soon now."

"Thanks very much, I shall be very pleased to,and I know Darwen will."

Talking thus, Carstairs accompanied them tilltheir ways divided, then he proceeded thoughtfullyby himself to his diggings. He sat down in the bigeasy chair. Darwen's book-shelf was at his elbow;he glanced idly along the names on the backs."Curious taste for an engineer to read poetry," hemused. His eye rested on "The Prince" byMachiavelli. "Darwen's favourite," he thought.He took it down and glanced through it. It wasa dainty, leather-covered volume with gilt edges.Three hours later when Darwen returned, he foundCarstairs deeply immersed in the last chapter of hisfavourite book.

He looked at him curiously. "Hullo! Got 'ThePrince,' have you? How do you like it?"

"Well, I want to think about it. He seems topoint out that you mustn't do things by halves. Bythe way, I went to church this morning."

"Good man."

"Had a long yarn with Mrs Moorhouse and thelittle Moorhouses."

"What had they got to say for themselves?"

"Said the lights were bad."

"Good."

"And that the chief was an ironmonger."

"Good."

"And they've got some dances coming off whichthey hope we'll attend."

"You said we would, of course."

"Yes, and to-morrow I'm going to look up adancing expert and take lessons. It's as well to dothe thing well while you're about it."

"I say again, Carstairs, there's much of the originalSaxon in you. How long did it take you to come tothis decision?"

"About half an hour—that is to say, it took methat time to decide that I would go in for dancing.The rest followed as a sort of corollary."

Darwen's eyes gleamed with approval. "I'llplay you a tune," he said; he struck a note idly andlistened to the vibrations tentatively for a fewmoments. "The foundation of engineering scienceis a knowledge of the strength of material," heobserved thoughtfully. "Before one builds abridge or an engine it is necessary to correctlyapportion the size and quality of the variousparts." He struck up into a lively dance tune.

"That's a waltz, isn't it?"

"Yes, why?"

"I want to get the hang of the tune, that's all."

Darwen laughed, and rattled on waltz after waltz,till he was tired.

Next day Carstairs consulted the local directoryand made a note of all the teachers of dancing, andfor the following three weeks, he waltzed for an houra day, as regular as clockwork. Darwen alternatelychaffed and encouraged him, but he took it all alikewith a steady, tolerant smile, puffing slowly at hispipe. Then the first of the little dances came off;a select gathering of about sixty dancers with twodear old ladies to see that the proprieties wereobserved. It was a suite of rooms in a comparativelybig house which had once been the residenceof wealthy gentlemen, but had now dropped intothe professional quarters of a dancing master.Carstairs acquitted himself with credit, and Darwenwith distinction. He spotted the elder Miss Jameson(daughter of the chairman of the electricitycommittee) and asked to be introduced; he dancedthree times with her with great success.

She was rather small, distinctly pretty, of the dolltype; with innocent, wide-open, blue eyes, and aperfect little mouth. She was a good talker in aslightly affected juvenile sort of way; her brain,however, was more active than it appeared; she hada lively sense of precisely what was best for MissJameson. Darwen was a good talker too, so theyrattled on brightly and humorously from one subjectto another. She had a fine sense of humour, whichhe appreciated immensely. He brought the subjectround to the electricity works.

"I'm assisting the corporation on its way tobankruptcy," he remarked, laughing lightly.

"How?" she enquired, and he observed by thesolid interest in her eye that she had swallowed thebait.

"Oh! I'm not doing it maliciously, of course,only following my instructions, which are, to wastecoal."

"Really?" she asked, in doubt how to take him.

He laughed again. "I'm not giving it away tothe poor, or anything of that sort, you know. Butwe're very, very safe here, safe from possible failureas far as steam goes, and the price we pay for oursafety is high, excessive, it seems to me, in the matterof coal."

"Oh, but it's better to be safe, isn't it?"

"I don't know! Life is run on sporting chances,you know. It's the ultra-cautious man who makesa mess of things and dies young."

She laughed. "I went over the electricity worksonce with father and Mr Jones."

"What did you think of it?"

"Just nothing at all. Father and Mr Jones wereexplaining one against the other. I don't think eitherof them knew much about it."

"Poor Jones! he's not really an engineer, you know."

"No, I know; he used to keep an ironmonger's shop."

"So I've heard. Would you care to come roundagain under—h'm—more competent guidance?"

She laughed lightly and fixed him at once. "Thanks,very much, I will, and I shall bring a friend, an awfullyclever girl, a B.Sc. She's interested in these sort ofthings, and mother."

"I shall be really delighted; as long as you come,I don't care who you bring."

On their way home after it was all over, Darwensaid to Carstairs, "Truly, fortune favours the bold.Do you remember that passage of old Nick's aboutfortune and women, that they both favoured theyoung? Youth is simply a matter of indiscretions;many old fools of sixty ought to be wheeled roundin perambulators."

Carstairs paused to light a cigarette, his faceilluminated by the fitful flare of the match, waspre-occupied, absent. "From which I conclude,"he observed between the puffs, "that you have beenindiscreet."

"Not indiscreet, simply bold, and you, you seemto have something on your mind."

"Ye—es! It's being borne in upon me veryforcibly that there is no girl that I have met yet tocompare in face or form or intelligence, that is tosay, my idea of intelligence, with a certain gipsymaiden in Scotland, or at least, Chilcombe."

Darwen's eyes gleamed—the thrill of the waltz,the excitement of the evening, was in his blood."Damme! I must see this girl. I observe that inmany things our tastes agree, perhaps I may be ableto relieve you of her."

"No! By Jove! you won't!" Carstairs facedround abruptly and looked him in the eyes.

They looked at each other for some moments, thenDarwen smiled. "By Jove, Carstairs, you are badlyhit."

"Well, perhaps I am. But, you know, none ofthose girls to-night gave me an impression of genuineness;artificial and superficial, stereotyped, unoriginal,like the pawns on a chess-board, only capable ofmoving (intellectually) in one direction; they allheld precisely the same views on precisely the samesubjects, and they had absolutely no reasons forholding them, and yet they are so superlative."

"Dear boy, they're young."

"So was the kid. Seventeen, I think she said.Yet she gave me the impression of having thoughtabout things."

"You're Saxon, Germanic, heavy. Have youread any German philosophy?"

"No! Why?"

"It suggests lager beer and sausage, many generationsof 'em. Flat, ponderous, indigestible. Iprefer champagne, and—er—some of those Frenchdishes, you know."

"No, I don't know."

"Well! damn you for a Saxon, I don't either, butI've heard of 'em. You ought to have said youknew! Don't you see how you prick the effervescingbubbles of conversation?"

"Not at all! It seems to me I'm keeping it going."

"Yes, with a sledge hammer."

"Alright. England was built with the sledgehammer. I admit that I'm naturally a slogger."

"Precisely; you prefer the cutlass to the rapier."

"Not a bit, I prefer the twelve-inch gun. Whichbrings me naturally to Bounce. Do you admireBounce?"

"I do."

"Then I can explain. Bounce bears the samerelation to the other men that the gipsy kid bearsto other girls."

"Then I admit that she must be good."

They let themselves into their diggings, andDarwen sat down in an easy chair, and whistlingsoftly to himself one of the tunes he had just beendancing to, he gazed absently in front of him, butthere was a happy light in his eyes; he stoppedwhistling suddenly and addressed Carstairs, whowas mixing himself a whiskey and soda.

"Do you know I have an idea that our respectedchief will not be with us much longer?"

"Why?"

"He'll get the sack, or have to resign."

"In that case he'll get his deserts. Can'tunderstand how he got the job."

"No, you have no comprehension whatever ofthe rapier, or perhaps we should say the stiletto, orthe back stairs."

"Suppose Robinson will get the job."

"Robinson will go first, I'm afraid." There wasa touch of real sorrow in Darwen's voice.

"You're a funny chap, you know, Darwen. Who'sgoing to get it, then?"

"Well, I shall have a shot for it, of course. Howwould you like Robinson's job?"

"First class, for a time."

"Precisely. 'For a time.' I don't imagine thateither of us will petrify here." Darwen's eyes hada strangely humorous glitter, he arose and stretchedhis arms above his head and yawned. "Good-night,old chap!"

"Good-night."

A few days later Darwen showed Mrs and MissJameson and their clever friend (who was also exceedinglyplain, such is the balance of nature) round theworks. Carstairs was on shift. His coat was off,his hands grimy. Darwen introduced him, the oldlady and the clever girl took possession of him. Theclever girl catechised and examined Carstairs like apolice court lawyer. The old lady listened withdignity and entire mental oblivion.

Darwen and Miss Jameson wandered off by themselves.

While the clever girl was asking Carstairs for precisechemical information as to the residual scale leftin the boiler, Darwen was explaining in an obscurecorner of the works that that collection of big tanks wasa water softener, where there were great big hammersgoing round to crack up the lumps in the water.

Carstairs and the clever girl argued about "ides"and "ates." Darwen and the pretty girl laughedand joked and made ribald remarks in the face ofdignified 1000 H.P. engines.

A week later the second of the little dances cameoff. Carstairs took it seriously, and Darwen lightly.One of the dear old ladies who acted as chaperonethis time was Mrs Jameson. Darwen was mostattentive. He fetched her wraps when she got cold,and saw that she had a liberal supply of the bestrefreshments going. He was asked to call on Sunday.

He did so. The old doctor and he discussed theelectricity works. "The place ought to pay, youknow," Darwen said, and the doctor shook his head.

Then a big dance came off, and Darwen sent MissJameson a spray of flowers, white roses. He was aregular caller at the house now.

It was well into December and the mayor washolding a huge reception at the Town Hall, whenthe electric light failed and could not be got on again.Darwen was on shift. The entire switchboard wasburnt down. The mayor in his robes and the othercouncillors in evening dress, descended in anger uponthe works, which were not far from the Town Hall.The chief was away, but Robinson was sent for in a cab.He came, he saw, and remained helpless and useless.

Darwen was very cool and very civil, but thecouncillors did not bully him, he stood inches tallerthan any one of them, and there was a sort of snakyglitter in his eye; he did not seem the sort of man tobe bullied. It was obvious he was master of thesituation, the massive-looking Robinson was in apitiable state of collapse.

Next day in answer to a wire the chief returned.The gods (which is the press) called for a humansacrifice. The local influence of Robinson was big,but the chairman seemed unaccountably heavy infavour of Darwen; then the mayor and severalaldermen had seen that Darwen knew his work, whileapparently Robinson did not. The chief sackedRobinson, and Darwen, as next in seniority, waspromoted in his stead.

A month later the engagement of Darwen to MissJameson was publicly announced.

All this time Carstairs had pursued the even tenorof his way undisturbed. He grew more silent andthoughtful than ever; of Darwen he saw very little,except when they met at the works, or at dances,which Carstairs still consistently attended. Therewas a light of triumph continually in Darwen's eyes;he seemed very happy over his engagement. Afterhe was made chief assistant he and Carstairs sawmore of each other at the works; they spent longhours in consultation about the work, a commonbond seemed to be drawing them even closer together.One day Carstairs remarked, "I'm going home fora week end next week. Would you and Miss Jamesoncare to come with me?"

"Thanks, old man, I should like to go, and I thinkthe girl would too."

On the Saturday afternoon the three of them setout for Chilcombe. When they arrived there wasquite a house party. Stephen, Jack's artist brother,was at home, and Commander John Carstairs andthe Bevengtons were invited to spend Sunday. Asthe five big men sat smoking after dinner, the old vicarrepeated his congratulations to Darwen. "I hope Jackwill be as lucky," he observed. "Hasn't he shownany decided preference at any of those dances yet?"

"No! honestly I can't say that I've observed it."

"Oh, but Jack's booked," Commander Carstairs remarked.

"How? To whom?"

"Why! the girl he pulled out of the river, ofcourse. You can't get out of that, Jack."

"Pulled out of the river?" Darwen asked insurprise. "You never told me, Jack."

"No. I don't think the subject ever arose, did it?"Jack puffed solemnly at his pipe.

"There's no need to talk about it, it's a settledthing, eh, Jack?" the sailor would not be denied hischaff.

They looked expectantly at him, but he continuedto puff away in silence, there was just a suspicion ofa twinkle in his eye.

"What's her name?" Darwen asked.

"Bessie Bevengton. She's coming here to-morrow."

"That's alright, Jack; I'll see that you're notdisturbed," Commander Carstairs said boisterously.

"Jack'll have to make up his mind soon then; she'sa catch in the marriage market now. Her uncle lefther ten thousand pounds the other day."

"Ten thousand pounds! Why, that would covera multitude of sins," Darwen observed.

The Reverend Hugh smiled. "Oh, but I'm sureshe doesn't want any gilding. She's a very nice girland good looking."

The budding artist opened his mouth languidly,he was going to speak. They paused to listen, itseemed that he had something weighty to say."She's—ah!—somewhat obese, don't you know." Theylaughed. This young man had been budding for avery long time, but as yet he had produced noappreciable flower. Cheltenham and Oxford had madehim a finished gentleman, but not apparently able toearn his own living. He was a taller edition of Jack,rather better looking, but he lacked the steadiness ofeye and firmness of mouth. "If I had ten thousandpounds I'd go to Paris and settle down."

"What should you do, Jack?"

"Jack and I are working out a patent in thecorporation's time." Darwen looked at the ReverendHugh with bright, hopeful eyes.

"Ah! is that the thing you told me about, Jack?"his father asked.

"No—o, this is another."

"Something better?"

"Well, hardly as valuable I expect."

"Is that the——" Darwen paused, but Carstairssaid no word, so he proceeded. "The thing you'reworking out on the night shift?"

"Was working out. It's finished now, or verynearly."

"Finished!" Darwen's eyes grew abnormallylarge and bright. "Have you patented it?"

"No. It's in the rough yet. Quite a secret still."

"At the works?"

"No—o."

"Going to make more than ten thousand out of it,Jack?" The sailor had been watching Darwenintently.

"I rather hope so."

Next day the Bevengtons came back from churchwith them, and spent the entire day at the Vicarage.They were a jolly party. Darwen, as usual, was thelife and soul of it. He was very attentive to MissJameson, but he often caught Bessie Bevengton'seye. Jack and she were never left alone, theyexchanged common-places and chaff.

"Oh, Jack!" she said, and she seemed to watchhim closely. "You know that handsome housemaidat Lady Cleeve's?"

"Yes!" Jack answered, and Darwen gave hima quick glance that Bessie saw.

"Well, a little while ago she horsewhipped thefootman; he offended her somehow. They say she'sstronger than a good many men."

Again Darwen shot a meaning glance at Carstairs,and again Bessie saw it.

"Bully for the girl," and there was a thrill ofadmiration in his voice that was apparent to all.

"Personally, I don't like amazons," the artistremarked.

"I suppose she got the sack?" Jack asked.

"Oh no. Lady Cleeve is quite interested in her.The footman was discharged."

"Serve him right."

There was an awkward pause in the conversation,then Jack spoke again. "Do you remember a mancalled Bounce sailing with you, uncle? A sailor, anA.B., a boxer."

"Bounce? Bounce?"

"He was on the 'Mediterranean.'"

"Ah! Yes! I remember. Bull-dog Bounce,they called him; he had half a dozen other nicknames,too. I remember one night hearing a voice on thelower deck, 'Halgernon Hedward, I shall tell yourma'ma of you.' He was a splendid fellow, great pityhe left the Service."

"Yes. He's sorry himself now. He's an engine-driverwith us."

"A pity, a great pity! He dived overboard oncein the Indian Ocean, swarming with sharks, to gethis straw hat which had dropped over. I had toreprimand him for quitting the ship without leave."

They all laughed, and the sailor launched into ahost of anecdotes.

On the following Monday as they went backtogether, Miss Jameson said, "What an exceedinglynice girl Miss Bevengton is."

Jack answered "yes," so that when they werealone together, his fiancée told Darwen that Carstairswas not in love with Bessie Bevengton.

Meanwhile things at the electricity works hadprogressed, there had been another failure of the supply.All the churches in the town were in darkness onSunday night, and a steam pipe had burst and scaldeda man to death. The papers were frantic. Somedemanded a complete review of the staff of theelectricity works, others suggested that the chief beasked to resign. All agreed that something wouldhave to be done.

The committee sat in solemn conclave. "Whoshall we sacrifice?" they asked, and the heavyweight of Dr Jameson made it the chief. He pointedout that during the short time Darwen had beenchief assistant, the coal costs had gone downenormously, and he was in a position to say that stillfurther sweeping reductions could be made if thatbrilliant young engineer were allowed a free hand.Dr Jameson was known as the strong man of thecouncil; he usually had things his way, and he didso now.

So Mr Jones was asked to resign, and Mr Darwenpromoted in his stead at a salary of £350 per annum.Jones had had £500, but this was only to commence.It was probable, the doctor said, that if he made it pay,he would have no difficulty in getting £750 in time.

Carstairs was made chief assistant at £200 perannum to commence.

"I suppose you'll get married soon now,"Carstairs asked.

Darwen smiled happily. "Not very long I expect.I'm giving up these diggings, though, of course. Themater is coming over to live with me," he said.

CHAPTER XII

For the next month Carstairs saw little ofDarwen except at the works; he was busywith his mother, getting a house and supervisingthe moving. At the works they talked simply"shop." Carstairs was absolutely lost to everything exceptengines, boilers, dynamos, etc. For twelve hours aday he was at the works planning, improving, overhauling.

"We'll mop off that £1000 debt, and show a profitin the first year," he announced to Darwenenthusiastically.

"Yes," Darwen agreed, and his marvellous eyesshone with an even greater enthusiasm. "We'llshow 'em how to run things on this job, eh?"

"I think so."

"Rather, not a doubt of it."

In three months they knocked £1000 off the coalbill, in spite of the strenuous opposition of certainmembers of the council.

"Rummy things, those chaps making such a rowabout our getting different coal and weighing itourselves, isn't it?" Carstairs asked.

Darwen smiled. "The application of a little oil,"he observed, "but they've got up against the wrongmen this time, eh? We have the doctor solid behindus, too."

A sudden light seemed to break in upon Carstairs."Oh!" he said, almost in horror. He was honestto the core, every fibre in his body vibrated in disgustat such treacherous roguery laid bare under his veryeyes, as it were.

"Didn't you really tumble to it?" Darwen seemedgenuinely astonished.

"No, I'm blowed if I did! but I shall know whereto look in the future."

"Ah, quite so!" Darwen was thoughtful, he knewthat Carstairs was a particularly keen observer.

They reconstructed switchboards and overhauledengines. They tested and calibrated all the consumers'meters; some had been paying for juice they hadnever used; others, and the great majority, had beenusing current far in excess of that for which they paid.Carstairs found a meter in a councillor greengrocer'sshop that must have been entirely stopped for months.

The genial representative of the people descendedinto his cellar and watched the new meter beinginstalled. "Are you going to make my bill lighter,Mr Carstairs?" he asked, with an anticipatory smile.

"No, heavier, I'm afraid, Mr Green."

"What!" The smile faded at once. "Verywell, I shall have it taken out."

Carstairs looked at him calmly, searchingly. "Justas you like, of course, Mr Green. We can't afford togive the juice away, you know."

"You can't afford! What do you mean? That'snot the way to talk to consumers. I'm afraid youdon't know your business, Mr Carstairs."

"On the contrary, I think I know it very well, MrGreen."

"Very well, I shall bring the matter up at the nextcommittee. Things are going from bad to worse."

"I think not! However, I hope you'll do everythingpossible to satisfy yourself on that point MrGreen." Carstairs spoke very slowly and very quietly,it was a way he had when his anger was rising.

"That man," Darwen observed, when Carstairstold the story, "is a little rogue. It never pays to belittle in anything. It's a sign of intellectualincompetence, lack of courage and general feebleness. I'mglad you told me; we'll have this out in committee.I'll break that man just to encourage the others,eh?" There was a glitter in his eye that Carstairs could notquite understand. Carstairs' brain was somewhatheavy and ponderous, but once on the move in anydirection, it rolled onwards with an irresistible sweep; hewas a ruthless searcher after truth according to his light.Darwen himself had set the wonderful mechanism ofhis brain moving in the direction of suspicion, henow began almost unconsciously to suspect his friend.

At the next committee meeting Darwen awaitedthe attack of Mr Green in smiling affability, but itnever came. The little rogue had thought better ofit. However, Darwen was not to be baulked. Producinga number of bills, consumers' meter reading,calculations of probable consumption, etc., he attackedMr Green. The little man arose in his wrath, lost hishead and shouted. Darwen smiled and smiled, andplayed with him, as a cat plays with a mouse; then hesquashed him with overwhelming evidence and demandedan apology for personalities. The little mangave in, he almost wept; Darwen was so big, sosuave, so very acute, so merciless and so cool; italmost broke his heart; he got up, a shattered,nerveless wreck, and left the room.

"Now, gentlemen, I think we may proceed tobusiness." The talons were sheathed, he was sogenial, so pleasant, that it was scarcely possible to graspthe fact that this was the same man who had justcrumpled up the little greengrocer like an emptypaper bag. Many of the other councillors shifteduneasily in their seats and fear gnawed at their hearts;they cast shifty, uneasy glances at the young handsomeengineer. What was this awful thing they had raisedup in their midst? Even the massive, grand olddoctor at the head of the table was subdued; he gazedstraight at Darwen in solemn thought; perhaps hewas wondering whether this was, after all, the sort ofman he ought to entrust his daughter's happiness to.

That evening the proceedings in the committeeroom were reported verbatim in the local papers,and more than that, some of the London papers hada short pithy paragraph exaggerating the event.Of course there was nothing for it, the little councillorhad to resign.

Darwen's mother had taken a nice house, small,but in a good part of the town, and the day afterthe eventful committee meeting, Carstairs went thereto dinner. The rooms were tastefully furnished.Carstairs commented to himself that the feminine eyeand hand were apparent everywhere; he went inwith Darwen, and, as he was left in the drawing-roomalone for a few minutes while Darwen went to lookfor his mother, he looked round at the water colourpaintings on the walls, the cabinet of old china, thefrequent ornaments, statuettes, bronze and marble:he felt somehow that it had a Frenchy tone; at anyrate, was unlike any other room he had ever been in;it was the sort of thing he felt that his brother Stephen,the artist, would admire. Darwen's mother heimagined as tall, artistic, graceful (bearing in mindDarwen's face and form), beautiful and brilliant.The poets, that he remembered in their diggings,were scattered over the table; he noted that thebindings of all were beautiful and expensive, too."The Prince" was not among them.

He heard voices outside, Darwen's he knew; andanother, full, rich, contralto.

The door opened. "Let me introduce you to themater, Carstairs."

Carstairs stood up and held out his hand. His faceshowed no emotion whatever, but in his brain wasdeepest wonder. The woman who stood before him,the mother of that graceful, accomplished son, thedesigner of these rooms, was almost short and verybroad, full chested, broad hipped, her hair was lightbrown and very luxuriant. But the face—probablyat one time it had been handsome in a masculine sortof way, now—the skin was of an exceedingly coarsetexture, lined with innumerable small wrinkles and ofa uniform weather-beaten red; the eyes were bloodshot,clouded; the eyes of a drunkard, or at least aheavy drinker.

"How do you do, Mr Carstairs? Do sit down."

The manner was distinctly "loud," and looking atthe speaker, the voice seemed to lose half its charm.

"How do you like our home, Mr Carstairs?"

"Very much indeed. I was admiring this roomwhen you came in!"

The clouded eyes seemed to light up with a flashof pleasure. "Charlie does all this. I haven't gotany taste in these things." Carstairs was moreastonished than ever, but he made a remark which occurredto him as suitable, then they drifted into generalities.She asked Carstairs about his home. "I know thatpart fairly well," she explained. "I've hunted overa good bit of it."

"Have you?" Carstairs was genuinely surprised.Darwen had never told him.

Mrs Darwen laughed, rather a coarse laugh. "Thatis to say, I followed the hounds, while Charlie was atschool at Clifton. I used to have a day out occasionally,just to remind me of old times." She sigheddeeply. "I was brought up in the Quorn district, youknow."

"That's Leicester way, isn't it?"

"Round there. That was where I met Charlie'sfather. Poor dear Tom, he wasn't much of ahorseman."

"I used to follow them sometimes when I was akid," Carstairs observed.

"Did you? I suppose you would." She lookedhim over with approving eyes, somewhat, he felt,as a groom looks over a nice horse; and there was nodoubt Carstairs was a very fine animal.

A gong sounded in the hall, and Mrs Darwen rose."That's dinner," she said, "come on in."

She led the way and Carstairs followed, lost inwonder, as he contemplated a rear view of her squat,ungainly figure. At dinner she drank a stiff glass ofwhisky and soda. Carstairs carefully avoided lookingat it; he knew Darwen was watching him closely.Both the young men were rather silent, but the oldlady rattled away.

"Do you play football—rugby? Yes, you wouldof course! Charlie's a splendid player. I used toturn out and watch him, stood about in the dampgrass and got the rheumatism thoroughly into my oldbones," she laughed again, a louder, coarser laugh.

"Not so very old, I expect, Mrs Darwen," Carstairswas trying his 'prentice hand at a compliment.

She laughed aloud. "Ha, ha! Charlie'd do betterthan that, he can pay compliments like his father.Ah! his father was a rare hand at that game, or anyother game. So's Charlie, he's a thorough sportsman.'Always go straight, boy,' that's what I taught,'over hedges and ditches, straight ahead.'" Shegesticulated with her arms.

Carstairs felt rather embarrassed. Darwen wasunusually silent, but his mother talked away andlaughed and joked. After dinner they smoked acigar apiece and Darwen seemed to wake up, but stillhe was serious. "From your description, mater, Iimagine the guv'nor was something like Carstairs here."

"Well, yes, something."

"But dark, I suppose?" Carstairs asked, lookingat Darwen's almost swarthy complexion.

"Oh, dear no! He was fair, quite as fair as you."

"Was he really?"

Perhaps it was in answer to Carstairs' puzzled look,or perhaps just as the wayward fit took her. Anyhow,she volunteered an explanation.

"The Darwens were French," she said, "a goodFrench family—Huguenots. They came to Englandabout six generations ago. They were fair, but therewas once an inter-marriage with a noble Florentinelady, and ever since then there have been occasionaldark Darwens. Charlie is one." She threw backher head. There was much pride and something ofdefiance in her tone.

"Mater, you never told me before."

"My boy, you never asked me."

"No, that's true." Darwen was very silent for someminutes, and Carstairs could find nothing to say."Then it's possible that I may have some of the bloodof Old Nick in me." It was said quite seriously.

Mrs Darwen burst into a harsh scream of charwomanlaughter. "My boy, you've got a touch of the devilin you right enough."

"I meant Machiavelli," Darwen explained.

"Who is he?"

"Oh, mater! He was an exceedingly clever Italian.He stripped the common facts of human existence oftheir halo of sentiment and showed things as they are;here in England we suffer from the despotic sway of afetish called 'fair play.'"

"Fair play is a jewel," Carstairs observed, doggedly.

"There you are! Look at that!" Darwen pointedexcitedly at Carstairs. "Behold the Saxon, yellow-haired,blue-eyed, clasping his gilded idol franticallyto his bosom."

"He's not yellow-haired and he's not blue-eyed,and he's clasping his own big biceps across his bosom,"Mrs Darwen observed laughing.

Carstairs, leaning back with folded arms, laughed too.

Darwen shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I'min a strange country, I cannot comprehend. 'Don'thit a man when he's down,' you say. Why! that'sthe only time you've got a chance to really punishhim. Oh, the fearful and wonderful Saxon brain!" Hestood up, and stretching both arms above his head,gazed upwards at the ceiling. "Surely, surely, theSaxon is the devil personified. The Lord, the greatLord Nature, has endowed the Saxon with mightybiceps and a head of surpassing density. Theyellow-haired son of darkness has spread himself over theglobe. 'I cannot think: thou shalt not think,'has been his maxim and his passport, and, becauseof the magnitude of his biceps and the paucity of hisideas, he has cramped the intellect of the world.With his biceps the Lord endowed the Saxon with oneidea, one commandment, 'Thou shalt not yield.' Andthe races of mankind, the multitudes of humanity,have spent themselves in vain endeavours to combatthis idea. He has driven the Red man from America,the Black man from Australia. He stole the verycountry he lives in from a more intellectual, morecivilized, and more refined race. Not once but manytimes has he been beaten, well beaten and rightfullybeaten, but he could not see it." Darwen let hisarms drop listlessly to his sides. "The Saxon hasbroken the heart of the world."

His mother went over to him and put her handaffectionately on his shoulder; she seemed ratherconcerned. "My boy! You were always a sportsman,always clean; many's the time I turned out inthe rain on the wet grass, in the wind or the frost towatch you play, and you were always straight, alwaysclean; I knew the game and I watched you."

He looked into his mother's eyes. "I was, mater,always straight, never cheated."

She looked proud and happy. "I know, I know!"she said. "You got that from me, from my side,your grandfather was a splendid sportsman. He roderight across country, straight as the crow flies, overhedges and ditches and walls, always straight, quitestraight."

"Yes," he agreed, "that's how I played, alwaysstraight. But I never, for the life of me, could seewhy."

She shook her head. "Because it's not right, youwouldn't feel the same if you won by cheating."

"You're the best mater in all the world." He smiledat her affectionately. "But you have the intellectuallimitation of the Saxon; history teaches me that it'suseless to argue with you."

Carstairs had been sitting still, staring straightahead; he arose and looked at his watch. "I'm afraidI must be going. I want to get out those figures——"

"Nonsense, my dear chap," Darwen took him bythe arm. "Come on into the other room, and I'llplay you a tune."

"What do you say, Mrs Darwen?" Carstairslooked at her quite seriously.

"Oh, you'll stay, of course."

So he stayed.

"You and the mater," Darwen remarked, as theymade their way into the other room, "ought to geton as thick as thieves, you're both so very Saxon."

Carstairs laughed. "In the light of your recentlittle oration, I'm sure we're both highly flattered,"he said.

On his way home late that night, Carstairs was verythoughtful. "So Darwen was right, there was atouch of the Dago in him; the subtle Italiandiplomatist, crossed with the dashing English-Frenchsportsman, a strange mixture." He pondered deeply.

Next morning on his way to the works, a policeman,an acquaintance made in the dark days of his shiftengineering career, stopped him. "Have you heardthe news, sir?"

"No. What news?"

"Mr Darwen's house was burgled last night."

"Last night? Why I was there up till half-pasteleven. Did they get away with much?"

Policeman X19 smiled. "More than they wanted,sir. Mr Darwen heard a noise and come down with abull's-eye lantern and a revolver. They fired almosttogether; 'e hit Mr Darwen in the arm, and Mr Darwenplugged 'im through the chest. Our men's on histrack, now."

"Good Lord, I must go along and see him." Carstairsturned off towards Darwen's house. As he went upthe garden path, he passed a rather pretty girl, neatlydressed, going out. He raised his hat and also hiseyebrows at the same time.

She stopped and blushed slightly. "Oh, MrCarstairs, I heard Mr Darwen was shot and cameround to inquire if it was serious."

"You didn't tell me," he said.

"No, I didn't know till you'd gone."

He found Darwen having breakfast with his mother.His left arm was bound up, but he seemed jubilant andhappy. His mother also seemed the same. "It wasmost exciting. Something woke me up just abouttwo o'clock. Don't know what it was, but while I layawake I thought I heard somebody, the noise was veryslight. Anyhow I went down to see, accompaniedby a bull's-eye lantern, which I'd only bought the daybefore, and a small bore revolver. I located thedisturber just coming out of the drawing-room, Iwas on the stairs. I hadn't made a sound, but he hada revolver in his hand, and as soon as he saw the lighthe let fly."

"I heard two shots, one just after the other, nearlyfrightened me out of my life—" Mrs Darwen took upthe tale. "The brute tried to kill him, and now hewon't prosecute him. You remember the way he wastalking about fair play last night, Mr Carstairs."

Darwen smiled apologetically. "The poor devilhas had enough, though it's not a very serious wound.I tied him up, gave him some brandy and a pipe oftobacco. He's a unique specimen, born in the woods,and bred at sea, on sailing ships; hardly civilized,but quite a decent chap, very susceptible to music;only he's deficient in moral sensibilities. Likeme." He looked at his mother and laughed.

She looked triumphantly at Carstairs. "And hewon't give him up to the police. He's upstairs inCharlie's bed, and he wants me to nurse him and keepit dark. What do you think of it, Mr Carstairs?"

"Well, if the wound should prove serious——"

"Oh, there's no fear of that."

Carstairs smiled. "It's an interesting experiment,"he remarked.

Darwen pushed back his chair and stood up. "I'llcome down to the works with you," he said. He gothis hat and they went out together.

"By the way," Carstairs remarked as the frontdoor banged behind them, "I met my landlady'sdaughter as I came in."

"Yes. I know. Came to ask if it was anythingserious. Jolly decent of her."

"That's so. I think Mrs Hughes took quite amotherly interest in you. The grub's not half asgood since you left."

"Is that so? I used to give the girl a littleinstruction on the piano occasionally you know, perhapsthat made the difference."

"Ah, I see. I didn't know that."

"No-o. It was only occasionally you know, whenyou were out, and there was nothing else to do. She'srather an intelligent girl."

"Yes, she looks that."

They arrived at the works. Carstairs was proceedingto his own office, but Darwen stopped him."Come into my room for a minute and have a chat." Theysat down in the comfortable, almost luxuriousoffice.

"Who do you think that burglar was?" Darwenlooked at Carstairs with a humorous light flickeringround his big brown eyes.

"Haven't any idea. Sam's in quod, still——"

"Yes—but this is Sam's mate."

A heavy frown gathered on Carstairs' brow. "How'sthat? Did he make a mistake? Was it me he wasafter, or——"

Darwen did not answer for a minute; he watchedCarstairs' face thoughtfully, he seemed to be speculatingon something. "No," he said, at length. "Hemade no mistake, not a single one; for a man whocan neither read nor write he's very intelligent, butthe fates were against him. Do you believe in Fate?" Darwenhad a way of digressing at critical points whichalways jarred on the mathematically direct mind ofCarstairs.

"Oh, hang Fate!"

"My dear chap! you can't. I say he made nomistakes. He came there to kill, to kill me, and he'dhave done it, but I happened to be awake and Ifancied I heard a noise. It was pure fancy, mind,because he was in his bare feet, and silent as a mouse.It was so much fancy, in fact, that I lay in bed debatingwith myself whether I should go down. I reasonedthus: Everything is quite still, but it may have beena noise that woke me. I am awake, why should Inot go down? If I go down to look for burglars, Iought to be prepared to receive them, therefore I willtake a loaded revolver and my nice new bull's-eyelantern. Do you know I felt quite a childish pleasurein lighting up that new bull's-eye lantern."

"How do you know he came to kill you?"

"He said so."

"He said so?"

"Yes. I told him I had a pretty good idea of theplot. The Irishman had given it away, I said."

"The Irishman? What Irishman?"

Darwen smiled. "That's precisely what I wantedto know. There are on the electricity committee,three Irishmen, two Welshmen, four Englishmen, andone Scotsman."

Carstairs remained silent.

"Would you like to make a guess?" Darwen asked.

"Mr Pat Donovan."

"Right in once." Darwen's eyes sparkled. "Youknow a devilish lot about machinery, but I admit Ithought you were rather a fool as far as men wereconcerned."

"Thanks. What's the rest of the yarn?"

"Well, let me go back a bit."

Carstairs sighed.

Darwen laughed. "When we had that unpleasantincident in the committee the other day, I watched'em all, carefully, as I made my points. When Greencalled me a rogue and a liar, I watched 'em all. Theydidn't seem to think it a very grave charge. Butwhen I answered him, when I said, 'You've called mea rogue and a liar, Mr Green, but I think you'll findif you carefully analyse your feelings on the matter,that it's my honesty and not my roguery, that annoysyou. I'm sorry I can't see things as you do, Mr Green,but I'm a sportsman, and anything that appears tome unfair, or that I can't fully grasp, I invariablyexpose to the daylight, and turn and twist it till Ican understand it, or till I let daylight into it. That'smy method, Mr Green, and I may assure you that it isas unalterable as the laws of the Medes and Persians.'"

"How's that for eloquence? We used to run a sortof parliament at school, rather good practice, youknow." Darwen laughed lightly.

"Very good," Carstairs observed.

"So they all agreed, and Mr Pat Donovan (publicanand bookmaker) made a most vehement speech insupport of it. But when I was making it, and severalother little points, I observed that the majority ofthem looked a sort of pea-green colour. Have youever been sea-sick?"

"Heaps of times."

"Then you'll appreciate how they felt. Theywanted to get out and walk but they couldn't, andthe way Donovan and M'Carthy rubbed it into poorold Green was astonishing. The Irish are really awonderful people. I summed it up that there weretwo honest men in all that committee; one was DrJameson at the head of the table, and the other wasMr John Brown, navvy, at the foot of the table.I observed them with the greatest possible interest;the study of mankind is all-enthralling. Thoserepresentatives of the several parts of these tiny littleislands were as distinct as possible; the Irish, loudand violent; the Welshmen, quiet and sly; theEnglishmen, two of them justly indignant, and twojust a trifle uneasy; the Scotsman, like an owl, verywise. Now I'll bet if there were a public inquiryon those men, the two Englishmen who have madeperhaps £20 each, would come off worst. TheIrishmen, who have made perhaps £50 or £60 per annum,would be next. The Welshmen, who have made aboutthe same, would be let off lightly. The two honestEnglishmen would have a stain on their characterstill their dying day, and the Scotsman, who hasprobably been making a steady £500 per annum, wouldleave the court without a stain on his character.People would cheer wildly in the streets, and franticfools would rush forward to shake him by the hand—thenhe'd reluctantly accept a modest salary of £200per week to show himself on the music-hall stage,and send a few simple manly letters to the papersacknowledging the receipt of a large public subscriptionto keep his old mother (who'd been dead years) outof the workhouse."

Carstairs laughed. "You seem down on the Scotch.Personally I liked them when I lived there."

"My dear chap, Scotsmen in Scotland and Scotsmenin England are two different things. Besides,I'm not down on them a bit. The Scotch are asupremely intellectual race, they are eminentlygilt-edged. I knew that the Scotsman would neverattack me, he'd rely on other people doing that.The Englishmen, hampered by their ingrained ideasof fair play, would have sent anonymous letters,warning me to be careful. The Welshmen wouldbe very cautious. Only the Irishmen would act sopromptly. This, of course, is only the opening of theball. I'm going to stir up this hornet's nest properly,the place simply stinks of roguery, and I want yourhelp. You'll stand by me, old chap?"

"Of course I will."

Darwen held out his hand, he looked at Carstairswith great admiration. "You're a pure Englishman,Carstairs, and I honestly believe the Englishman isthe salt of the earth; he's a bit slow in the top story,but he's hard and fit, and he's a pal all the time,which I think is the real keynote of why he owns sucha large section of the earth."

There was a knock at the door and the office boyentered.

"Councillor Donovan to see you, sir."

"Alright; show him in."

A tall, heavy-shouldered, large-headed man with ashort nose and a long, clean-shaven upper lip, red-haired,and with a slight squint, rushed enthusiasticallyup to Darwen and shook him by the hand. "It'sright pleased I am to see ye looking so well and fitafter the dastardly outrage on ye last night, MrDarwen."

Darwen smiled cordially, and returned his graspwarmly. "It's very kind of you, Mr Donovan, butit's the sort of thing that's only likely to occur oncein a lifetime, thank God."

"Oh, yes, yes. Shure, an' such a thing cud niverhappen again in a civilized town like Southville.I'm just off to call a special meeting of the policecommittee this minute, Mr Darwen."

"Ah! that's like you, Mr Donovan! So energetic.There's no fear of their going to sleep while you'reon the council. I'm just off to Dr Jameson myself."

Carstairs watched them for a minute as they stoodhand in hand, smiling compliments into each other'sfaces, then he opened the door quietly and went outinto the engine room. He looked round on hissmoothly-running, even-turning friends; he had beenwont to remark that the applied logic of a runningsteam engine was the thing that appealed to himmost, but now—

"They do seem rather tame after men, somehow,"he said, to himself.

CHAPTER XIII

For a month things went on quite smoothly. Thepolice, although spurred to strenuous efforts bythe glib tongue of Pat Donovan, J.P., absolutely failedto discover any trace of Darwen's assailant. Somethingseemed to be on the mind of Mr Donovan too,but Darwen still smiled. "I'm taking that man intomy service when he's able to get about again, he'sgoing to take on the job of gardener, etc."

"What will Mr Donovan say?"

"He won't know. That's what's worrying himnow, he can't make out what has become of his man.Mr Donovan will move again shortly. The Irishmancan never wait."

They were carrying out extensions at the works,adding a wing to the engine room, and one day, a fewweeks later, Carstairs and Darwen were standing inthe new part, just underneath some scaffolding wheresome men were working under the roof; they werediscussing an important point, but Carstairs noticedthat Darwen seemed a trifle absent-minded. He keptlooking away, up at the men working. Suddenly,without any warning, he pulled Carstairs aside, nextmoment a heavy iron bar crashed down on the concreteat their feet, just as a man's voice sang out,"Look out below."

"By George, that would have corpsed us," Carstairssaid.

"Our friend above there was a little late in warningus," Darwen observed. There was a sort of pleasedlight in his eye, he seemed strangely buoyant. "He'sdrunk," he continued, "I've been watching him, he'sa new man, on to-day. I'll go up and tell the foremanto send him home." He walked over to the ladder,then he stopped, and picking up the iron bar stoodit carefully upright in a bolt hole. "You might gointo my office and get those papers, will you? I'llbe with you in a minute," he said over his shoulderas he mounted the ladder.

Carstairs went away, leaving the engine room empty.

There were three or four men on the scaffold, allworking with their faces to the wall, only one man wasout further than the rest. Darwen walked along theplanking, balancing easily and gracefully; the menbustled ahead with their work as they saw himcoming. He stopped at the man who was furthest out,the man who had dropped the bar.

"My friend," Darwen asked, quietly, "have youanything to say?"

The man looked up with a piteous appeal. He wasa sickly white and as sober as a judge, he trembledin every limb.

Darwen watched him in silence for some minutesas his quivering lips moved inarticulately. He wasa tough-looking citizen with a low, unintelligentforehead, and strong, brutal jaw; his imaginationwas so dull that cruelty had to be brought very nearhome before his sluggish mind began to move. A sortof instinct, apparently, seemed to warn him that hewas in danger; he seemed fascinated by Darwen'seyes, he gazed hopelessly and fixedly into them.He made a movement to edge away.

Darwen was gripping a tie rod over his head andstanding very close to the man, who was sitting onthe plank. He glanced round, no one was looking."Fortune favours the bold," he said. Next minutehis foot shot out, and the man was off the plank.

"Oh, Christ!" he screamed, as he fell through theair.

Darwen shouted for help and clung to his tie rodwith both hands. "That man's killed," he said."He was drunk. He'd got no business to be on ascaffolding in that condition. Where's the foreman?"

They went below. A little crowd gathered andlooked at the man; he was quite still, his head hadstruck the iron bar and his brains were scattered overthe new concrete engine bed.

Carstairs stood by in solemn silence, looking at thething which had been a man. "That's the chap thatdropped the bar, isn't it?" he asked, at length.

"Yes!" Darwen answered. "He was helplesslydrunk. Where's the foreman?" he looked round.

"Here, sir."

"Why did you allow that man to go up there whenyou saw he was drunk?" Darwen was very stern,his eyes seemed to look through the man.

"I didn't notice that he was drunk, sir."

"Didn't notice! What do you mean? That'syour job, isn't it?"

"Well, sir——"

"That'll do! How long has he been with you?"

"Only this morning, sir. He came down with anote from Councillor Donovan asking to give him astart."

"Ah! well, I suppose you can't be responsible forevery strapper that you have to put on."

"No, sir."

Two of his mates reverently covered the remainswith an engine cloth, and Darwen and Carstairs wentaway together. Carstairs was very thoughtful.

"Did you hear what he said?" Darwen asked,when they reached his office.

"Yes, Councillor Donovan."

"Exactly. He seems unfortunate in the choiceof his tools."

"You were up by him when he fell, weren't you?"

"Quite close, but, of course, I hadn't a chance tosave him."

"No, of course. It's a very awkward job."

"Very. I say old chap, come on home and spendthe evening with me, will you? The girl's away, andI know the mater will be pleased to see you."

"Thanks. I—er——"

"Come on, old chap, you've got nothing to do, Iknow."

"Well, I have really got a lot to do, but still—itwill keep."

As they went out together, a girl passed them.

"That's rather a nice-looking girl," Darwen remarked.

"Ye-es; I didn't notice her very particularly."

"Dash it, Carstairs, it's time you did. Why don'tyou get engaged, give you something to do in yourevenings."

"My dear chap——"

"Yes, I know, there's that girl over at your place.She struck me as being a particularly nice girl."

"You mean Bessie Bevengton. She is jollydecent—but——"

"There is some one else?"

"Exactly."

"But you can't marry her."

"I don't know."

"What! Don't be an ass!" Darwen turned andgazed at him in amazement.

"You see she appeals to me in so many ways."

"How? She's handsome, that's all!"

"That's only the beginning, she's so very fit, and sofull of pluck. You see, if I have any kids I want 'emto be sportsmen, to play rugger and that sort of thing."

Darwen laughed aloud. "How old are you,Carstairs?"

"Twenty-three."

"I thought you were fifty."

"Alright, but you've got a lot to thank your materfor."

"By Jove, you're right!" Darwen was verythoughtful for some minutes. "Yes," he said atlength. "I keep myself fit because the mater broughtme up that way, and fitness means so much."

"To a station man it usually means all the differencebetween success and failure; you remember how thatshock I got upset me, for some time Thompson thoughtI was no good." Carstairs was thinking that if ithad not been for that shock their positions at thatmoment might have been reversed.

"That is so, particularly if he's got a crowd likeDonovan and Co. to deal with. Do you know,honestly I never in all my life experienced such athrill of exquisite pleasure as when I exchanged pistolshots with that poor devil on the stairs that night;that's fitness, you know, simply fitness. I'm in thepink of condition." His eyes sparkled like livingjewels.

Carstairs looked at him with open admiration."You are fit," he said.

They were passing St James' gymnasium, a suddenidea seemed to seize Darwen.

"Come on in," he said, "and let's have a turnwith the gloves. I've never had a turn withyou."

"Alright," Carstairs answered.

So they went inside. The place was empty, so theyhad it to themselves; they changed and donnedboxing gloves. They looked a superb pair of men asthey stood up facing each other, in long flanneltrousers and singlets; Carstairs was a trifle shorterand a trifle heavier; neither of them was an inchunder six feet. For half an hour they boxed, hittingfast and furious, and although Carstairs was as quickas a panther, Darwen was quicker, and had distinctlythe best of the bout.

"By Jove, old chap! You do put 'em in," heobserved, as Carstairs landed a heavy right hander.

"Yours are fairly hefty, too," Carstairs answered,as Darwen knocked him against the wall.

Then they had a cold shower, dressed, and wentback to Darwen's home, feeling at peace with all theworld, forgetting Councillor Donovan and the deadman in the engine-room and all other troubles.

Darwen let himself in and took Carstairs into thedrawing-room. "Sit down in that big chair, old chap,and I'll play you a tune. The mater'll soon come inwhen she hears the music."

Carstairs threw himself back in the deep paddedchair with a sigh of content. "I envy not in anymood," he started and stopped. "Where's thatfrom, Darwen?"

"Tennyson's 'In Memoriam.'" Darwen wasturning over some music folios.

"Yes, that's it. I remember. I picked it up oneday in the digs and that caught my eye. It goes onto say something else about noble rage and linnets,or something, but what I 'envy not' is the man who'snever been tired."

"I agree with you. Being tired, with the pleasantcontemplation of work well done and sitting in acomfortable chair, is heaven."

"Precisely. And you never get tired, really,pleasantly tired, unless you're fit. The man who'snot fit, doesn't appreciate comfort or discomfort,he's only half alive."

"That is so. I think this is your favourite." Darwencommenced to play, lightly and slowly.

"That's that nocturne business, isn't it?"

"One of them. There's a book full."

"Well, they're jolly good." He lay far back inthe chair and spread his legs wide in front of him,his thoughts wandered pleasantly under the slowstimulation of the music. Darwen himself seemedto revel in it too, they were silent for some time;when the door opened and Mrs Darwen came in.Carstairs, sitting motionless in the chair, turned hishead at the sound, and then suddenly sprang up.

"Ah! why did you do that? I wouldn't havedisturbed you for worlds." She held out her hand."How are you?"

"First class, thanks."

"I could see that from the way you were sitting,men only sit quite still like that when they've had agood day at something. When Charlie used to comehome—why, what have you been doing?" she lookedclosely at one of his eyes.

Carstairs rubbed it thoughtfully. "I don't thinkit'll get black," he said.

"He's knocked my mouth all side ways, too, mater!"Darwen said over his shoulder.

Mrs Darwen laughed. "What would the councillorsthink if they saw you two knocking each other aboutlike that?"

"The councillors, dear mater, are beneath contempt.Let's talk about something pleasant. I've beenurging Carstairs to get married."

"Who to?"

"Oh, anybody."

"Is he in love?"

"That's just it, he thinks he is."

"Well, you marry the girl you're in love with, MrCarstairs, and don't take any notice of anybody."

"But she's impossible, mater."

"What do you mean by impossible? I don'tbelieve in impossibility. If you're in love with the girland she's in love with you, marry her, Mr Carstairs,and snap your fingers at everybody. It's better foryou and for the girl and for everybody concerned.I hate those busy bodies who talk about 'impossiblemarriages.'" She seemed strangely excited.

Carstairs looked steadily into her excited, inflamedeyes. "I agree with you entirely, Mrs Darwen.The girl I'm in love with is a gipsy. She's a servantin a big house near my home."

"A servant?" Mrs Darwen seemed in doubt for amoment. Then the look of resolution again hardenedin her eyes. "It doesn't matter what she is. Are youreally in love?"

"I was."

"Ah! I see you're not. Once in love, always inlove. Very few people really fall in love. Theyhaven't got it in them. It's a matter of pluck.You've got it in you. When you're in love, you'llknow it, and so will the girl, or I'm very muchmistaken." She looked at Carstairs' steady eyes andfirm mouth with a sort of motherly admiration.

"I was nineteen then, and I met her quite byaccident."

"One always does," she interposed.

"I have not seen her since, except once, throughthe window, and—well, it was very bad indeed forsome time after that."

She laughed. "That's it. That's it." she said."How long ago was that?"

"About two years."

"And you still think of her?"

"Well—occasionally."

"Ah, Mr Carstairs, you're badly hit." She leanedtowards him in an affectionate, motherly manner."You're badly hit," she grew pensive all of a sudden."It may be good, or it may be bad. 'Tis a Providence,I suppose. You know you're very selfish, Mr Carstairs."

"Me? Mrs Darwen!" Carstairs was amazed.

"You needn't be so surprised, it's a universalmasculine attribute. Charlie can explain it, heunderstands it."

"Result of heredity, relic of the chimpanzee,"Darwen remarked casually.

"What is she like? Handsome?" Mrs Darwen asked.

"Very; and full of pluck."

"Full of pluck! Ah!" she gave a deep sigh."They feel it most, always." She seemed very sadall of a sudden. "What's that bit of poetry, Charlie,about the strongest and the wisest, you know."

"Is it true, O Christ in Heaven, that the wisest suffer most,
That the strongest wander farthest, and most hopelessly are lost."

"That's it. You're very strong, Mr Carstairs.Brutal almost, and wise."

"I should like to be, but I'm afraid I'm rather weakand silly at times."

She gazed at him steadily with a puzzled air."You're different," she said, "you're not like the menof my generation. Are you a horseman?"

"No, I'm an engineer."

"That's the difference, I expect. It's a new type tome."

Darwen swung round on his music stool. "It'sa new type to the world, mater; a sort of thinkingmachine, getting the human emotions thoroughlyunder control; the horseman was a sort of embryoengineer, he utilised the forces of nature accordingto his lights, but he was essentially a passionate man,he opposed his will to the brute's will. The engineerhas to do with inanimate lumps of metal, and it'sno use hitting them. Have you ever observed,Carstairs, the old type of fitter let go with his hammerat a job that's baffling him, the younger generationis much less so, he thinks. Nowadays every oneis becoming more or less of an engineer, and it'sgood, it makes necessary a higher standard ofintelligence, of self-reliance, and self-control. Thenation of the future is the nation with the bestengineers."

"It seems to me," Mrs Darwen remarked, "thatyou are substituting a coldly brutal type for a passionatelybrutal type. Men are very much nearer animalsthan women."

"The engineer has also to deal with men as well asengines, which has a humanizing effect on him, MrsDarwen," Carstairs said.

"Yes! Fortunately Providence has provided asafety valve for his pent up emotions; you can'tpossibly imagine the intense mental relief of growlingat a stoker because the steam's low, when it's notreally the man's fault at all."

Carstairs laughed. "I rather like stokers myself,they're a rough and ready crowd, they'd knock youdown for the price of a drink. And thelanguage—Shakespeare isn't in it."

"They do swear, but if you think a minute you'lladmit that the average stoker isn't in it with theaverage engineer; it's the same as everything else,it takes brains and feelings to swear well."

"I wonder if women will ever be engineers."

"My dear mater! Women are the finest engineersin the world now, they engineer us poor men, firstto the altar, then to the graveyard or to thework-house. Men run engines, business, etc., women runmen. The world is run by women, not by men. Iremember talking to a stoker once about matrimony.'It's alright for a change,' he said, 'but it ain't no usepermanent.' I suggested that a little kindnessmight improve matters. ''Taint no use,' he said.I then ventured the opinion that to go home drunkand break up the furniture, sometimes has aconciliatory effect. ''Taint no use,' he repeated again.'Stop supplies for a bit,' I suggested. ''Taint no use,'he repeated. 'Well, clear out.' ''Taint no use,' heanswered. 'I've stayed home and helped 'em in thehouse, I've give 'em all my pay. I've come homedrunk and broke things, I've chucked boiling waterover 'em, and beat 'em with the poker, but ''tain't nouse,' he shook his head with infinite sadness, 'youalways gets had,' he said. He was a thoughtful,intelligent sort of man, and he'd had three wives, sohe ought to know."

Mrs Darwen laughed. "He was a thorough sortof man, anyway, and women like a thorough man."

"So do men, Mrs Darwen. Personally my dailyprayer is to be preserved from the wishy-washy foolwho does what he's told in unquestioning obedience."

"Listen to the Saxon expounding his creed, mater.'Oh God, give me some one to have a row with.'"

Carstairs smiled. "If you'd lived in Scotland you'dknow that the first thing the Scotch working man doesis to flatly contradict you to your face; then he arguesthe point, if you let him. The Scotchman is naturallymathematical, he is not willing to accept your wordthat you're the boss, he wants proof. I like theScotch."

"They offer unlimited possibilities of a row."

"I don't like rows; I like to appeal to a man'sreason."

Darwen drove one fist with a bang into the palm ofhis other hand. "The logic of the Englishman,"he said.

"It seems to me that's the bed rock of all logic.I think that it was you who told me that HerbertSpencer and Ruskin both arrived at the sameconclusion."

"Perhaps I did; I forget. But anyway, all of youpeople make the mistake of dividing people into types,classes and creeds. 'Nature recognizes neitherkingdoms nor classes, no orders, no genera, nosub-genera, nature recognizes nothing butindividuals.' That's Lamarck."

"Is it? Well, I hope he won't do it again, becausehe upsets all your elaborate theories about Saxons,Celts, and so on."

"Not at all; he doesn't say that they don't run intypes, that large classes and races of men are not aslike as two peas in almost all respects, he simply saysthat nature makes no effort to preserve them as theyare, or, because of their numbers, to save them fromannihilation. A whole class, a whole creed, or a wholerace may exist simply for the benefit, and to assistin the development of, one individual, and when heceases to have need of them, puff! they are wiped out."

"A creed formerly known as Kingcraft, I think."

"Exactly. 'The King can do no wrong' simplymeans that if he does wrong, he ceases to be a king,and the only proof that he has done wrong is the factthat he has failed to keep his crown. That is theteaching of old Nick, and personally I expand thetheorem to embrace all humanity, every man shouldbe a little king unto himself. That is to say, he mustuse his brains and control his passions."

Mrs Darwen sighed. "The inward passions aresometimes the voice of God, and sometimes the voiceof the Devil," she said.

"There you are! and how are you to distinguish?Tennyson tells us that 'doubt is devil-born,' andcertainly constant doubt and hesitation play the devilwith a man's mind and body. My theory is 'neveranalyse an impulse. Act on it with the bestconjunction of your reason.' Here's old Carstairs,analysing, theorizing, vacillating, hesitating as towhether he's in love or not."

Mrs Darwen stood up. "It's hard to say whichis best," she said. "You're like, and yet very unlike,your father, Charlie." She went over to a smalltable and picked up a large album. "Have you everseen Charlie's father, Mr Carstairs?"

"No, I don't think I have." He took the volumeon his knees, and she leaned over his shoulder as heturned the pages.

Darwen swung round again on his stool and playedlow, soft music on the piano.

"There! That's me when I was a girl," she said,arresting Carstairs' hand.

He looked closely and intently at a full lengthportrait of a remarkably handsome and well builtgirl, dressed in a riding habit, sitting on a saddle.The features were clear-cut and regular, nothing harshand nothing coarse; the mouth was firm, and the eyesbold and defiant. It seemed the portrait of a happy,rollicking tom-boy. The resemblance to the womanat his side seemed rather faint.

"You were beautiful," he said, "that's the typeI admire."

"Ah! well, perhaps not a beauty, but I was usuallyconsidered good looking."

On the opposite page was a tall man, handsome,big-nosed, but he seemed deficient in chin.

Carstairs looked at him closely for some time."He's handsome too. Not very much like Charlie,and yet—the face seems familiar. I seem somehowto have met that man, sort of family resemblance toCharlie, I suppose. You cannot say that anyindividual feature is like, and yet—you know. Washe musical?"

"Oh very. He had a music degree, at Oxford,you know."

"Had he really? A sort of brilliant, all round man,like Charlie."

Suddenly the little gong sounded outside in thehall, and Mrs Darwen stood up. "There's dinner.Let's go in," she moved out, and they followed.

Darwen sat down opposite Carstairs, he caught holdof his chin with both hands. "Old Carstairs gave mesuch a whack on the jaw that I'm afraid he's jammedthe hinges, mater. I hope you've got something niceand not tough. How's the new maid? Hullo!"

Carstairs had half risen from his chair and stoodstaring like a man transfixed. Following the directionof his gaze, Darwen's eyes rested for the first time onhis mother's new maid who was bringing in the dinner.She was tall and beautifully proportioned, everymovement showed a lissome supple grace, and thefeatures were equal to anything he had ever seencarved in marble; the jet black hair and deep browneyes gave him the clue. This was Carstairs' gipsymaid.

Her face was the colour of a boiled beet as she bentdown and placed a dish in front of Mrs Darwen.

Carstairs watched her for a minute with a sort ofamazed frown. Her colour faded to the normalagain, and as she raised her head she looked into hiseyes for a second without a vestige of recognition.

Darwen observed them both, his eyes weresupernaturally bright.

Carstairs subsided into his chair and bent over hissoup.

Mrs Darwen glanced from one to the other andglanced at the maid. Then she smiled.

The conversation went on in spasmodic jerks tillthe maid left the room.

"Don't you think I've got a nice-looking maid, MrCarstairs?"

"I do. In fact she's the girl I was telling you about."

"I thought so, the fates arrange these things.She's lovely; I thought when I was engaging herthat it was a good job Charlie was shortly going toget married."

"You're mistaken, mater. Charlie is not shortlygoing to get married."

"Not! What do you mean?"

"It's broken off."

"You haven't jilted her, Charlie?"

"No, dear mater, she's jilted me."

"Nonsense."

"Well, she broke it off. You see—you rememberthat girl at the diggings, Carstairs, I used to give hera few music lessons and that sort of thing. Well,she got hold of Isabel and told her all about it; ofcourse I couldn't deny it. It seemed to me she tooka very narrow-minded view of it. So we broke offthe engagement. Anyway, I could never have runsmoothly with her, besides, the old Doctor's too muchof an autocrat."

"Oh! but you could have pacified her surely,she'll forget that."

"I'm afraid not, mater. The more we talked, thefurther apart we seemed to get. I said I was sorryand all that, but this has been coming on for sometime. We haven't been hitting it at all well formonths past."

Mrs Darwen and Carstairs were silent.

"As a matter of fact," Darwen proceeded, "I'mgetting sick of this place and all the people in it, Iwant a change. Your people were good enough toask me to come and see them whenever I liked. Doyou think they could put me up next week-end,Carstairs? I like having a chat with your guv'nor.I must admit I'm rather sick over thisbusiness—disappointed, you know. I had built up anidol—you don't understand these things, Carstairs. If Istopped to think now I should feel suicidal."

"Don't talk nonsense, my boy. Can't you and MrCarstairs go away for the week end?"

"Not together, mater, we mustn't both leave theworks. If Carstairs' people could do with me for theweek end——"

"I can understand these things better than youthink, Darwen. The people will be very pleased tosee you, I know." Carstairs was very sober. "Thefeminine mind is incomprehensible."

Mrs Darwen leaned over towards him. "I'll helpyou, Mr Carstairs. Come and spend Sunday with mewhen Charlie's away. Perhaps if I called on Isabel,Charlie—

"You can't restore a shattered idol, mater. It'smy fault, I know, but a fellow expects——"

"Everything," Mrs Darwen said sadly, "and somewomen give it, ah! yes, some women give it."

CHAPTER XIV

A few days later, the inquest on the man whohad been killed at the works was held.Darwen gave evidence that he was going up to tellthe man to be more careful as he had just droppedan iron bar, when he tried to get up on his feet andslipped off the plank. Several men who had beenworking there at the time corroborated his evidence,and a verdict of 'accidental death' was broughtin—with a censure on the foreman for allowing anintoxicated man to go up on high scaffolding.

Councillor Donovan met Darwen afterwards. "Youseem to be having a run of bad luck, Mr Darwen."

"Yes, we have been rather unfortunate lately;still 'tis a Providence' you know, Mr Donovan.If men will get drunk——"

"Sure! Yes! Will you come and have a whiskyyourself, Mr Darwen?"

"Thanks, I will."

They adjourned to a saloon bar near.

"You're puttin' down a lot of plant, Mr Darwen,making quite a new place of it."

"Yes, the old stuff is quite inadequate for ourincreasing load," Darwen leaned forward confidentiallyand spoke very low. "Do you know, Mr Donovan,I'm bringing to light some very funny things in theseworks."

"You don't say—" Mr Donovan's eyes were wideand his cheek was pale.

"Between ourselves, I've got almost clear proofthat a considerable number of men who didn't existwere drawing regular weekly pay, and the plant—"he shrugged his shoulders.

"Never! Mr Darwen."

"Not a word! I don't want to make a scandal,but I can't have any unpleasantness on the council,so! of course, if it becomes necessary in self defence—"

"True for ye. True for ye."

"I want a friend on the council, Mr Donovan.I've broken off my engagement with Dr Jameson'sdaughter—and there's no knowing how he'll take it.I must have a friend, a really stalwart friend, or elseI shall perhaps be compelled to take unpleasant action,which would be very regrettable, very regrettableindeed I'm going to apply for a rise, a £100 rise."

"Ye'll have a friend, Mr Darwen, a rale good friend.I can promise ye that."

They walked out together and down the street;they stopped at the corner where their ways divided.

"Good-bye, Mr Donovan. I'm going away onSaturday to spend a week-end with my friend, theVicar of Chilcombe, on the Cotswold Hills, you know.My nerves are rather run down, unpleasant incidentsseem to be dogging me; the air there is very fine,I shall take some good country walks."

"Ah! ye need a rest. Ye've been working veryhard, Mr Darwen. And may the devil take ye,"Mr Donovan added under his breath as he turnedaway.

Similar interviews Darwen had that day withseveral other councillors, and impressed on them allthat he needed a friend on the council. Two dayslater he left for Chilcombe; Carstairs saw him off."Remember me to all the people," he said.

"I will, old chap, and you'll hustle 'em on with thework, won't you?"

They shook hands cordially.

On Sunday Carstairs called on Mrs Darwen. Shewas watching for him at the window, and came outto open the door herself.

"Oh, Mr Carstairs, she's gone, she left last night."

"Gone!" Carstairs repeated with a disappointmenthe made no endeavour to conceal.

"A small boy came and called her away to herpeople. They're encamped about ten miles away fromhere, and her mother is very ill."

Carstairs sat down. "Her mother," he repeatedabsently. "That old gipsy woman, the Queen of thegipsies, she told my fortune, no, it was the kid. Shesaid, 'You're a winner, you'll always win.' Lord,I haven't won much yet. I'm too slow. Mrs Darwen,I shall have to hustle."

She watched him with sympathy and admiration.He wasn't knocked down, he was spurred to furtherenergy; she liked that sort, it was the breed she wasused to—the thorough bred.

"Where is this place, Mrs Darwen? I'll walk overthere to-day."

"It's over by the new water works. I forget thename of the place."

"Dash it! I can't go to-day, and leave the workswhile Charlie's away."

"Would it really matter?" she asked.

"Probably not, but you never can tell, and he askedme not to leave."

"You know, Mr Carstairs, Charlie has got a verytrue friend and assistant in you; he thinks a lot ofyou, he told me that you had done more towardsmaking the works pay than any man."

"Charlie's a jolly good sort, Mrs Darwen! We werechums from the start. He's given me a tremendousleg up too."

She smiled with infinite pleasure; she could listento such remarks all day long. "I don't like his beingmixed up with that lodging-house girl, though. Doyou know her?"

"Oh, I see her once or twice a day when she bringsin the grub and that sort of thing. She seems alright.You know, Charlie's such a handsome chap that thegirls won't leave him alone."

Mrs Darwen smiled again, then sighed. "Hisfather was the same," she said.

Carstairs changed the subject. "What do you thinkof your maid, Mrs Darwen?"

"She's superbly handsome."

"Yes, she's improved. She knows it too, I think."

"She'd be a fool if she didn't; the postman, thebutcher's boy, the milkman and all the lot are simplywild about her."

Carstairs frowned unconsciously.

"But she takes no notice of them. I sit and watchthem at this window. It's very amusing. They tryall their time-honoured wiles, whistling and winking,etc. She quells them easily. The butcher boyblushed as red as a piece of his own beef. She'sgot quite the drawing-room manner."

"Why did she leave Lady Cleeve's, do you know?"

"She gave no explanation, simply that she wantedto leave. She has exceptional characters."

Carstairs frowned again. "Dash it! It does jaron one."

"I suppose it does, but no man need ever beashamed of that girl. She speaks perfectly correctEnglish."

"She did before, I think."

"Do you know, I rather believe she has some ideaof going on the stage."

"On the stage! Why?"

"Well, she reads Shakespeare and she sings verywell indeed."

"Er—have you heard her?"

"Oh yes. I asked her to come into the drawing-roomone evening, bearing in mind her possible relationto you, you know. Charlie says she's very highlygifted that way, and he's going to give her a littleinstruction on the piano."

Carstairs stood up suddenly. "Charlie and I aregoing to quarrel," he said with a little laugh, but hiseyes flashed fire. He sat down as promptly as he hadgot up.

She came over and put a hand on his arm; she wasvery serious. "You don't like that business of thelodging-house gin, any more than I do. I shall makea point of always being in the room when Charlie'steaching her."

Carstairs looked gloomily at the carpet. "Charlie'ssuch a handsome chap, he plays and sings and doeseverything so well; he's got all the luck."

She looked at him very sadly. "You're a betterman than Charlie, Mr Carstairs. I'm his mother,and it goes to my heart to say it, but I can't help it.I suppose I spoilt him. He's had his own way somuch. I shall tell that girl so, it if seems necessary."

"It's no use, Mrs Darwen."

"You won't quarrel with Charlie, Mr Carstairs?"

He sat silent. "I can't promise," he said after apause.

"Ah! I was afraid so. The only friend he's got,the only chum he ever had; plenty of acquaintances,but no friends, no real friends. Don't you quarrelwith him, Mr Carstairs, please don't. I feel you dohim so much good, I know it, he says so himself andI'm afraid he'll get wild and go to the bad. Promiseme you'll always be his friend."

Carstairs stood up and looked steadily into her eyes."I can't promise, Mrs Darwen, because I may notbe able to keep it, but I'll try."

"Ah!" she said, "if only Charlie were like you."

"When is she coming back?" he asked.

"To-morrow, she said, but I told her not to hurryif her mother were really ill."

"Can you send her out somewhere—say to thegeneral post office, at eight o'clock in the evening.I'll meet her and tackle her alone."

"Yes, I will, at eight o'clock."

"Thanks very much," he said, and took up his hatto go.

"You'll not say anything to Charlie—yet?"

Carstairs stopped to consider. He liked to haveeverything above board; this secrecy rather savouredof double dealing to him.

"No-o," he said at length. "I shall tell him assoon as I get an opportunity that I'm going to makethe running with that girl if I can."

"Oh, you can, I know you can."

"By the way, what's her name?"

"Darkey—Edith Darkey."

"Good Lord, what a name!"

"The relic of a nickname, I expect. She may notreally be a gipsy at all."

"Perhaps not. It doesn't matter anyway." Heshook hands and left. He went down to the worksand sat in the little watch office chatting with the shiftengineer for half an hour, then he strolled round andlooked at engines and boilers and had a few wordswith stokers and engine-drivers. Sunday in an electricitygenerating station is a particularly doleful time;when half the place is dark and three quarters of theplant idle, and the staff, a mere ghost of its normalweek-day number; when men with unusually cleanhands and faces and a general semi-Sunday appearanceflit silent and spectre-like across the dreary, emptyengine-room, and silent, idle machines cast uncannyshadows in the unlighted parts of the building. Itwas rather pleasant to Carstairs, as he wandered round,to contemplate the bad old days when he himself usedto be tied by the leg as it were, to this place for eighthours at a time. He was just going out when he almostran into Mr Donovan and another councillor, resplendentin frock coats, white waistcoats and silk hats.

"Ah, Mr Carstairs, is Mr Darwen about?"

"No, he's gone away for a week-end."

"Is he now! That's disappointing, we'll just havea look round anyway. Ye might come with us andexplain, Mr Carstairs."

"Er—yes. Certainly."

Mr Donovan became enthusiastic. "He's a cleverchap is Mr Darwen, a wonderful clever chap. Lookat this, Mr Jenkins" (as Carstairs switched on the arclight in the new part). "An' all out of his own head.Ah! he's a clever chap. We mustn't lose him, MrJenkins."

"No, indeed, Mr Donovan."

"Ah! an' is that the place where the poor fellowwas killed?"

"Well! Well! Indeed now, Mr Donovan, theLord takes us all in His own good time."

"True for ye. An' Mr Darwen tried to save him,so he did. Look at this, Mr Jenkins! engine beds,see! one, two, three. Three new engines, is it,Mr Carstairs?"

"Indeed now! Three! It's a lot of work for oneman, too."

"So it is, Mr Jenkins, an' he deserves more payfor the doing of it."

"Indeed and he does, Mr Donovan."

So they went on these two Celts, the small built,swarthy, insidious, oily Welshman, and the brawny,hearty, crafty Irishman; till Carstairs felt an actualphysical nausea creeping over him. He had drawnout most of these plans himself, working night andday, calculating, measuring, thinking. And Darwenwas going to get a rise. Darwen who had donenothing but stick out for considerably larger enginesthan Carstairs thought necessary. Darwen who hadeverything and was even now ensnaring the only girlthat Carstairs ever cared for. Jack Carstairs with thegreat, big, English heart, felt really sick.

At last they went and Carstairs wished them good-nightat the door. Shortly after he walked home aloneby himself, ruminating on many things.

Next day Darwen returned late in the afternoon.He could read Carstairs like a book, and as he shookhands he saw that something was on his friend's mind.

"What's up, Carstairs?" he asked.

"I called on your mater yesterday, and the girlwas gone."

"Ah, the new servant!" Carstairs noted thatDarwen was really interested.

"Yes, the new servant. I intend to marry thatgirl, if she'll have me."

"Do you really? It'll rather wreck your prospectsin this town. I mean to say, I shan't be staying verymuch longer, I expect."

"Oh, rats to this town, I'm sick of it anyway.But why are you going to leave just when you'regoing to get a rise?"

"How do you know I am going to get a rise?"

"Donovan and Jenkins were in here last night,and I gathered so from their remarks."

"Aha! Mr Donovan, was he? Come on downto old Donovan's pub and have a drink and see mechaff him, he can't for the life of him make out what'sbecome of the hired assassin he sent to shoot me.Do you know, I often wonder what would become of'em if they brought off the event."

Carstairs was moody. "Why are you going toleave just when your mater's got settled?"

"Dear boy, I want more money. The maximumof this job is about £500 or £600 per annum. Youdon't imagine that's going to hold me! I want a risesimply as a testimonial, don't you see? London's myplace! One of the big London jobs is what I'm after.Get your hat and come on down to old Donovan's pub,and I'll tell you all the news about your people aswe go."

Silently Carstairs got his hat and they went downthe street together.

"Well, I had a jolly good time," Darwen started."One of your brothers was home—Stanley. He'sgoing in for the law, isn't he?"

"Yes; been going in for it a long time now."

"Is that so? It's a long job, the law. Anyway,they were all very fit and well. Your mater was verysympathetic over my engagement being broken off.I saw the Bevengtons. Jolly decent girl thatBevengton girl. Can't understand why you don'tfix it up there."

"I explained the reason just now."

"Quite so, so you did. By the way, the girl's notgone away altogether, has she?"

"No, her mother's ill, be back to-day possibly." Carstairswas watching him closely and he saw theold, old light that he knew flicker up into Darwen'seyes.

They reached Councillor Donovan's hotel: a notvery high class place near the docks. Darwen calledfor drinks. "Is Mr Donovan about?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"You might tell him that some one would like tospeak to him, will you?"

"What name, sir?"

Darwen paused. "Er—Carstairs," he said. Carstairslooked at his chief in questioning surprise.

"Wait a minute," Darwen said in answer to hislook. "Keep your eyes wide open and your mouthshut."

Next minute Mr Donovan appeared, jovial andhearty, his waistcoat of many colours expanded to itsutmost limit. He stopped dead and turned a sicklylight purple hue when he caught sight of Darwen.He pulled himself together in an instant, however,and advanced with outstretched hand. "How doyou do? I thought it was Mr Carstairs." Surpriseand apprehension were still in his eyes.

Darwen took him by the hand and smiled into hisface, his delightful, winning smile. "What are yougoing to have, Mr Donovan? Whisky? Have abrandy, you don't seem quite up to the mark. Sitdown, my dear chap." He pushed him into a chairfacing them. "That's better; you were surprisedto see me, Mr Donovan?"

"Pleased, Mr Darwen; I'm always pleased to seea friend."

"That's like you, Mr Donovan. Here's yourhealth, your very good health, and may you live avery long time and be very happy."

"Same to you, Mr Darwen, and you, Mr Carstairs."

Carstairs raised his glass without a word.

Darwen carefully wiped his small, neat moustachewith a snowy white pocket handkerchief. "I had amost pleasant week-end, but—" he leaned confidentiallyforward across the little round table—"Now,don't be alarmed, Carstairs—it was marred bya somewhat unpleasant incident." He paused andlooked at Mr Donovan in silence for about half aminute. Carstairs watched them both, calmlyobservant. Darwen took another drink. Mr Donovanseemed in painful suspense.

"Ye're not hurt, are ye?" he blurted out atlength.

"Me! Mr Donovan? Oh no, not a scratch. Butthey found a poor devil under my window, yourwindow, Carstairs."

"Get on wid yer story, man! What was the matterwith him?"

Darwen turned to Carstairs. "He was a red-headedman, a sailor or marine fireman. Lord knows howhe came to get up there among the sheep and theshepherds."

"But what was the matter with him?"

"He was dead!" Darwen looked Mr Donovansteadily in the eyes. "His ribs were crushed in likean egg shell, and his neck was broken."

"Good God! Did he fall from the roof, or what?"

"Well!" Darwen shrugged his shoulders. "Itseemed almost as though he had been hugged by apolar bear. In fact, that's the local theory, that hehad a performing bear or animal of some sort whichturned on him. They are searching the woods now;there's quite a reign of terror in the neighbourhood."

Carstairs stood up. "I say, I think I had betterrun home and see the old people."

Darwen caught him by the coat and pulled him intohis seat. "It's alright, old chap, your brother's there,and they've got a lot of extra police from Gloucester andother places." Carstairs sat down again with anundecided air. He hadn't much confidence in his brother.

"It's alright; he's got a gun and a heavy servicerevolver, and Lord knows what." Darwen was speakingto Carstairs about his brother. He always admiredthe superb confidence Carstairs had in himself; heplaced no reliance on other people. He still seemedunsatisfied. "Look here, old chap, I'm convincedthat your old people will be alright."

Carstairs considered. "The guv'nor can take careof himself as a rule," he said thoughtfully, "andStanley's alright, but too theoretical—you can'ttheorise with bears. I say, we can spare Bounce for afew days; I'll stand the expense and send him overwith a revolver to sleep in the house for a bit. Hecan drive in tin tacks at twenty yards—and I've seenBounce on breakdowns." He seemed quite relievedand sat down again in peace.

"Who's Bounce?" Mr Donovan asked with interest.

"Oh, an engine driver at the works."

"Ah!" Mr Donovan made a mental note of thename and address of the man who could drive in tintacks at twenty yards.

Darwen took a drink. "This is the third occasionon which I have had a narrow escape of my life!" heobserved.

Mr Donovan started like a frightened horse. "Whatdo you mean?" he asked.

"I'm a great believer in luck, that's all. A newservant of my mother's, a gipsy girl, told my fortunethe other day. 'You'll have several excitingadventures, but you'll always be very lucky,' she said."

"She told me I should always be a winner," Carstairsremarked.

Mr Donovan looked from one to the other. Hewas very superstitious himself, but he didn't knowwhether they were in jest or earnest.

"Yes," Darwen continued, "this is the third andlast attempt. There'll be no more." He rose andheld out his hand with a smile.

Mr Donovan's face was like a lump of dough.

"By the way," Darwen said, "I was forgettingwhat I came for. Carstairs is putting in for a rise too,a £50 rise. I suppose I can rely on your assistance,Mr Donovan?"

"Ye can that, Mr Darwen." A little colour cameback into his face. "The meeting's on Wednesday,"he said.

Outside Darwen clapped Carstairs on the back."There you are, old chap! Now we'll go and composeyour letter to the committee asking for a £50 rise."

"Thanks very much, but what's the bottom of thisdevil's business, Darwen? How was that man killed,and why isn't that beast in there in prison?"

"My dear fellow, 'that beast' has got brains. Iconsider Donovan a distinctly clever man. It's onlythe fools who go to prison. I wish you could come intothe committee to hear old Donovan speak, Irishmenare born orators." Darwen spoke quite affectionately.They passed a policeman; he saluted Darwenrespectfully.

"Fine, big, brawny chap, isn't he? Gets aboutthirty shillings a week, and what he can pinch. Trulythe English are a mighty people. 'Set a fool to catcha fool.' That man touches his hat to the rogues andyanks honest simpletons off to gaol. I can'tunderstand how you can be so wrapped up in simple,silly engines, when these great, complicated humanmachines called towns and cities are so vastly moreinteresting. They follow the same rules, it is wellto study engines before you study men: theinterdependence of parts, the distribution of stresses, andthe vast invisible force which you call steam orelectricity, and I call morals and sentiments. I never ceaseto wonder at the vastness and complexity of nature.

"Our little systems have their day.
They have their day and cease to be.
They are but broken lights of Thee,
And Thou, O Lord, art more than they."

Tennyson was essentially the modern poet. Nature,to him, meant the universe and the controller of theuniverse. So it does to me. I'm what you wouldcall a truly religious man, Carstairs. Life is full ofpleasure to me. I very seldom feel what you callanger. My emotions are well under control. Themisery of the world is due to uncontrolled emotion.I had a most pleasant conversation with your guv'norand Dr Bevengton on Sunday about the same thing." Heturned and faced Carstairs suddenly. "You knowI was never really in love with Isabel Jameson: theonly way I could convince Pa, who was chairman ofthe electricity committee, that I was a good engineer,was by getting engaged to his daughter. She wassimply a cog in the gearing that linked his intellect withmine. These things are necessary for universal peace."

"Quite so. And you're going to marry BessieBevengton for a similar reason."

Darwen laughed. "The Saxons used to fight withsledge hammers," he said. "They're still adept withthe weapon. A woman is simply a ragged bundle ofemotions badly tied up, with the ends trailing out in alldirections, and it's those trailing ends that upset halfthe world. A man never loves as the men in booksdo."

"I think your remark about the policeman touchinghis hat to the rogues was most appropriate."

Darwen laughed aloud. "The Saxon could neverhandle the rapier," he said. "You're built for aslogger, Carstairs, and I expect you'd break mostmen's hearts at that game, but not mine, I can avoidyou, I'm too nimble. Will you come home and spendthe evening with me?"

"No, thanks, not to-night."

"Oh yes, you will, you're not busy."

"No, I have an engagement."

Darwen raised his eyebrows and shot a quick glanceat him. He wondered whether Carstairs was tryinghis prentice hand at lying.

"In that case of course—" he said, and they walkedback to the works in silence.

CHAPTER XV

That evening Carstairs hung round the postoffice from half-past seven to half-past eight,he was thinking of going away when Mrs Darwen'snew maid turned the corner at the end of the street,he waited under the big arc light outside the mainentrance. As she came into the light, he stepped upand raised his hat.

"Good evening, Miss Darkey," the name almoststuck in his throat.

"Good evening, Mr Carstairs," she gave him apolite bow.

"How is your mother?" he asked.

"Better, thank you." She hardly seemed inclinedto stop.

"What was the matter?" he asked. He was ratherat his wits' end for something to say to detain her.

"I don't know," she answered. She looked at him,he thought, with a little amusem*nt. "We gipsiesnever give names to our complaints. It may have beenappendicitis, or fever, or a cold. Mother took herbtea, and she's better now."

"I'm glad of that," he said and stuck.

She passed on into the post office.

"Well, I'm damned," he said to himself. He wasbeginning to lose his temper. He watched her purchasesome stamps at the counter—her profile seemed evenbetter than her full face; the contemplation of herbeauty cast a spell over him, for once in his lifeCarstairs felt rather hopeless. She did not look like aservant in her best clothes, but like a lady in poorcirc*mstances. He noticed the obsequious civilitiesof the clerk at the counter, and thought what a pitifulass the fellow was. He stepped up to her again as shecame out, a little blaze of anger in his eyes.

"Look here! What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing," she answered, gazing at him in coldsurprise.

"Well, why didn't you speak to me the otherevening?" He was rather flabbergasted, he couldnot realize that this was the meek little girl he hadknown in Scotland.

She raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "It'snot usual for servants to speak to guests, unless theyare spoken to," she said.

"No, er—may I walk home with you?" As helooked into her eyes he thought for a moment, he sawsome resemblance to Darwen.

She hesitated a second, and he, watching closely,caught the light of a little look that made him feelvery happy. "Yes, if you like," she said, and justfor a moment the long black lashes swept the cheekas he had seen them once before.

With much alacrity he stepped on to the off side,and they proceeded down the street.

"You've changed wonderfully since I saw you last,"he said.

"Have I?" she asked.

"Improved," he said, "wonderfully! I had noidea that much improvement was possible, but I seeit was." Carstairs was not usually a man of manywords, yet that glimpse of the 'something' in hereye seemed to have loosened his tongue. He noticedthat she flushed slightly with pleasure.

"You're improved, too," she said, "you're older.How's Miss Bevengton?"

They were just turning the corner. A long vistaof electric lamps and lighted shops opened out beforetheir gaze. He was just about to answer her question(which had struck a jarring note) when the whole longperspective of light suddenly became eclipsed, wentout, as if by magic.

"Confound it! That's a breakdown at the works.I shall have to go. I'll put you on your road home,and then, if you'll excuse me, I'll make a bee line forthe works."

"You need not trouble about me," she said. "Youseem to forget that I piloted you through the woodswhen you couldn't see your hand before your face."

He hesitated; the trouble at the works called tohim like a siren. As a result of many years of habit,other things seemed to fade into temporaryinsignificance.

"Are you quite sure you don't mind?" he asked.

"Quite," she answered.

Something in her tone seemed to warn him, but hedidn't quite grasp the situation. His brain seemedclogged, the siren of groaning engines and flashingfuses seemed to hold his mind enthralled. He heldout his hand.

"Good-bye."

She took it coldly. "Good-bye," she said, andturned and was swallowed up in the darkness.

At the bottom of the street Carstairs jumped intoa hansom and dashed up to the works shortly afterthe breakdown had occurred. He found the shiftengineer (a very young man with a very youngmoustache) trying to do fourteen different things atonce, and incidentally, by vigorous tugging,endangering the very existence of the moustache. When abreakdown happens at an electric lighting station,it is the lot of the shift engineer to be called upon todo fourteen different things at once. In the firstplace, various fools, in various parts of the town,ring up on the telephone to tell him the lights are out:as if he were not painfully aware of it at the start, forit may be taken as an axiom, that when the lights areout in the town, they are very much in in the works;then the engine-drivers get flurried at the unusualdisplay of fireworks around their engines; theswitchboard attendant (who is usually a budding shiftengineer) makes a frantic grab for the wrong switchand jerks it out, making confusion worse confounded;then the stokers get excited because their boilers areblowing off like to burst and they can't see the waterin them; and at the finish of all when the poor shift(usually a very young man) is priding himself on gettingrather well out of a tight place, the chief (usually alsoa very young man) rings up to ask why in thunder hedid not do something altogether different, or why hedid not do what he did in much quicker time, or elsewaits till next morning and harshly asks why theshift engineer had not arrived, in a small fraction of aminute, at the same idea of what was best, that he,the chief, had, after a night's rest and a few hours'consideration.

When Carstairs arrived the very young man inquestion had just decided to cut all the other thirteenthings and stick to the one vital point. He was gettinganother machine ready as Carstairs mounted theswitchboard steps.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Pump juice into it," the very young man answeredwith a little joyous gleam in his eyes. 'Pumpingjuice into it' is theoretically a rotten way of treatinga fault, but practically the act operates as a soothingbalm to the troubled and revengeful soul of the juniorengineer.

Carstairs, although a capable and careful engineer,was very youthful himself. "Alright. Let it go,"he said. "Old Farrell will take all night to locateit probably, otherwise."

So they "pumped juice into it" for some time, andburnt out several yards of expensive cable, till almostsimultaneously with the mains superintendent and hisgang of disreputable looking labourers, a policemanarrived to report "smoke issuing from between thepaving stones at the corner of High Street."

"There you are!" Carstairs said, triumphantly."There's your fault accurately located for you rightaway. I don't know what you mains chaps wantWheatstone Bridges and Potentiometers, etc., for."

"It's all very well," grumbled Farrell. "But whois going to locate the other faults you've started inthe process."

"My dear chap, you must do something for your living."

The mains superintendent grunted, and went away.

Carstairs got on the station "bike," and cycledout to Darwen's. The cook opened the door to him.He was rather disappointed, but he did not dwell onit long. He was ushered into the drawing-room.He shook hands with Mrs Darwen.

"Breakdown in High Street," he announced bluntly.

Darwen was sitting at the piano, he had swung roundto face Carstairs as he entered. "Hurray!" heanswered in an unemotional voice at the announcementof the news.

"I was just turning the corner of High Streetwith—a friend." He caught Mrs Darwen's eye as hehesitated slightly on the word, she smiled delightedapproval. Darwen's eyes gave a little flicker fromhis mother to Carstairs, and unnoticed, he smiled,ever so slightly, too: Carstairs continued. "I hadjust turned the corner when the lights went out.I—er—jumped into a hansom—"

Mrs Darwen looked at him in pained surprise, sothat he stopped in wonder.

"What about your friend?" Darwen asked, andhis eyes were very bright.

"I—er—I left her in the street." For threegenerations or more, the Carstairs had spoken thetruth (mostly), this, the youngest scion of the sturdyold stock, could not easily bend to deception.

Darwen laughed aloud. "Carstairs has got a girl,mater," he said with much amusem*nt. "He wasjust regaling her with a little light converse aboutvolts and engines when the lights went out, and heforgot all about the girl, and hurried off to theworks." He paused and looked from his mother to Carstairswith brilliant sparkling eyes. "What's her name,Carstairs?"

Carstairs looked helplessly at Mrs Darwen andremained silent.

She looked perplexed, angry, and sorrowful, allat once.

Darwen laughed again. "Oh, mater!" he said."I didn't think it of you! Accessory before and afterthe fact. Aiding and abetting old Carstairs to breaka poor girl's heart: he was getting on so nicely too,just about to propose, when something distractedhis attention and he forgot all about it, and the girland everything else, so that she came in here half waybetween tears and chucking the pots and pans about.And now, two hours afterwards, old Carstairs turnsup to finish the remark he was about to make. Andit's lucky for you, old chap, that she's not in, becauseshe'd either have gazed at you as if you were anunclean reptile, or else she'd have chucked the furnitureat you."

Carstairs sat down limply. "Has she gone awayagain?" he asked helplessly.

"Yes. The same boy came and fetched her, hermother is worse. She thinks nothing of walking tenmiles across country at this time of night. I offeredto pay for a cab or something, but she wouldn't hearof it."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs Darwen. D'you—d'youthink she was really offended?"

"Of course she was. I passed her in the hall asshe came in, but don't let that worry you, old chap.The course of true love never did run smooth, you knowif there were none of these little obstructions and fullstops and side issues, the real thing would never beawakened. You may take it as an axiom that if agirl never feels she'd like to chuck the fire-irons at you,she doesn't care tuppence about you; at least, thatsort, with those eyebrows and eyes, and that free,swinging carriage. I'm in love with that girl myself."

Carstairs sighed somewhat heavily. "Then you'dbetter get out of love as soon as you can," he said,with a little laugh, "or we shall fight. I begin toappreciate the spirit of the duelling age, I think itwould give me real pleasure to scrap with somebodyjust now." He laughed again, but there was a gleamin his eyes that both Darwen and his mother noticed.Darwen's face lighted up with appreciation, but hismother looked very sad.

"I wonder how this shut-down will affect ourchances of a rise?" Carstairs remarked.

"Oh, that's alright, old chap. I have so many goodfriends on the council now, that I'm not a bit afraid:There's going to be a duel between old Donovan andthe doctor. It'll be rather good, I expect, pity youcan't come to see the fun: they're going to rebelagainst the iron rule of Dr Jameson, the whole councilis sick of his autocracy. Donovan will open the ballwith a sledge-hammer attack; Jenkins will back himup with some nasty hits below the belt; the oldDoctor will roar like a bull in pain, but I think he'llbe beaten this time. I shall enjoy it anyway."

He swung round to the piano again, and dashedinto a lively waltz tune. "That's the first dance Iever danced with Isabel Jameson," he said over hisshoulder. "This is ours, I believe!" "Thanks verymuch." "Very nice floor." "Yes." "Rottenweather!" etc., etc., he quoted, laughing lightly."Then, three months later, behind those imitationpalms at the foot of the stairs, to the strains of thistune in the distance (he changed to a very slow dreamywaltz) I proposed to her. If it hadn't been for thistune, I shouldn't have done it that night. But itwas so appropriate, the opportunity seemed unique,so I spoke up. Isabel, (I never really cared for thename of Isabel, you know), Isabel, may I call youIsabel? I love you. Then—"

His mother stepped up behind him and put her handon his shoulder. "Hush, Charlie! You don't knowwhat you're saying."

"I assure you, mater, I remember it quite distinctly.It was one of the most exciting events—"

"My boy, the girl's going round the town lookinglike a shadow since the engagement was broken off."

"Is she? I'm very sorry, I haven't seen her." Heseemed thoughtful for a minute. "She was alright,you know, jolly decent in fact, but we could neverhave paired—she was silly. There is a Providence,mater. ''Tis better to have loved and lost, than neverto have loved at all,' you know; these little afflictionssort of temper our natures, accentuate and hardenthe good qualities we possess."

"And the bad."

"That's so, of course. Good and bad, simply amatter of opinion. I'm an optimist, I see no bad inthe world, it's all good. Carstairs there is a grumpyold pessimist, he hasn't got time to smile, he's toobusy trying to decide what's good and bad, andhonest and dishonest, etc. And he don't know atthe finish. Comes round here trying to steal my girland talks about fighting when I expostulate with him.I tell you the more you think about honesty, the morefogged you get."

"My dear chap, in that respect I'm not fogged inthe least."

Darwen strode over to him and clapped him on theshoulder, "Buck up then, and go in and win, Isurrender all rights. Take a day off to-morrow anddrive over to this place in a cab. Take a nice littlegold watch or something, as a peace offering. Then,if I were you, on the strict Q.T., I should give her apunch in the eye; her ma'mas for generations pastwere probably wooed that way, and it would appealto her in spite of herself."

His mother laughed and looked at Carstairs."Really I should go over if I were you."

"Can't go to-morrow," Carstairs said definitely."Got to see the test of that new engine."

Darwen drew himself up and threw out his chestwith mock gravity. "I'm the chief, and I tell youyou can go."

"You can say what you like, I'm not going unlessyou give me the sack."

"I'd do that for two pins. Shall I, mater?"

"No, not now. She'll be back in a few days."

"Perhaps. Oh, these consciences. Thank God,I haven't one."

His mother stood up and looked at him sorrowfully."I don't believe you have very much, Charlie, butpray God you may get one."

Darwen laughed. "That's alright, mater. I'vegot a jolly good conscience, but I keep it in thebackground," he said.

Carstairs stood up and held out his hand to MrsDarwen. "Good night. I'm afraid I've kept you up."

"Oh no," she said. "Drop in whenever you can."

"Thanks, I will." He went out into the night andwended his way slowly home. As he turned the cornerof the long tree-shaded street in which his diggingswere, a man sprang out of a shrubbery behind, andrushed at him with a heavy bludgeon. Carstairs,lost in reverie, pivoted on his heels at the sound,and ducking mechanically as the stick descended,shot out a straight left for the man's face. It was nota heavy blow, but now thoroughly awakened, hestepped in and followed up with a terrific right handdrive on the chin.

He dropped like a log, and Carstairs bent over him,looking into his face. Even by the dim light of thedistant gas lamp, he recognised his old acquaintanceSam Lee, the gipsy. He was not knocked out, butonly partly dazed by the blow, and as Carstairs bentover him, he suddenly lashed out with a hugehobnailed boot and caught him a vicious kick in thestomach. Writhing in pain, Carstairs collapsed inthe gutter, helpless.

The gipsy staggered to his feet, and picking up hisbludgeon made towards him. Just then a large,dark form loomed suddenly into view round the corner.A bull's-eye lantern flashed a sudden light on the scene,and Sam Lee sprinted off down the road with aparticularly limping shuffle, but at a good speed. Thepoliceman started in pursuit, but gave it up as hopelessbefore he had gone very far; he stopped, blew ashrill call on his whistle, and returned to Carstairswho had now got upon his feet, still bent double withpain.

"What is it, sir?" he asked. "Robbery withviolence, or what?"

"Brutal assault, or attempted murder, God knowswhich," Carstairs groaned.

"Ah!" the policeman said, producing a note-book."It's Mr Carstairs of the electric light, ain't it, sir?"

"That's it, and the other man is Sam Lee, gipsy whowas condemned for burglary about two years ago."

"Oh, that's it, is it? He was only let out a weekago. 'As 'e got anything agen you, sir?"

Two other policemen were already in view. Carstairs,almost himself again, waited till they arrived,and told all three the tale. They listened with nosign of surprise, (the English policeman is neversurprised), but they took profuse notes.

"We'll soon 'ave 'im," they said.

Next morning at the works, Carstairs sat in Darwen'soffice, and told him the tale of his adventure.

"Well, it doesn't matter a curse if it all comes outnow, old chap, your position here is firmly established."

Carstairs was thoughtful. "My people won't likeif it gets into the papers. I wonder what the girlthinks about it."

"Oh, you may bet your boots she's used to that sortof thing. I'm going off to the meeting now. Wishyou could come too, sure to be some fun. However,you'll see that engine tested?"

"Yes. I'll put 'em through their paces. Thecontractor's men are downstairs now."

"Ah, well, ta ta. You'll be worth £50 more perannum when I see you again." Darwen laughed anddisappeared through the door.

Carstairs went down into the engine-room, andlooked all round the new engine and dynamo."Seems to me damn small for the power," he saidto himself.

Late that evening they met again in the office.Darwen was beaming. "You've got your fifty quid,old chap, and I've got my hundred. It was grand,never had so much sport in all my life. Donovanopened the ball: I tell you I hardly recognized myselfunder his glowing eulogies. The Doctor objected.Then Donovan went for him. By Jove! old Donovancan talk. But the old Doctor was grand, he stood upat the head of the table with his great chest heavingand his beard seemed to quiver with anger. 'Retract,'he roared, when old Donovan got personal,I tell you he fairly frightened 'em. If I hadn't beenthere, he'd have crumpled 'em all up. I'll swear theyeach and every one of 'em shivered when the old manglared at 'em. Bull baiting's not in it. Donovanwas about collapsed when I caught his eye and frownedat him, then we went for the Doctor like a tiger. Theothers seemed to buck up then, till the old man roared.'Get outside, sir, you're not fit to speak to a decentassembly,' he said. Then I put my spoke in, I swearDonovan would have gone if I hadn't. 'Come!Come! Doctor,' I said. 'Hold your tongue, sir,'he roared. 'You've no right to speak at all.' Thatold man thinks he's the schoolmaster of this town.Then Jenkins gave him a hit below the belt. 'Thisis Mr Darwen, not Mr Wakeley,' he said. That's apatient of the Doctor's, who died the other day withsomething the matter with his tongue. The old mantook no notice. Then Evans gave him another dig,and Smith had a rap at him. Little Winter got upto speak to him too, but when the old man waggedhis beard at him, his knees gave way, and he sat downsuddenly without saying a word; I never saw anythingfunnier. Then Sullivan got up and screamedlike a man with the devil behind him. (I was thedevil, most pleasant sensation I've ever experienced).Donovan capped it, and John Brown put a word infor us, too. I like that navvy, and I think the Doctordoes too, he very seldom bullies him, and gets as goodas he gives him. They ought to put up a grand scrap,those two, if they ever got going, just about a weight.Anyhow it's passed alright, and there's no mistakeDonovan worked like a Trojan. How did the testpan out?"

"Oh, it's off. The damn thing wouldn't do muchmore than three quarters of its load. I knew itwouldn't."

"Go on! Is that right?" Darwen's face expressedincredulous surprise, there was a sort of smile theretoo, with a strange little flicker of the eyelids whoselong lashes were drawn down till they almostcompletely shaded the brilliant, beautiful eyes.

"That's quite correct."

"This is serious. We must have another testto-morrow. I'll be in myself."

"Alright, but I know she can't do it. She hasn'tgot the dimensions, anywhere."

Darwen laughed suddenly. "You're such astickler. We mustn't be too hard on them, you know,Peace on earth, etc., you know. And we've just hada rise."

"That's alright, of course, but I imagine we wantwhat we pay for."

"Yes, yes, of course," Darwen said, picking uphis hat. "Good night." He went off rather suddenly.

CHAPTER XVI

That evening Carstairs went to call on MrsDarwen to ascertain if the girl had got backagain. She had. He almost ran into her just outsidethe house, she was going towards the town.

He turned and walked beside her. "How's yourmother?" he asked.

"Better," she said coldly. She kept very far awayfrom him.

"I'm sorry I had to run away and leave you theother night."

"It didn't matter in the least. I was rather glad."

Carstairs had a momentary impulse to turn on hisheel and leave her for good and all without any morewords, but he was by nature an inquirer, he liked toget to the bottom of things, besides he was in love withthis girl and he felt there must be some vitalmisunderstanding somewhere.

"I see," he said, "that sweep has been telling yousome of his cursed lies with his music lessons."

She stopped and faced him. "Will you kindly tellme which way you are going? Because I'll go adifferent way. Or is it necessary to make a fuss?"

He stared at her in amazement for a moment, thenhe stepped a little closer and looked into her eyes."I am going back to my diggings in Clere Road. Ishall never come this way again. I wish I could leavethis rotten town and these rotten people for ever.But let me tell you that that man is a rogue, how greata rogue only God knows. And if you think he's goingto marry you, you're greatly mistaken. He's deceivedtwo girls in this town, and the Lord only knows howmany more elsewhere. He could paper his room withgirls' photographs and girls' letters."

"Thanks," she said in icy politeness; she hadstudied the manners of her superiors to some purpose,but in her they did not seem a burlesque as is usuallythe case with the superior servant.

He looked at her steadily for some moments insilence, and she returned his gaze quite calmly. "Iwas in love with you," he said, "and I felt I had doneyour friend Sam Lee an injustice. Now I feel that Ihave done him a kindness in saving him from a veryexceptional fool."

"I am honoured," she said. "Your friend andbenefactor, Mr Darwen, has at least the manners of agentleman."

"I'll take your word for it. I imagine you know,the penny novelettes describe the article veryminutely." He looked into her eyes and saw thatthey blazed with anger; the sight reminded him of asimilar occasion in Scotland when she carried a bigstick and they stood facing each other at the door ofhis diggings. His anger faded at once. "I'm sorry,I've behaved like a cad, but the issues were soimportant, to me. An apology, I suppose, is all thereparation I can offer." He turned and walked away,leaving her there.

She stood and watched him till he was out of sight,but he never looked back. He was not built that way.On his way to the works next morning, Carstairsheard the news-boys shouting, "mysterious murderof Councillor Donovan." He bought a paper andread the account.

"At an early hour this morning Police ConstableGarret observed a body floating down the river nearthe High Street Bridge. On being dragged ashore,it was at once recognized as that of Councillor Donovan,proprietor of the Blue Anchor Hotel, Dock Street. Theunfortunate gentleman's neck was dislocated, and hisribs squashed in as though by some powerful animal."

Carstairs did not read any more, but hurried ondown to the works; he searched out Bounce in theengine-room.

"You saw that man who was killed in the gardenat Chilcombe, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that looks like the same thing, doesn't it?"Carstairs handed him the paper.

Bounce read it with a serious face. "Looks likethe same," he said.

"Look here," Carstairs looked at his watch. "Comeon down to the mortuary with me, we'll have a lookat it, and you can tell the police what the other chapwas like."

So they went off together, and on the way Bounceexplained. "When we was on the China station, wecalled at Borneo once, some of our chaps went ashoreand went up country a bit. They seen the nigg*rscome running out of the woods, shouting like hell,so they goes in to see what the trouble was. Therewas a monkey there. He wasn't so very big, an' oneof our chaps went in to capture him—well, when theybrought 'im back to the ship, 'e looked just like thatbloke I seen at Chilcombe."

A policeman let them into the mortuary, and asBounce gazed on the dead body of Councillor Donovan,he shook his head in mystification. "Just the same,"he said. "Exactly the same."

Carstairs was very serious. "This is damnable,"he said. "I must see Darwen."

The policeman took profuse notes from Bounce,and then they returned to the works together.Carstairs proceeded at once to Darwen's office.

He held out a paper. "Have you seen that?"he asked.

Darwen read it thoughtfully and slowly, then hewhistled softly. "Poor old Donovan," he said. Heseemed lost in thought for a moment or so, then herepeated, "Poor old Donovan. And only yesterdayhe got us our rises, Carstairs."

"What do you make of it?" Carstairs was watchinghim closely.

"Oh, murder, of course. Singular resemblance tothat chap who was killed over at your place."

"That's what struck me." He caught just aquick glance from Darwen's dark, penetratingeyes.

"There's no doubt, of course, between ourselves,that Donovan got entangled in his own web, some of theparticularly sharp tools he employed have eventuallycut him." He looked Carstairs steadily in the eyesas he spoke.

"Ye—es, I suppose that's it. This is a damn funnyplace. I don't like it a bit."

"You're right, old chap. It is funny. The world'sfunny. Old Donovan lived down among the dockswith sailors and foreigners; all sorts, Lascars,Chinamen, and nigg*rs frequented his pub; besides, he wasa bookmaker. God only knows how he met his end.Poor devil!"

"He's not much loss to civilization, that's acertainty, but it seems to come rather near home,somehow."

"Don't let that worry you, old chap. How aboutthis test?"

"Well, the engine's running, but she won't do herload. That little fool from the contractors calmlyopened the emergency valve, letting high pressuresteam into the low pressure cylinder, when I wasn'tlooking. 'How's that?' he said, triumphantly. Ofcourse I knew what he'd done at once."

Darwen smiled. "You must give 'em a bit, oldchap." He leaned back in his office chair, and lookedup at Carstairs, who was standing.

"A bit. By George! If she passes on load, shecan't pass, by pounds, on the steam consumption.However, you're the chief. It's for you to pass it,not me."

"You mistake, old chap." Darwen's voice wasremarkably suave and silvery. "That's part of yourjob, to test all the engines."

"Very well, then I don't pass it. I'll stop it atonce and tell them to start taking it down to returnto the makers."

"That won't do, old chap, we must have the engine,can't get on without it much longer. You know thatbetter than I do."

"Alright, then let us take it at three quarters itsspecified power.

"That's absurd, old chap."

"Well, I have nothing further to suggest, unlessyou test the engine and pass it yourself."

"No, I shan't do that. Perhaps—er—perhapssome other chief assistant would do it."

"Quite so."

Darwen stood up and going over to Carstairs placeda hand affectionately on his shoulder. "Look here,Carstairs, we must have that engine. I'm going tohave it, and you're going to pass it. I'll come downand have a look at it while he's got the by-pass open,so that I shall be able to say that I saw it doing theload alright, then you can give me the steam consumptionfigures for the run. See?"

"Yes, I see very clearly, but I'm not going to do it."

"My dear chap," Darwen beamed with the best ofgood nature. "Think what it means! In yourposition I'd have done it. I've got past that now.You're getting £250, or you will be next month, andjust waiting to step into my job when I leave, whichI can assure you won't be long. Don't be an ass,Carstairs. I'm going to have that engine."

"That, of course, is for you to say."

A momentary gleam of anger like a flash of forkedlightning shot across Darwen's face, but he smiledagain banteringly. "I can't understand how sucha clever chap as you can be such a fool. You don'tseem able to grasp the fact that the cleverness one ispaid for in this world, is the cleverness to outwit otherpeople, not the ability to disentangle abstruseproblems in the higher mathematics. Trot on down andget me out the figures for the steam consumption likea good chap."

"Look here, Darwen, I'm not going to do yourdirty work. I'm sick and tired of you and yourroguery. You're a liar, and a cheat and a thief.God only knows if you aren't worse!"

"Dear boy! The elite of mankind is composed ofsuch people. As long as you don't call me a fool, youwon't offend me. Are you going to pass that engine?"

"No."

"Alright. Good-bye. Call at the office for amonth's screw to-morrow morning." He sat downagain in his chair and leaned over his table.

Carstairs laughed. "You're calling me a fool," hesaid, "but I'm not a bit offended. I know it's thereflection entirely of your own intellectual shortcoming.What do you think Dr Jameson would say? Whatwould the council? the whole blooming town say?If I told them I'd got the sack because I refused topass an engine which wasn't up to specification. Iimagine, Mr Darwen, you're prepared to reconsideryour decision, for a start, eh? just for a start."

"By Jove, Carstairs, I'm proud of you, and it's allmy teaching, every bit. 'Ye ponderous Saxonswingeth ye sledge hammer.'" Darwen smiled likethe rising sun in June. "God! what glorious weatherwe're getting. Look at the sky, Carstairs! Did youever see a sky like that in October?"

"The sky's alright. I should have thought thethe earth beneath your feet had more concern withyou." He pointed downwards with his finger. Hewas feeling rather well pleased with himself.

"Well done, Carstairs. The earth is good. I adorethe earth, that is nature. Earth, Ocean, Air, belovedbrotherhood. It's a pity you don't ready poetry,Carstairs." He smiled, genially.

Carstairs remained silent, impassive. He watchedhim as he watched an engine when he tested it;looking at everything, expecting anything.

"When I was taking my before-breakfast walkthis morning, I came across a slow-worm; rather latefor a slow-worm in October, isn't it?"

"Couldn't say."

"Ah! I thought you were an observer of thesethings. It's rather a pity. Still, I'll proceed. Itouched his tail with my stick, and—you know theusual result—he promptly waggled it off and left iton the footpath while the rest of him disappeared inthe long grass. Now the slow-worm thought thatwas smart, but it was really only silly. I didn't wanthis tail, or the rest of him; he thought I did, he wasused to people who did, he thought I was a commonor garden fool. So do you, Carstairs. You can goright now to Dr Jameson or to the devil himself; infact, you can do what you damn well please. I haveno further use for you, and that being the case, I don'tintend to carry you around on my back any longer."

"Very well." Carstairs turned without anotherword and opened the door.

"Stop a minute."

Carstairs turned.

"Shut the door half a minute. Won't you sit down?"

"No, thanks."

"Ah! the strange uncouth ways of the Saxon.However, it doesn't matter. You don't want to hita fellow when he's down, Carstairs?"

"No, but I want to knock him down."

"Ah! the incomprehensible Saxon. You wouldn'tsee a poor devil with an old mother and a wife andfamily chucked out on the streets, or sent to quod?"

"What are you pulling my leg about now? Youhaven't got a wife and family."

"Me! Oh dear, no. I'm not down. Ha! ha!You can't touch me, old chap. I haven't passed theengine. As a matter of fact I told the contractor'sman yesterday I was afraid she wouldn't do, and Idrafted a letter to the firm, telling them so. It'snot sent yet; the clerks are awaiting my signature tothe typed copy."

"Then what have you been playing all this game about?"

"This is the game of life, dear boy, a sort of universalhigh jinks. Let me explain. I'm going to have thatengine, and if you kick up a row, either before or after,you won't touch me. All that will happen will bethat half a dozen poor fools, who are at present earninga precarious living as tools, tools of the inexpensiveorder, will be chucked aside."

Carstairs stepped to the door again. "Alright,we shall see."

"Don't be in such a beastly hurry. Sit down."

"No, thanks."

"Alright. In case of a rumpus, the first man togo overboard would be Winter, poor little helplessWinter. He was rushed into the council because hewas a fool, he accepted a five-pound note because hewas a thundering fool, and his wife was ill and the kidshadn't got togs, and because everybody else was havingfive-pound notes. He'd be the first sacrifice. Poorold Winter, he looks like a thief; really, he's got abetter (or worse) conscience than a nonconformistminister; that five pounds has pulled him downastonishingly, I've watched him wither away. Andhis kids, poor little mites! All through nature oneobserves that the small units increase at an astonishinglyhigh ratio. He only got one five quid."

Carstairs was silent as a carven image.

"You're damned hard, you know, Carstairs. Thenthere's the contractor's man there. He'd get thebullet, and two or three fitters also. Possibly a clerkor two and my chief assistant would go to quod, eventhe honest and highly virtuous Mr Carstairs, son of thevicar of Chilcombe, who would die, with his wife,broken-hearted."

"That'll do, Darwen. I'll go and see Dr Jamesonand a solicitor at once."

"Carstairs, the mater's taken a fancy to you, andI'll admit you appeal to me more than any man I'veever met. So damned ponderous. Your moment ofinertia must be simply enormous. Isn't it possibleto save you in your own despite." He touched anelectric bell. An office boy appeared.

"Ask Mr Slick if he'll come up here a minute, willyou, please." Darwen was invariably excessivelypolite, even to the minutest and most sub-dividedportions of humanity.

"Slick and I will endeavour to show you, Carstairs,that you've got 'no case,' as I believe they say inlaw."

Mr Slick appeared.

"Ah! Here you are!" Darwen shook handscordially. "Mr Carstairs is not satisfied with yourengine, Mr Slick. Won't come up to specification,he says."

Mr Slick raised his eyebrows; he was a hard-lookingcitizen, with strong prominent jaw and piercing blueeyes. "I understood that he expressed himself asquite pleased yesterday."

"That's absurd, Slick, you know very well——"

Darwen held up his hand. "Don't wrangle in myoffice, please, gentlemen! You have some supportfor your statement, of course, Mr Slick?"

"Of course; my two erectors heard him say it."

"Yes. I think I understand the Shift Engineer tosay he was present also. The fact is I've written toyour firm expressing approval of the engine, on, as Iunderstand, Mr Carstairs' advice. Now there seemsto be some hitch. However, we will come down andsee to that presently, Mr Slick. Thanks very muchfor coming up."

The contractor's engineer looked inquiringly atDarwin, then he disappeared through the door again.

Darwen turned to Carstairs. "Do you comprehendthat you're bowled out, yet."

"No. By Jove! I don't."

Darwen's eyes were wide with admiration. "Yegods! Ye gods!" he said. "Look here, Carstairs,you and I must continue to be pals, I'll share with you.When I came here, the councillors were sharing the'profits,' and old Jones was getting an occasional fivequid. Now, I get the profits and the councillors getthe occasional five quid. See? Will you go halves?And I tell you halves is something pretty good, too!"

"No, I won't. I'll have my market price as anengineer—no more and no less. I can do for onedollar what any fool can do for two. I want my shareof the dollar I save."

"You won't get it, old chap."

"But I will! I'll tell you what I'll do. If you chuckthis sharp practice and send those engines back, we'llmake this place pay well, and the council shall giveus our whack."

Darwen was thoughtful for a minute. "Theywon't do it," he said. "The fool in the street, thevoter, whose mind runs in shillings per week, wouldn'tlet them. In municipal work it doesn't pay to behonest."

Carstairs stroked his chin in perplexity. "You'rean enigma to me. You seem such a sound sort of chapin most things. Damn it! One doesn't expect aClifton man to be a blasted rogue. Can't you run onstraight lines? You know you're bound to get bowledout sooner or later."

"Don't be such a pessimist, Carstairs. I hatepessimists. Let me assure you, you are equally anenigma to me. I fail entirely to comprehend yourmind. Why do you worry and dissipate your energiesdeciding what is right and what is wrong? Whatyou really want to know is, what is best. There isnothing wrong in this best of all worlds, only degreesof rightness. All effort that produces no tangiblepersonal benefit is so much wasted energy. You'renot an Atlas, you can't carry the world on yourshoulders. The whole scheme of nature was evolvedfor the benefit of individuals, not classes, or masses, orgroups. The proof of the pudding is in the eating: I'malways happy, and the keenest source of my pleasureis in out-witting my fellow-men. Life is a perpetualgame of skill, and like the integral calculus there are norules. You're a mathematician, you like mathematics.I've seen you grubbing your snout into 'Salmon'sConic Sections' just on top of a Sunday's dinner.Why don't you step up with me into the higher planesof really applied mathematics; applied as all suchthings should be, to men and women? We'd have arare time, you and I. When we boxed the other daywe agreed at the start that we would slog; westarted out to bump each other for all we were worth;we both got several severe punches; I got a splitlip and you got a black eye, but we enjoyed it,didn't we?"

Carstairs sat down with a heavy plump into a chair."You ought to be put in an asylum, not in prison,"he said, wearily. "I wonder if I gave you a goodhammering if it would do any good."

"Not a bit, old chap. Besides, I rather doubt yourability to do it."

"There's an element of uncertainty," Carstairsadmitted.

They regarded each other with measuring eyes.Carstairs allowed his gaze to roam slowly over thethick, clean neck, the well-developed, lissom-lookingshoulders, and last of all rested on the clean-cut,patrician face with the small, neat moustache justshading the well-moulded, full red lips, quite closed;and the brilliant, clear eyes that sparkled with a bold,clear intelligence. They were two splendid animals,these two young men, spotlessly clean, well groomed.

"I tell you what, Darwen. I'll fight you now, to afinish, whether you keep those engines or whether Iget the sack."

"Thanks, old chap, that's a new form of the gambleof our early youth—'heads, I win; tails, you lose.' Butwe shall come to a scrap all the same some day,I know."

"That's so; I'm going away to open the campaignnow." Carstairs picked up his hat. "I'll call formy screw, Monday. By the way, I suppose it will beat the increased rate?"

"Well, I'm damned."

"It's all in the game, you know. No need to loseyour temper over it."

"Good, jolly good. I see I'm converting you.By Jove, you shall have it."

"Thanks. Good-bye."

"I say!"

"Hullo!"

"Mind! There are no rules. No rules whatever."

"Thanks for the tip. I see I'm converting you."

"Not at all, old chap. I want a run for my money,that's all."

"Well, I'll do my best. Ta-ta." Carstairs disappeared.

CHAPTER XVII

Carstairs went straight from the works toDr Jameson's private house. The Doctorwas seriously ill and could not be seen, so he wentback to his diggings in deep thought. "Bettergo home and see the guv'nor before I do anythingnow. Oh, the fearful and wonderful British law,"he thought to himself. He saw the landlady andgave notice.

"Have you got another appointment, Mr Carstairs?"she asked.

"No, I've got the sack," he answered.

"Oh!" she said. "Has Mr Darwen—" shestopped; she wanted to know all about it, but didnot know how to ask.

"Mr Darwen has sacked me, yes," he said; Carstairswas a most unsatisfactory subject for a womanto tackle, he left so much to the imagination. "Ishall leave about three o'clock on Monday afternoon,"he explained, as a conclusion to the subject. Heproduced his drawing board and settled down to doa good afternoon's work on his slowly evolving patent.As he bent low over the board, scrutinizing some finedetail work, his eye caught an extra pin-hole on theedge of the clean white board. He dug the point ofhis pencil thoughtfully into it. "That's funny,"he said to himself. "I don't remember to have donethat." He looked around at the three other cornersand saw pin-holes in all of them. It was a new boardand he had never had a sheet of paper on it of the sizeindicated by the pin-holes. "Some devil has beentaking a tracing of this, our esteemed friend, Darwen,or his agents, no doubt." He leaned back in his chairin deep thought for a time, then he bent forward andset to work vigorously again.

He was still busy when the landlady's daughterbrought in his tea. He looked up casually and caughther eye bent on his work with extreme interest."Good evening, Miss Hughes," he said.

"Good evening, Mr Carstairs," she answered, andshe had summoned up a defiant sort of air to meethis eye.

Carstairs' face was like the Sphinx. "I'm going upto London to-morrow. Would you mind letting mehave breakfast at half-past six? I shall come backby the eleven twenty, but I've got a very importantpiece of work here I want to finish before I go, soplease don't let me be disturbed for the rest of theevening."

"Certainly, Mr Carstairs. Half-past six, and I'llsee no one disturbs you."

"Thanks very much." Carstairs regarding hersteadily with his calm, inquiring eyes, caught a gleamin hers that she did not want to be seen; he gave nosign, and she went away quite oblivious of the factthat he had read her like an open book.

Next day he went off to London and saw his lawyerbrother; they talked over his case against Darwen,and his brother very quickly decided that he had"no case." So Carstairs returned, and in the stillnessof the wee sma' hours he examined the drawing again,and found, as he expected, four more pin-holes. He didnot smile; when in company his mirth was seldomexcessive, when alone, his features never for onesecond relaxed their attitude of calm seriousness.He replaced the drawing board in its position, leaningagainst the wall behind the piano, and went to bed.

The following Monday he called at the office forhis month's pay. He waited at the little shutter thatthe men were paid at, while the office boy went tofetch a clerk who fetched another clerk, who consultedwith the first clerk, and called a third clerk and sentthe office boy for a book and a pen, then they allthree consulted together again and reprimanded theoffice boy before handing the cheque through the littleshutter. Which entire rigmarole was the outcomeof insufficient work, and too sufficient pomposity.While Carstairs waited, Darwen opened the door ofhis office.

"Hullo, old chap, come inside. Here, Morris,bring that cheque along with you." He held out hishand.

Carstairs ignored it. "Thanks, I won't stay, I'mjust going off to Chilcombe."

Darwen laughed. "A Saxon," he said, "is anindividual who proceeds along 'strait' lines. I wasgoing to ask you to come home with me this evening.The mater would like to see you."

"Thanks very much. I should like to see yourmother, but I'm afraid I can't stop this evening."

The clerk brought out the cheque. Darwen tookit and, glancing over it, handed it on to Carstairs."There you are, old chap. I'm sorry it's the last."

Carstairs took it. "Thanks," he said. "Good-bye,"and turning on his heel he went out for the lasttime.

Darwen watched him through the window as hewalked down the street with his long swinging stride."The reason, personified, of why England owns halfthe earth," he said, to himself. "And equally thereason that she doesn't own the whole of it," he added,thoughtfully.

He lay back in his chair and gazed far into thefuture, mental pictures in many colours shapedthemselves in kaleidoscopic procession across the whiteexpanse of ceiling. For half an hour he sat thus,then sitting suddenly upright, and drawing in hisoutstretched legs, he plunged back into the presentamong the papers on his table.

Some six months later, in the dining-room atChilcombe Vicarage, there was held a family councilof war. The old vicar was there, Commander Carstairswas there, Phillip and Stanley Carstairs were there,and they all looked serious. For six months JackCarstairs had been applying for each and every oneof the multitudinous appointments advertized in thetechnical papers, with no results; he had learnedthrough the same medium that Darwen had beenappointed to one of the London stations at £750 perannum, to start; and that evening he had returnedfrom making personal application for a very juniorappointment at £1 per week in a neighbouring town.The chief (of German antecedent), the personificationof ignorance and bombast, had catechized and bulliedhim, cross-examined and contradicted him, andfinally abruptly refused him the billet.

Jack was speaking, and they all listened attentively."When a German ex-gasfitter, with a little elementaryarithmetic and less electrical catalogue information,talks to me as though he were a miniature Kaiserand I the last-joined recruit of his most unsatisfactoryregiment, and then refuses me a switchboardattendant's job on technical grounds, then, I admit,my thoughts lightly turn to robbery with violenceas a recreation and means of livelihood. He'd haveliked me to say 'yes, sir,' and 'no, sir,' and 'please,sir,' and touch my cap and grovel in the dirt. I'dsee him in hell first."

"I always said, Hugh, you ought to have put that boyin the Service," the sailor interjected, quite seriously.

The others smiled, a wry, sickly sort of smile.

"Can't we—er—don't we know somebody with someinfluence on these councils who would use it on Jack'sbehalf." It was the artist who spoke.

The young engineer stood up suddenly withunwonted passion. "Damn it! I'm not a blastedmendicant! I'm a competent engineer! It's no usetalking rot about modesty. I know what I have doneand can do again. I say I'm a competent engineer.I've been getting two hundred and fifty quid a year,and earning it, saving it for the people who paid me.And I am willing to take a quid, one blasted quid aweek, and I can't get it. I'm not going to beg formy own cursed rights. In all those hundreds of jobsI've applied for, I must have been the best man onmy paper form alone. If I can't live as an engineerin my own cursed country, then, by God! I'll steal." Heturned on his father with blazing eyes. "I say, I'llsteal, and if any blundering idiot or flabby fool triesto stop me, I'll kill him dead. The first law of lifeis to live. What do you say to that? You preachplatitudes from the pulpit every Sunday, what haveyou to say to the logic of the engine room?"

The old vicar smiled, somewhat sorrowfully."I might say that you are possessed of a devil," hesaid, with quiet humour. "Your engineeringexperience ought to tell you that it's no use ramming yourhead against a brick wall."

Jack sat down. "That's so," he said, "there's anobstruction somewhere; the thing to do is to find itout and remove it."

"I tell you, Hugh! the initial mistake was in notputting that boy into the Service; though there's amaxim there that promotion comes 80 per cent. bychance, 18 per cent. by influence, and 2 per cent. bymerit."

"That's rot, you know, unless you mean to say that18 per cent. of the men in the Service are snivellingcheats."

The sailor was thoughtful. "There are some cheatsin the Navy, but not many; as a rule it's not theman's own fault that he is promoted by influence. Atthe same time you can't afford to get to loo'ard ofyour skipper, much depends on one man's word, butthat man is usually a——"

"Sportsman," Jack interrupted.

"Well! 'an officer and a gentleman' they call him.The Service would have suited you."

"My dear uncle, I have all respect for the Service,but at the same time I should not wish to be anythingbut an engineer, and engineers in the Service at thepresent time are somewhat small beer. Anyway, as amoney-making concern, the Service don't pan outanything great. Bounce told me that the seamenhaven't had a rise in pay since Nelson's time."

The sailor laughed. "That's a good old A.B.'sgrowl," he said. "I gather, too, that engineering isnot panning out so very great as a money-makingconcern just now."

"No! you're right. I'm a bit sick when I think ofit, too, it's rather sickening. I've got a model upstairsof an engine that would make any man's fortune, andI can't get the fools to take it up. I think I shallhave to break away for the States."

They were all silent for some minutes till the oldvicar rose. "Shall we go to bed?" he said, and theyproceeded upstairs, solemnly, silently, in single file.

The weeks passed away and Jack's uncle went backto sea, and his brothers returned to London, andanother brother came and went. The winter changedto spring, the days lengthened out and grew brighter,and still Jack Carstairs could get nothing to do, norget any one to take up his patent. Then one morningamongst the two or three letters awaiting him wasone with a penny stamp: the ha'penny ones he knewwere the stereotyped replies of the variousmunicipalities to the effect that they "regretted" hisapplication had not been successful; it was a way theyhad, they sent these things with a sort of grim humourabout a month after he had seen by the papers thatsome one else had been appointed; it wasn't veryoften they went to the extravagance of a penny stampfor a refusal, so he opened that first, glancing casuallyat the city arms emblazoned on the flap of the envelope;enclosed was a typewritten letter, he was appointedswitchboard attendant at £1 per week.

Carstairs gazed at it sternly with bitter hatred ofall the world in his heart. "A blasted quid," he said,aloud. "Ye gods! a quid a week! And Darwen,the cheat, is getting £750." He hadn't fully realizedwhen he was writing his applications for these smallappointments, exactly the extent of his fall; but now,as he had it in typewritten form before his eyes, andsigned, he looked again, signed by a man who hadserved his time with him.

Mrs Carstairs was humbly thankful for smallmercies, but the old vicar, whom Jack found alonein his study, looked into his son's eyes and read thebitterness of soul there. "Do you think it would bewise to refuse and wait for something better. Thisis your home you know. You can work on yourpatent."

"I thought of all that before I applied," Jackanswered. "The patent! The path of the inventorseems the most difficult and thorny path of all."

The old man's eyes brightened; he liked the sterndefiniteness of his youngest son. "It does seem hard,"he said. "I don't understand these things, but Ithink you are wise to take this appointment."

"Oh, yes! I have no idea of refusing, but when Ithink that that lying cheat, Darwen, is getting £750a year, it makes me feel pretty sick."

"I know, Jack; we see these things in the Church thesame as everywhere else; the cheat seems sometimesto prosper. Why it should be so, I cannot comprehend;the cheat must inevitably cheat himself as the liarlies to himself, so that they both live in a sort of fool'sparadise; they both unaccountably get hold of thewrong end of the stick; they imagine that they aresuccessful if they satisfy others that they have donewell, while the only really profitable results ensue whenone satisfies oneself that one has done well; then andonly then, can real intellectual, moral, and physical,progress follow. It is possible to imagine a being ofsuch a low order of morality that he could feel a realintellectual pleasure in outwitting his fellow-men bycheating; such an one, it seems to me, must be very nearthe monkey stage of development. As man progressesintellectually he sets his intellect harder and hardertasks to perform, else he declines. It is possible thatthe cheat may occasionally reap very material andworldly advantages by his cheating. Some fewapparently do, though the number must be extremelysmall and the intellectual capacity exceedingly great,for they are constantly pitted, not against one, butagainst the whole intellect of the world, includingtheir brother cheats. The rewards and the punishmentsalike, in the great scheme of the Universe, arespread out unto the third and the fourth generation;the progeny of the cheat, in my experience, declinein intellect and moral force till probably the lowestdepths of insanity and idiocy are reached. This greatlaw of punishment for the sins of the fathers is beyondmy mental grasp, but that it is so I cannot doubt;it is in fact, to me, the greatest proof that there mustbe something beyond the grave. You understand,Jack, I'm not in the pulpit, this is worldly wisdom,but I want to set these things before you as theyappear to me. You must forget Darwen; you reapno profit from his success or failure, but you expenda large amount of valuable energy in brooding overit. 'Play up, and play the game,' Jack. Don'tcheat because others are cheating, if you do you arebound to become less skilful in the real game. Thinkit over, Jack, 'Keep your eyes in the boat,' don'tthink about the other crew or the prize, simply 'playthe game.' Have you told your mother you're going?"

"Yes."

"Did you say you wanted to borrow some of mybooks?"

"No, thanks. I've got all the books I want.You've seen my two packing cases full."

"Ah, yes! I'd forgotten. So you're goingto-morrow. That's rather soon, isn't it?"

"I told them that if appointed I'd start at once.I'm going to pack and then whip round and saygood-bye to my friends."

"Ah, of course. I'll see you off in the morning;six o'clock, did you say?"

"Yes, six ten at the station."

So Jack took his hat and stick and strolled roundto his few friends in the village to tell them he wasgoing. The Bevengtons were furthest away, and hecalled there last. Bessie had been away in Londonand other places, nearly all the time he had beenhome, when he called now she was home. He hadheard she was coming.

"I've come to say good-bye, Mrs Bevengton. I'vegot a job, and I'm going up north again."

They both looked pleased; Mrs Bevengton reallyliked Jack. "When are you going?" she asked.

"To-morrow morning."

Bessie's jaw dropped, she was keenly disappointed,and she looked, Jack thought, in the pink of condition,more so than usual.

"I hope it's a good appointment, Jack," MrsBevengton said; she was disappointed too.

"A quid a week," he answered, bluntly, looking ather steadily.

Her jaw dropped also. "Oh, but I suppose it willlead on to better things."

"Twenty-five bob at the end of six months," hesaid, with rather a cynical little smile. Out of thetail of his eye he regarded Bessie, she had flushed adeep red at the mention of his microscopical salary.She seemed more matured, her manner impressed himwith a sense of responsibility, an air of definitenessthat appealed to him immensely; he saw now thather lips closed suddenly. She had made up her mindto something.

"Come on out for a walk, Jack," she said. "Ihaven't had a look round the old place for nearly ayear. We shall be back to tea, mother."

She got her hat and they walked briskly down thepleasant village street in the glorious spring sunshine;every one they passed greeted them with civility andrespect. Jack regarded them with pleasure; he toldBessie they were the stiffest, hardest, and mostgenuinely civil crowd he had ever encountered."Perhaps I'm biassed," he said, "but I like men andthese chaps appeal to me more than any others I'vemet so far."

They turned across the fields and went more slowly."I've been having a good time, Jack, while I'vebeen away."

"So I expect," he answered.

"Well, I've been to a lot of dances and parties andtheatres, etc. I suppose I've enjoyed it—in a way."

"Yes, I should think you would—in most ways."

"Jack!" she was walking very slowly. "Twomen—three men, asked me to marry them."

"Ah! I suppose they were not the right ones." Hedid not quite know what to say.

"Well, two of them were not—but one of them—itwas Mr Darwen."

"Good Lord!" Jack turned as though he had beenshot. "Are you going to marry him?"

"I don't quite know. I've come home to decide. Idon't think I care for him in quite the right way. Whydid he break off his engagement to Miss Jameson?"

"Ah—er—I—" Carstairs was thinking, thinking,thinking. He wondered what to do and what to say.

"He told me that he thought he was in love withher till he saw me, then he knew he wasn't."

"Er—yes."

"He's very nice and very handsome, still I knowI don't care for him as—as I do for some one else."

Carstairs was silent, he was trying to think. Thesituation was getting beyond him, he had a fleetingidea of trying to change the subject, of closing thematter; but he knew that once closed it could neverbe re-opened, and he wanted to do the right thing.They were silent for some minutes.

"Jack?" she asked, and the struggle was painful."Has my money made any difference to you?"

"Half a minute!" he said, hastily. "Don't sayany more, please. Let me think"—he paused—"Fiveyears ago I met a girl in Scotland."

"And you love her, Jack?"

"Yes. I thought not at one time, but I know nowthat I do."

They walked for a long time in silence, then she spoke.

"I'll write to Mr Darwen to-night and tell him thatif he likes to wait a long, long time, I'll marry him,"she said.

Carstairs was silent; the great big English heart ofhim was torn asunder.

"Why don't you speak, Jack? Mr Darwen's yourfriend, isn't he? He's handsome and so kind andattentive, and if he cares for me as—as he says hedoes, I think I ought to marry him. I couldn'tbefore, but now—don't you think I ought?"

"Well, er—it's more a question for the guv'nor.Will you let me explain the situation to him, and thenhe'll see you. The guv'nor's very wise, in thesethings, and it's his province, you know. I should likeyou to talk to him."

"Thanks—thanks. I will."

That night Jack Carstairs sat up very late with hisfather in his study. And next morning the trainwhisked him north, to the dim, grey north, and theengines, and the steam, and the hard, hard men,mostly engineers. Jack was very sad and silent inhis corner of a third-class carriage all the way.

CHAPTER XVIII

For three months Carstairs worked steadily atthe beginning of things electrical; he cleanedthe switchboard and regulated the volts; he tookorders from a youth, rather younger and considerablyless experienced than himself. For those three monthsthe world seemed a very dull place to him.

Then, quite by accident, as these things alwayshappen, he met a man, a casual caller, who wished tosee round the works; the shift engineer told Carstairsoff to show him round, because it was "too much fa*g"to do it himself.

He was an oldish man with whiskers and heavy,bushy eyebrows, just turning grey; his questionswere few and to the point, and Carstairs seemed tofeel he had met a kindred spirit at once. He listenedattentively to Carstairs' clear and concise explanations,and when it was over he did not offer him a shillingas sometimes happened, but in the casual, unemotional,north-country way, he handed him his card and askedif he would like to see round his works "over yonder."

Carstairs glanced from the card in his hand to therather shabby individual, with the "dickey," andslovenly, dirty tie, in front of him.

"Thanks, I'll come to-morrow," he said.

"Will ye? Then ye'll find me there at nine."

"I'll be there at nine, too."

"Then I'll see ye." He held out his hand and gaveCarstairs a vigorous grip. The name on the card wasthe name of a partner of a very prominent firm ofengine builders.

Carstairs felt a singular sense of satisfaction for therest of the evening; his perturbed mind seemed atpeace, somehow.

Next morning, punctually at nine, he called at theoffice and was shown round the extensive works bythe old man in person. He explained and Carstairslistened and made occasional comments or askedquestions. And ever and anon he felt a pair of keeneyes regarding him in thoughtful, shrewd glances.When they had finished the circuit of the works,Carstairs broached the subject of his patent, he feltan extreme friendliness towards this rough, shrewdman, and he knew that his labours on the patent wereat last going to bear fruit.

The old man listened. "You have a model?"he asked.

"Yes."

"I'll come round and see it." And so he did thereand then.

In the dingy little back room of Carstairs' diggings,he examined critically and minutely the small model.

"Ye made this yerself?"

"I did."

"Ay!" It was a grunt of distinct approval.

They took it to pieces and spread the parts out onthe table, the old man examining them one by one.He offered no comment, and Carstairs put it togetheragain and turned it with his hand, showing the beautifulsmooth running of it.

"Yon's well made! Are ye a fitter?"

"Oh, no!"

"Are ye not? I was. Will ye bring it round tothe office?"

"Certainly." Carstairs dismantled it and wrappedthe various parts up in paper.

"I'll take those," the old man said, and seizing twoof the heavier parts, he tucked them under his arm.And thus, carrying it between them, they returnedto the big works. There a long consultation washeld. The junior partner (an ex-officer of the RoyalEngineers) was called in, and the final result was thatthe firm undertook to manufacture the engine and payroyalties to Carstairs.

"I must see a lawyer and get advice as to the termsof the agreement," Carstairs said. "I'm only freein the mornings this week. Will that suit you?"

"What are ye getting yonder?" the old man asked,bluntly.

"A pound a week?"

"Well, ye can start here in the drawing office onMonday at £2. Will that do ye?"

"Thanks, I'll give notice to-day."

The next six months passed like six days toCarstairs; he hadn't time to write to any of his friendsand only an occasional scribble to his mother. At theend of that time the first engine built on his modelwas finished and had completed a most satisfactoryrun. Then he took a holiday, and went home.

He had entirely lost track of all his friends andstation acquaintances.

"Bessie is not engaged," his father told him, "butDarwen still pesters her with his attentions."

Jack was thoughtful. "She's a jolly decent girl,Bessie! If Darwen were only honest! I shall go upto London, I want to see his mother." So next dayCarstairs went off.

He called at Darwen's office.

"Hullo, old chap! How's the Carstairs' patenthigh-speed engine going? Eh?"

It was the same old, handsome, healthy Darwen;bright-eyed, pink-cheeked, lively.

"Oh, alright. Is your mother in London?"

"Well, I'm blowed!" There was that little flickerof the eyelids that Carstairs knew so well. "Yes,there you are," he handed him a card with an addresson it.

"Thanks! When will you be out?"

"Ye gods. Ha! Ha! Ha! Good old Carstairs.The northern air is simply wonderful for the nerves.Ha! Ha! Ha! I tell you what. I'll go out thisevening, just to oblige you. I'll go to the theatre.I haven't seen the new thing at Daly's yet."

"Thanks!" Carstairs turned and went away. Hemade his way to the address in South Kensingtonthat Darwen had given him. It was a boarding-house;he asked for Mrs Darwen and sent in his card. TheGerman page-waiter sort of chap showed him up totheir private sitting-room.

She entered almost immediately, looking older andwhiter, her eyes more bleared and her cheeks deeplyfurrowed. She looked him sadly in the face.

"I knew you'd quarrel," she said.

"I'm sorry," he answered. "It couldn't be helped;we didn't really quarrel, I called on him to-day."

"Ah!" There was a gleam of pleasure in her eyes."Why didn't you call on me before you left Southville?"

"I couldn't—then, he'd just broken me—chuckedme aside like a broken chisel. I sent you my bestrespects."

"Yes, so he said: I wondered if he lied.You're—so—I thought you would have called—about thegirl."

"I couldn't, I was broke, that was why."

"You don't usually shirk."

"No, I try not to. It didn't occur to me in thatlight."

"Ah!" She gave a deep sigh. "You're the bestman, I think, I've ever met. You want to knowwhere she is?"

"Yes."

"Then you have a good appointment?"

"Well, a firm is manufacturing my engine. Wethink it's bound to go."

"Charlie's got an engine, too." She was watchinghim very closely.

"Has he?" Carstairs was rather interested.

"The drawings are in his room. I'll go and getthem."

He put out a hand to stop her. "I don't expecthe'd like me to see them," he said.

"Oh! but I want you to. I can trust you."

"You think I mightn't be tempted to get revengeby cribbing his ideas?"

"No. I know you. Besides yours is finished."

He was very serious. "That's so, but I'm full ofideas for improvements and other things, and it ismost difficult, when one sees a thing that is appropriate,not to assimilate it consciously or unconsciouslyinto one's own ideas."

"Still, I'll get them," she answered. She went outand came back in a minute or two with a drawingboard and a roll of tracings.

Carstairs glanced over the drawing, and allowed justa slight smile to pucker up the corners of his eyes.

"Ah! I knew," she said, "that's your engine."

"Oh, no!" he answered. "It's not my engine."

She looked at him and saw he was speaking the truth.She spread out the tracing. "That girl from yourlodgings in Southville brought that round one daywhen he was out; he never gets angry, but I knowhe was annoyed because she'd left it."

Carstairs bent down and examined it. "It's donerather well," he said; "girls are good tracers. I leftthat for her to copy."

"Oh! I didn't think you—I didn't know you knew.I wanted to warn you."

"Thanks very much, but it wasn't necessary."

She heaved a very deep sigh of relief. "That's beenon my mind like a ton weight. I was afraid my boywas a thief. Very often I was on the point of writingto you, but—you hadn't called."

Carstairs was bent low over the drawing examiningsome fine work very closely, he was so deeplyinterested he did not look up as she spoke. "That'sexcellent work! Darwen was always an artist, ineverything," he said.

"Yes," she answered, proudly, "he's very clever.I'm so sorry you quarrelled. I knew that girl wouldcome between you."

He looked up, impassive as usual.

"Yes," she repeated, "but you're the one she reallylikes, I know." Mrs Darwen seemed to have grownvisibly younger.

Carstairs straightened himself and stood lookingdown at her with his calm steady grey eyes. "Ye-es,"he said, he was thinking rapidly. "Yes, I hopethat's true. Will you give me her address; hasshe—er—got a situation?"

"Oh, no! she's been in London, having her voicetrained. She's got a magnificent voice."

"Where did she get the money from?" he asked,he was quite pale, and his grey eyes glittered likenewly fractured steel.

She looked at him aghast, frightened; she put animploring hand on his arm. "The girl's honest. Iknow she is. I'm sure of it; she was saving. I knowshe was saving. Perhaps Lady Cleeve——"

"Perhaps Charlie——"

"No, no! I know she wouldn't take anything fromhim, because—because that was why she left."

Carstair's face lightened. "Will you give me heraddress?" he asked.

"She's gone down to her people again, she came tome yesterday. They're encamped down at the oldplace near Southville; it suits her father down there,he's getting old and Scotland was too cold for him."

The words brought back a luminous vision to Carstairs;his eyes took on a far-away look. "My word! shewas full of pluck," he said, aloud, but really tohimself.

Mrs Darwen smiled with great pleasure. "If—whenyou've married her, you'll be friends with Charlieagain——?"

He came to earth suddenly and considered. "Weshall be friends," he said, "from now onwards, butI'm afraid we can never again be chums. I'll call andsee him before I go to the station."

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you, I'm so glad."

He shook hands and left her, and half an hour laterhe called at her son's office. The office boy showed himin and he held out his hand. Darwen grasped it witha warm friendly smile.

"In the presence of other people," Carstairs said,as the door closed behind the office boy, "we arefriends, because your mother is one of the best womenon this earth. How she came to have such a whelpas you, Lord only knows. Do you agree?"

"My dear chap, I am honoured and delighted. Itis not often one gets an opportunity of shaking anhonest man by the hand, even though the excuse fordoing so is a lie." He smiled his most charming smile."You're putting on weight, Carstairs."

"Yes, but I'm in the pink of condition."

"So am I."

"That's good. Your mother isn't looking so well."

"No, I've noticed it myself." A shade of real anxietypassed across Darwen's face.

Carstairs noted it, and his opinion of Darwen wentup; he stepped up close. "Look here," he said,"she was worried because she thought her son was adamned rogue. I've told her—at least given her tounderstand, that he is not, and you'll find her lookinga different woman. Do you see?" He turned andwent out.

Darwen sat back in his chair lost in thought. "Thatman always makes me think. Wonderful man, wonderfulman. Damn him!" He sat up suddenly and wenton with his work.

That night Carstairs reached Southville; he got outand put up at a hotel for the night. Before going tobed he went out and strolled round the town in thesilence of the late evening. Old memories crowdedback on him, and although they were not alwaysof pleasant happenings, the taste of them was sweet;he had progressed since then, and he felt, in the bonesof him, he knew, that he was going forward. His stepsturned mechanically towards the electric lightingworks, and before he quite realized where he wasgoing, he found himself facing the old familiar biggates with the little wicket at the side. He lookedat his watch. "Eleven o'clock! Wonder who's on." Hepaused a minute, then opened the wicket and wentin. "Probably some of the men who knew me arestill here," he thought.

The engine room was just the same. The hum of thealternators and the steady beat of the engines thrilledhis blood. He stood in the doorway for some minutesin silence. The sight of running machinery was meatand drink to him. A little square-shouldered manwandered up to ask him what he wanted. Carstairsheld out his hand. "Hullo, Bounce, have youforgotten me?"

"Well, I never. Mister Carstairs! I ain'tforgotten you, sir, but you was in the dark."

"Any one I know left on the staff? Who's incharge?"

"A new engineer, sir. They be all new since yourtime."

"All new! Ye gods, how fellows do shift about."

"They do, sir. I've seen hundreds come and gosince I've been here."

So they stood talking for some time. "I supposeyou're off at twelve, Bounce?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's nearly that now. I'll wait. You can comeround to my hotel and get a drink."

"Thank you, sir. I'll go and wash and change.Would you like to see the engineer?"

"No, thanks, I'll just sit on this box and watch thewheels going round: same old box, same old wheels.How many hours of the night have I spent sitting onthis box listening to your damn lies, Bounce?"

"God only knows, sir."

Carstairs sat and waited, and all sorts of freshfancies and ideas thronged through his brain as thewheels went round and the alternators hummed andthe corliss gear clicked. A distinct and completeidea for a valuable improvement shaped itself in hismind as he watched and listened. He stood up andstretched himself with a sigh of great content. "ByJove, if old Wagner composed music like that, he'dhave done a damn sight more for humanity," he saidto himself, with a smile at the sacrilege of the thought.To Carstairs, Wagner was a drawing-room conjurer,not to be thought of at the same instant as men whodesigned engines. Bounce came down the engine-roomtowards him with his wide-legged sailor's roll.He was attired in a blue-serge suit, spotlessly cleanand neat. His strong, clean-cut features and steady,piercing eyes showed to great advantage in theartificial light and against the dark background of hisclothes.

"By Jove, Bounce, I can't understand why it isyou're not Prime Minister of England."

The little man's bright eyes twinkled, but hisfeatures never relaxed. "I can't understand itmyself," he said.

They went off together to the hotel, where Carstairsdrank whisky and Bounce rum. The waiter lookedat him somewhat superciliously, till he met Bounce'seye fair and square, then he seemed impressed.

"Dr Jameson is dead. Mr Jenkins is chairman ofthe committee now."

"Yes, I know."

They were silent for some minutes.

"Do you know this county well, Bounce?"

"Pretty well, sir."

"Ah—do you remember my telling you about agipsy girl?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want to find her; she's round here somewhere,near the new water-works."

"I know, sir."

"Good man. Can you drive—a horse I mean?"

"Yes, sir."

Carstairs stood up. "Now, look here, Bounce, Ireally cannot understand—what the devil is thereyou can't do?"

"I dunno, sir."

"Can you drive a perambulator?"

"Yes—an' nurse the baby."

"Go on. Tot up what you can do. Honest. Nolies, mind."

"Alright. Here goes. I can walk and run andswim; box and wrestle and fence; shoot a revolver,rifle, or big gun; push a perambulator, hand cart, orwheel barrow; drive a steam engine, horse, or amotor car; stroke a boiler, feed a baby, the missus,an' the kids; scrub a floor, table, or furniture; makeand mend and wash my own clothes; light a fire, maketea, coffee, or cocoa; make the beds and clean therooms; wash up dishes, lay the table and wait atsame; clean the windows, paint a house, and walkalong the roof." Here he started to digress. "Iremember once in Hong Kong——"

"That'll do, I've heard all about Hong Kong.Let's hear about Bounce."

"There ain't much more that I can do," he said.

"Nonsense! you sing."

"Oh, yes! Sing a song, play the mouth organ. Catchfish (when they bite), dance the waltz, polka, hornpipe,quadrilles, lancers, and schottische." He paused.

"Go on."

"There ain't no more. Oh, yes! read an' writean' do sums." He scratched his head. "Sometimes,"he added.

"I said no lies."

"Alright, cross out sums."

"What about ropes?"

"Oh, yes! I can splice, reave, whip, knot, bend,an' gen'rally handle ropes."

"Can you shave yourself and cut your own hair?"

"Yes an' no, but mind, I have 'ad a try at that.I come aboard drunk once in——"

"Shut up. What else can you do?"

"Drink a bottle of rum, brandy, whisky, gin, port,sherry, champagne, beer, or any alcoholic liquors, withanybody; and spin a yarn with the best."

"Very good. I give you a first-class character.Will you come out for a drive with me in the morningand look after the horse while I—while I'm engaged?"

"Yes, sir, I will. I knows all about it. I courtedmy missus between the spells of three-year cruises."

"Alright. Half-past eight, here."

"Yes, sir."

Carstairs tossed him his tobacco pouch. "Youcan take all that's in that."

"Thank you, sir. I forgot as to mention as I couldsmoke and chew any baccy on the market. Thisyer—this yer," he reflected, thoughtfully, as he emptiedthe pouch, "is what we calls boys' terbaccer."

"Go on home, Bounce."

"Yes, sir." He doubled up with violent mirth.

"You should have added that you could laugh likea baby elephant."

"Yes, sir." He doubled up again, then, suddenlystraightening himself, saluted in all solemnity."To-morrow morning at half-past eight, sir." He turnedand made his way out.

Next morning punctually at half-past eight Carstairsand Bounce set off in a hired dog-cart for the gipsycamp. They drove along the beautiful country sidechatting lightly till they came (over the top of a hill)into sudden view of a torn and trampled valley,teeming with men; little locomotives steamed fussilyin all directions; gantry cranes wheeled and pivotedand travelled with large blocks of stone from oneplace to another.

"That's the new water-works," Bounce said.

"Alright, let's go down, some of the men will besure to know where the camp is." They drove downto the deeply rutted, slushy, entrance, a five-barredgate was kept permanently open by the furrows ofrick brown earth turned up by the heavy cart wheels.A strongly built, healthy looking individual dressedin a tweed suit and yellow leggings and a cloth cap,was picking his way carefully through the deep mudof the gateway: he was the resident engineer.Carstairs pulled up and shouted to him across the hedge,"I say, is there a gipsy camp near here?"

The young man carefully balanced himself on a flatstone in the middle of the sea of mud, then he lookedup and pointed with his hand. "Yes, over there!Go down to the bottom of the hill and turn to yourleft, there's a bit of a common there. Light greencommon, they call it."

"Thanks!" Carstairs whipped up and drove away."Healthy chaps those 'civils' always are," heremarked.

"'Civils'?" Bounce asked.

"Civil Engineers."

"Oh!"

They drove in silence till they reached the bottomof the hill and turned to the right.

"Ah, there it is. Fancy that girl walking out hereby night."

"That's one thing I don't like—walking," Bounceanswered.

"No? Here! Catch hold! while I get out andgo over there."

The common was a triangular piece of land betweenthe forks of two roads; in one place it was fairly flatmost of the rest of it was composed of miniature hillsand dales, with steep sloping sides and flat bottoms,inclined in places to be marshy. It was on the flatportion, under the shelter of one of these miniaturehills, that the caravans were drawn up in a scatteredgroup.

Carstairs walked up to the one he recognised, withthe little brass handled stairway, the bright paint andfancy leather work; a little crowd of ragged urchinsand mongrel curs trailed after him. He mounted thesteps and rapped at the little door. It was promptlyopened and a woman looked out; although she wasmuch more haggard and worn looking he recognisedher at once, and he saw that she recognised him.

"She's not here, she's gone into the town to buythings for father."

"Which town? Not Southville?"

"No,——." She mentioned a little country townabout four miles away. "She'll be back this evening."

He stood on the step and stroked his chin in thought."I've driven over from Southville, but my man can goback with the horse. Where do you think I could getlodgings near here?"

"There's a public house in the village."

"Where's that?"

"Back along the road you came, only turn to the left."

"Thanks. I'll call again to-morrow. You're sureshe'll be here?"

"Yes, father's ill."

"I'm sorry to hear that. What's the matter?"

"He's dying."

"Dying! Don't say that."

The woman shook her head. "Would you like tosee him, sir?"

"Ah! Er—" Carstairs stood still a moment."Yes, I should. Can I talk to him? Somethingimportant?"

"Oh, yes. He knows he's going, and it would dohim good to hear what you've got to say."

He stared at her in quick surprise for a moment,and then stepped after her into the caravan. Itwas scrupulously clean and expensively upholstered;the sides were partitioned off horizontally into littlebunks with neat brass rods and curtains to shut themin; there were windows along the front and back andsides with snowy white lace curtains to them; it wasnot at all dingy, but very light and bright. Thewoman drew aside a curtain and showed the silver-hairedold man supported in a half-sitting position inthe bunk.

Carstairs could see at once that he was very weak,and also that he was very well attended to.

The old man looked him steadily in the eyes. "I'veseen you before. How are you?" he said. The voicewas very low.

"I'm first class, thank you. I'm sorry to see you'renot so well."

"Yes, I'm dying. We've all got to die some time.You want to marry my daughter?"

"YES, I'M DYING"

"Yes," Carstairs answered, in some surprise,nevertheless.

"Oh! She told me," the old man nodded feeblytowards the gipsy woman. "She knows everything."

Carstairs was silent.

"Who are you?" the old man asked, after a pause,during which he had closed his eyes and remainedquite still.

"My name is Carstairs—Jack Carstairs. I'm theson of the Reverend Hugh Carstairs, Vicar ofChilcombe in Gloucestershire."

There was a short silence, then the old man spokeagain. "Who was your grandfather?"

"He was a captain in the navy." Carstairs wasrather surprised.

"That's alright. I suppose we can't expect anythingbetter. Get those papers!" His last remarkwas addressed to the woman.

Carstairs stood silently wondering—mystified. Heheard the woman unlocking something at the backof the caravan, then she came up and held out someparchment-looking papers. The old man took themin a feeble thin hand and laid them on the bed clothesin front of him.

"I am Sir Thomas D'Arcy," he said.

Carstairs was astonished beyond measure, but hiscountenance showed very little of it.

"Yes," the old man continued, slowly, "I am SirThomas D'Arcy, one time plain Thomas D'Arcy,Professor of Music at Oxford, profligate and drunkard.This gipsy woman is my legally married wife, and thatgirl is my daughter; there is no estate, and the moneyis all spent. You can marry the girl when you aregetting £400 a year."

"Well, I'm damned." Carstairs thought it sofervently that for a moment he feared it must bevisible on his face, but the old man was resting withclosed eyes.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked, at length.

"Quite," Carstairs answered.

"What are you getting now?"

"£150 a year."

"Ah—that's not much."

"No—but I expect in the next six months to receiveroyalties on patents to the extent at least of the other£250."

"Very good—expectations do not always materialize.However, those are the conditions. You can go now."

He was moving away when the old man held up afeeble, detaining hand. Carstairs stayed in silence.

"There are other D'Arcys, but no relation to us.I am the last. We were really French, a Frenchnoble family—with a strain of Italian running in ustoo——" He rested again.

Carstairs pondered deeply while the old man paused.Something of the outlines of the features in theirdeathly pallor seemed familiar to him. He gazedhard at the face as it lay with closed eyes on thepillows, then he asked, speaking slowly. "Do youknow a Mrs Darwen?" The resemblance he hadtraced to the portrait in Mrs Darwen's album.

"Miss Darwen!"

"No; Mrs Darwen, she has one son."

"Exactly. My son. She's Miss Darwen. Do youknow him?"

"I've met him." Carstairs' face was like a carvenstone.

"Ah! She was the daughter of a yeoman farmerin Oxfordshire, rather well to do, but of course Icouldn't marry her—then; the boy—is he any good?"

"He's very clever."

"He would be that, of course."

"Your daughter knows him."

"Does she? I don't know who she knows. Youmust marry her. She mustn't—mustn't know."

The old man sank back on his pillows and closed hiseyes. Carstairs watched him for a minute or so, thenturned and looked interrogatively at the woman."Asleep?" he asked, quietly.

She nodded. "Resting," she answered, and Carstairsmade his way very quietly out of the caravan.

"I'll come again to-morrow," he said.

CHAPTER XIX

Lost in thought, Carstairs made his way backto the dogcart and Bounce. He climbed in."Let's go to the village, Bounce, over there."

"Yes, sir." Bounce was all attention to business;he asked no questions, and looked no questions, buthis mind was active in a very great wonder.

They drove in absolute silence till the village wasreached, then Carstairs spoke.

"I'm staying here the night. Will you take thehorse back and come over again in the morning?" Hetook out his purse and handed Bounce somemoney. "I haven't seen the girl, I shall see herto-morrow. I've seen her father and her mother. Herfather is dying."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"So am I. Good-bye." Carstairs went into thevillage inn, arranged for a room, got something to eat,and set off to walk to the little town where the girlhad gone.

It was a beautiful day and the country was lovely,but Carstairs had no spare thoughts to give to it;he strode on and at a fast pace, observing nothing, tilllong before he had disentangled the complicated skeinof his thoughts he found himself in the little town.

"What the devil am I to do now?" he asked himself."I'll walk right through the bally show till Icome out on the other side, then I'll turn round andcome back a different way," So he walked on againand spent the whole afternoon to no purpose exceptas far as exercise was concerned. It was quite latewhen he returned to the inn. He got something toeat and then sat in the little private bar smoking andsipping a whisky and soda. Through the thin partition,from the tap room, he heard a huge uproar ofgruff voices. It was pay night, and a greatconcourse of navvies from the water-works were takingtheir evening beer. Carstairs caught scraps ofconversation, and occasionally references to a "toff"who had been "standing" them beer.

He got up and wandered along the country lanesin the dark, then he turned in and went to bed.

Early in the morning, just after he had finishedbreakfast, Bounce arrived with the dogcart.Carstairs saw him, through the little lattice window,walking the horse up and down the village street.He went out to him.

"Good-morning, Bounce. You're early."

"Yes, sir."

Carstairs got into the cart. "Drive over to thecamp," he said.

So they drove away, Bounce enlivening the journeywith little anecdotes of his travels.

"I picked up a 'bob' yesterday, sir."

"You're lucky."

"Yes, awful lucky chap I am; always picking upsomething. Picked up a barrel of beer once, me anda mate."

"Yes, a hogshead, I suppose; been lying on thepavement for hours and nobody happened to noticeit till you came along."

Bounce laughed. "Well, there was some otherblokes as reckoned they saw it first, but we didn'ttake no notice of them, furriners, they was, see?"

"I see, didn't you give them a drink?"

"We offered to share out, but they wasn't satisfiedwith that, so we took the lot. Mind, there was a rowabout it afterwards."

"I suppose there would be."

"Yes. 'Asty blokes, them furriners. We 'ad toflatten 'em all out before we 'ad any peace. Stiffblokes they was too, some on 'em, but very soft aboutthe ribs, like punching a bladder of lard it was, sortof unsatisfactory like."

"Ah."

"Yes. An' another time we picked up an old toffwith a bullet in 'im, that was in Rio. Fine harbour,Rio. Give us ten dollars each 'e did, three on us."

"How did he get the bullet in him, Bounce?"

"Oh, 'aving a bit of a spree, I s'pose, 'e never toldus. 'Nother time I picked up a bloke's 'and, cut offat the wrist. In Port Said, that were."

"Nothing in it, I suppose?"

"No, there wasn't, worse luck. It weren't anEnglish 'and, you could see that."

By this time they had reached the camp, and Bouncestopped the recital of his "lucky" incidents.Carstairs got down. "If I'm long, you can drive byyourself to Southville. I don't want to make you late."

"That's alright, sir. I changed-over with my mateto-day. I don't go on till midnight."

"That's very kind of you, Bounce."

"Don't mention it, sir."

Carstairs went across to the caravan. The gipsywoman saw him coming and opened the door to greethim. "She came back and went away again firstthing this morning. She'll be back this afternoon."

Carstairs frowned and stared at the woman veryseverely. He thought she was not telling the truth,but he saw by the light of genuine anger that sprangto her eyes at his frown, that he had misjudged her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "How is your husband?"

She smiled again at once. "About the same.Will you wait?" she asked.

"No thanks, I'll explore the country a bit, and callback again." He was going away when the womanstopped him. "Will you come in just a minute?I'd like to try you with the cards!"

He looked at her enquiringly. "Do you reallybelieve your cards?"

She did not answer, but stepped inside the caravanand produced a pack of cards, quite new and clean."Shuffle and cut," she said, handing them to him.

He did so, and cut the ace of hearts.

"You're thinking of her."

"That's true. I was thinking of her prophesyingin Scotland that I should be a winner."

She looked into his eyes. "So you will," sheanswered.

Carstairs felt his pulse tingle with an addeddetermination as she spoke.

Taking hold of him by the right wrist, she turnedthe palm upwards and looked at it intently for a fewseconds. "My word! you are a strong man," shesaid.

"That's piffle," he answered, "those lines areaccentuated by gripping a hammer shaft."

She smiled. "Oh no! Cut again, please."

He cut twelve times, and cut hearts every time.

The old woman positively laughed. "Now do youbelieve?" she asked.

"It's certainly rather a curious coincidence.Hearts infer love, I suppose, and I'm in love, that'strue."

"Yes, that's true, but you have a rival, I know.A dark man, perhaps—if he——"

Carstairs frowned. "Good God, that's impossible.Didn't you hear what the old man said? he's herbrother."

The old woman looked steadily into his eyes."You don't know. That's only what you think."

"Lord! Perhaps you're right. By Jove——"

"Cut the cards," she interrupted. "Again and again."

He cut six times, spades every time, the knave fourtimes.

The gipsy was very serious. "There!" she said.

"It's certainly rather curious," he admitted.

"That dark man's very close, closer than youthink. Watch him! Watch him!" she repeated,and retreated into her caravan in a strangelyperturbed state.

Carstairs returned to Bounce. "No luck," he said.

"Well, Patience is a virtue, sir, so they says. An'you've got to 'ave it with the women, though theyain't got none theirselves."

"You're a man of experience, Bounce."

"Well, I ain't got no more than one missus, an'that's enough for any man, too much for some on 'em."

"You're very virtuous, I'm sure, I hope you getyour reward."

"That's true. I do, sir. Not but what I 'ave a'done a bit o' courting now an' then in otherparts—before I was married, o' course."

"Of course."

"Yes. An' now my missus gets the benefit of allthat experience. I come to 'er efficient, thoroughlyefficient, as I sez to 'er on the day that we was married."

"You are a thorough believer in efficiency, Bounce."

"Yes, sir. Do it now, an' do it proper. That's themotto of the navy. Only 'steady,' too. 'Steady doesit,' is another motto. The man as ain't never doneno courting before 'e gets married, ought to be buriedan' not married at all."

"I've just had my fortune told by that gipsy woman."

"That ain't nothing, sir. I've 'ad it done 'undredsof times, an' all different," the little sailor remarked,cheerfully. "When I was in Calcutta——"

So listening to Bounce's wonderful adventures,Carstairs had a very pleasant morning drive. Theystopped at a little country public house and got somebread and cheese and beer; Bounce, meanwhile,enlarging on the virtue of beer in general, and thatbeer in particular.

Then they got into the trap again and completeda circuit of the locality, bringing up finally at the farside of the little common.

"Hullo!" said Bounce. "What's up there?"

They could see a dense crowd of navvies from thewater-works moving in the direction of the gipsycamp.

Carstairs looked, anxiously. "Hope there's norow on with the gipsies," he said. They could hearmuch shouting and singing, but could not distinguishthe words. A turn in the road brought the camp fullinto view: there was much commotion going on, thegipsies were pulling their caravans up together as ifto withstand an assault.

"We must stop those chaps, Bounce," Carstairssaid, as he whipped up the horse and tore along theroad at a furious gallop. They cut across the levelstrip of green at the acute angle of the common, andraced along the other road. They reached the navviessome three hundred yards from the camp. As theygot within earshot they could distinguish what themen were shouting. Carstairs flushed an angry redand set his big jaw tight. "And this is England,"he said. "England, in the year of grace 1896,'England, the eye, the soul of Europe,' as Darwenused to quote."

"What's started them on this devil's game, Bounce?"

"Drink, I expects! Men gets like that sometimes."

Carstairs pulled the horse up dead in front of theadvance guard of the men.

"I say, where are all you chaps going?" he asked.

"Women," they shouted. "Bring out the gipsy women."

"That won't do," he said, sharply. "Go on backabout your business."

"Ho, ho, 'ere's Lord Muck," a co*ckney voiceshouted in derision.

"The Earl o' Hell," another one corrected.

They swarmed round the dogcart, and the otherscoming up stopped to listen.

"How is it you are not at work?" Carstairs asked.

"Saturday afternoon, mister," a gruff, but civilvoice replied.

"Well, you'll all get the sack, you know, besidesimprisonment, if you go on with this game."

"The sack! Ha! Ha! 'Ere's a bloke going togive us the sack, mates."

"That'll be nine 'undred and ninety-nine times wotI've 'ad the sack, then."

"S'pose we'll 'ave to starve, that's all."

"Same as we did afore, eh, mates? Ha! Ha!"

A man climbed up on to the step. "What say wegoes for a drive?" he asked.

The words were hardly out of his mouth whenCarstairs' fist took him in the face and knocked himbackwards among his fellows.

"Hurray!" they shouted. "Hip, hip, hurray!" Fivehundred of them roared it out in chorus.

"That's one for Charlie."

"You ain't going to take it lying down, Charlie?"

"'E's 'ad enough. I allus said Charlie ain't gotno guts in 'im."

"'Old the 'orse while I gets at 'im," the mananswered.

Two navvies promptly seized the horse, one on eachside of his head.

"Up you get Charlie."

Carstairs stood up. "Wait a minute," he said."I'll come down. Will you give me fair play?"

"That's honest, 'e couldn't say no fairer than that."

"Make a ring, mates."

"I'll 'old yer coat, Charlie."

"'Go's going to second the toff?"

Bounce stood up. "Is there any blokes 'ere wotbin in the navy?" he asked, with great dignity.

"'Blue Marines,' mate," a big, burly man on theoutskirts of the crowd answered.

Bounce looked at him closely. "Is that you,Scrapper Hisco*cks?"

"That's me, mate."

"Don't you remember Jack Bounce, of the'Mediterranean'?"

The big man pushed his way up to the trap and heldout his hand. "How do! old chum. I thoughtyou was still in the Service."

"So I ought a bin if I 'adn't bin a bleeding fool.This 'ere gentleman is Mister Carstairs, 'e's good, Itrained 'im myself. 'E's nephew of LootenantCarstairs wot was on the 'Mediterranean' with us."

The man promptly saluted, and Carstairs noddedto him. "I shall get a fair show?" he asked.

The ex-marine nodded towards Bounce. "Me an'Bull-dog'll see to that, sir."

"Thanks!" He stood up and addressed the crowdwith a smiling countenance. "Look here, you chaps,I'm going to take on your mate here for as many roundsas you like, or to a finish."

"To a finish," they shouted in chorus.

"Alright; to a finish, then, but we may as wellhave a gamble on it."

"'Ear! 'Ear! That's sporting."

"Well, look here. I'll put my purse containingfive pounds in the hands of this gentleman. (Hepointed to the marine, who blushed.)

"Mister Hisco*cks," some one remarked.

There was a general titter, the navvy is unaccustomedto any sort of a handle to his name.

"That's it. If I lose, that five pounds will be yoursto buy drinks with. If I win, will you promiseto go back and leave those women alone?"

"That's fair, mates. 'E couldn't say no fairerthan that," the marine remarked.

"Ay. 'O's going to watch you an' the five pounds,Bill?"

There was a general laugh.

"What do you say?" Carstairs asked.

"What does Charlie think on it?" a voice asked.

"Yes, let Charlie decide," they chorused.

"Well, mates," Charlie spoke up, "I thinks wotthe bloke sez is fair. I'll do my best for you, mates."

Carstairs climbed out of the trap. "That's settledthen," he said.

Bounce led the horse on to the green, and tied himup to a little tree. "Let's have a proper ring, andhalf a dozen stewards to see there ain't no crowding."

They selected a level spot in a little dell surroundedby miniature mountains. "'Cos then everybody cansee without shoving," a navvy observed. The sixstewards, with an air of very great seriousness, tookoff their coats and rolled up their shirt sleeves,exposing brawny, sunburnt arms to the daylight.They formed a circle and roughly measured with theireyes. "How's that, Charlie? How'll that do, sir?"

"Alright, mates," Charlie said.

"Very nicely, thanks," Carstairs replied.

They stepped inside the circle, and Bounce andHisco*cks assisted Carstairs to disrobe, while fivehundred statuesque navvies crowded round the tiersof the natural theatre, five hundred hard, strong faces;high cheek-boned, square-jawed, steady-eyed. Manyof them were exceedingly handsome, in a massive,rough-hewn sort of way; mahogany browned, ear-ringed,coarse skinned. They were gathered therefor a brutal, coarse purpose, perhaps, but the dawningof a great truth was uppermost, resolute and steadfast,in the minds of most. They were going to see fairplay, "fair play" with all it meant when all thepassions of envy, hatred, fierce anger, and the lustof gain were aroused. They were sportsmen, thesem*n, and the term always seems to me synonymouswith gentlemen as understood in England. The germof a desire to do right was firmly fixed in their hearts,and this absorbed through many generations from theforce of the precept and example of their leaders, thearistocrats of England. They had no religion, thesem*n, and no politics, but the spirit of the prize ringand the Queensberry rules was deeply implantedin their souls. Their fathers before them hadimbibed these rules from constant practical demonstration.Those drunken, dissolute, Georgian noblemenhad given these men a code of morals that they couldunderstand, and firmly rooted it in their breasts byconsistent example. And every day England reapsthe fruit of that seed. Truly it seems to me thatEngland owes more to the sportsman than to thestatesman: and although the middle class swamp,by a vast majority, all other classes in the numberof great men they have produced: yet the aristocracy,like the head boys of a school, are responsiblefor the "tone" of the nation, and the "tone" ofEngland is surpassing good. What these men hadstarted out to do that day was due to their mentallimitation, not to their wilful vice. Woman,particularly that type of woman, was to them an inferioranimal, as she is to most working men; yet themajority treat their female relations, and the womenthey consider worthy of it (and the working man isnot easily deceived by fine clothes and fine manners),with astonishing respect, real and true respect, notsuperficial mannerisms. The big majority of Englishworking men, in my experience, are sportsmen, andpossessed of the instincts of gentlemen, ineradicablystamped into their hard, true natures. And you youngmen, the budding engineers, who are lost in theintricacies of elementary algebra, or unravelling thosepainful problems in strength of material; the Tensilestresses in the rims of flywheels, and the elastic limitof steel plates, etc.: it is yours to see that you alsounderstand the elastic limit of human nature, theinherent instincts of the working man, and thedurability of your own emotions; this is what you learnin the "shops": it is yours to solve the unemployedproblem and see that the English workman gets achance to develop the fine qualities that are in him;for this (unemployment) is an engineering problem;the reduction of a sine curve to a straight line, themodification of a wave, the control of a tide: it isyours to know that the working man does not wanta mouth in Parliament, but a fair show at his work.Watch what he does, and not what he says, as he willwatch what you do, and not what you say; then youwill see that he is (mostly) a sportsman, and you willlearn to understand that it is better that the accentshould be on the "man" than on the "gentle"—yetdo not forget that a clean mind is the basis of all trueforce of character, and is inherently respected by everyEnglishman, foul-mouthed though he be. And you,fond Mammas, who desire your dear boys to beengineers, see to it that their biceps are good, for thisis the underlying principle of all work; and whendear Willie comes home from the "shops" with hisface punched into a many-hued polyhedron, be notalarmed, this is no doubt the result of scientificresearch into the specific resistance of the fitter's mate;it is also conceivable that occasions may arise when itis good that Willie should stand in the police courtdock, charged with breaking a man's head with ahammer. All these things must come to pass beforethe steel enters thoroughly into Willie's soul; thenhe will take a very high polish and be very reliable,yet he will be very flexible and very keen; for thisis the age of steel—hard, keen, true steel.

Carstairs stripped to the waist and tied his trousersround with a scarf that Bounce lent him. He steppedinto the middle of the ring and looked at his opponent:slightly shorter, but more massive than himself, hisface was remarkably hard looking, with a short, clippedmoustache, and light china blue eyes with a roving,happy-go-lucky look in them; even now, as Carstairsfaced him, there was an element of a grin on his face.(It is written somewhere in the Book of Fate that theBritish navvy shall fear no man on this earth.) Hisneck was like the trunk of an oak tree and slopedgrandly on to his massive shoulders; in his hands,Carstairs observed, Nature had endowed him with apair of very formidable weapons, the knuckles wereenormous. Altogether Jack Carstairs recognised thathe was up against one of the stiffest propositions hehad ever tackled in his life.

"Are you ready, sir?" he asked, with quite agenial smile.

"Yes," Carstairs answered.

"Three minute rounds," Bounce said, taking outthe fine, half-hunter watch that had been presentedto him for rescuing a drowning man.

The two combatants agreed.

"Shake hands, then." They reached out andgripped each other with a strong, hearty grip, and fivehundred heads nodded grave approval.

"Now! Time!"

As soon as the word was out of Bounce's mouth,the navvy sprang at Carstairs like a tiger. Theroyal light of battle was in his eyes, there waspositive joy written large and bold over all hiscountenance.

Carstairs was serious, very serious, and quite calm;he ducked the man's furious left and right straightdrives, and got in a useful stop hit with his left in theface, then broke ground. But the navvy was on himagain like a whirlwind, while five hundred gruff voicesshouted.

"One for the toff. First blood for the toff. 'Isnose is bleeding. Don't forget that five pound,Charlie. Mind, your mates is watching you."

Carstairs felt the huge, bony fists whistle past hisears, and he ducked and ducked again to the furiousstraight drives. He began to smile, too; the pleasureof it was entering into him, the important issue wasslipping away from his mind. He hit the navvyheavily about the face, and received one or twoglancing blows himself.

When time was called, they stood and looked ateach other for a second or so like two newly foundfriends.

"That was good, wasn't it, sir?" the navvy said.

"You do make the pace," Carstairs answered, withgenuine admiration.

The man stroked his nose tenderly. "Same to you,sir," he said, with a grin.

Their seconds came and took them away to theircorners and sat them down on one man's knees whileanother fanned them with big, red pockethandkerchiefs.

"'It 'im in the body," Bounce whispered. "Youcould 'it 'im in the clock all day, an' 'e'd on'y thinkyou was tickling of 'im."

"Time" was called, and the navvy held out hishand again just to show that they were still on thebest of good terms. Carstairs grasped it warmly, andagain the five hundred heads nodded strong approval.They stepped back a pace and the navvy said: "Areyou ready?"

Carstairs said "Yes," and promptly the man sprangin, letting drive furiously right and left. There was asameness about his methods, and he swung his shouldersfreely and openly before each hit, so that Carstairsknew exactly where and when they were coming, anddodged them easily; he ducked low to the left, andgot in a swinging right on the short ribs. The mangrunted, his breath had been short before. Hestopped and took a deep breath, Carstairs magnanimouslystanding clear of him; then he rushed again,and Carstairs got him in the same place; again hetook a deep breath and rushed, exhaustion was makinghim slower. Carstairs ducked to the right this time,and got in a beautiful left, fairly and squarely on thesolar plexus. The man dropped like a log, and laygasping.

THE MAN DROPPED LIKE A LOG

There was a wild uproar, several of the men triedto break into the ring to pick him up, but the stewardsthrust them roughly back. "Don't break the ring,"they said. Bounce stood over him, watch in hand,and counted out the seconds. "He's beat," he saidat the end of the tenth, as the man lay there helpless.

Carstairs picked him up. "Never mind," he said."That five pounds is yours, anyway."

The navvies shouted uproariously, and crowdedround Carstairs congratulating him in their roughbut sincere fashion. In the midst of it all he heardan old familiar voice that drove the smile from his face.

"That really was damn good, old chap."

He turned and beheld Darwen, smiling, genial,standing at his elbow.

"How the devil did you get here?" he asked,frowning severely.

The navvies near listened in open curiosity andwonder.

"'E bin down 'ere weeks, off an' on, standing usbeer down at the village," a navvy explained.

"So this was some of your devil's work, eh? Youwere going to resort to force when fair means failed,you damned skunk."

The navvies listened in silent wonder.

Darwen shrugged his shoulders with easy unconcern."The forces of Nature, dear boy," he answered.He turned to the navvies. "I came down to see thefun," he said. "The gipsies are going to put up ascrap, I see, they're out with sticks and guns and Godknows what."

"That's off, Mister," a navvy answered.

"Off? Ha! Ha! You've let this chap with hislittle fight divert you?"

"That was part of the stakes," Carstairs said, shortly."And these men will stick to their bargain."

They gave a low murmur of assent.

Darwen laughed. "Well, you are mugs, you've letthis chap diddle you. This skilled fighter against poorold plucky, but unskilled Charlie."

They began to cast suspicious glances at Carstairs.

"Charlie didn't get one good one on him. You couldsee that for yourselves."

"It was a fair fight," they said, gruffly. "An' abet's a bet."

"That's right; fair is fair all the world over," hewas talking to them in their own language, "but itisn't fair for a trained man, practising every day, totake advantage of a plucky sort of chap like Charlie,now is it?"

There was silence.

"A bet is a bet," he repeated, "but it's not sportingto bet on a cert. 'All bets off' in that case is therule," he said.

Carstairs was slowly dressing; he stopped with hiscollar in his hand. "That man is a rogue and a liar," hesaid, "he doesn't know the meaning of the term sport."

"Ha! Ha! Hear that. Ask him if he'd take meon the same terms that he took Charlie on?"

"Yes, here and now," Carstairs answered, startingto undress again. "And glad of the chance."

The navvies cheered. "'Ear. 'Ear. That's atoff, that's sport. Clear the ring, mates. Let thetwo toffs set to."

The stewards cleared the ring again, the navviesstepped back in expectant silence, they expectedsomething exceptional this time. Charlie stepped upto Carstairs. "I'll be your second, mister. Let thisyer bloke (pointing to Bounce) be referee." He wasas brisk and lively as ever again.

"Thanks," Carstairs said. "You and I must havea drink together before I go back."

Charlie grinned with real pleasure. "Thank ye,sir," he said.

Darwen stripped with alacrity, his big brown eyesgleamed with abnormal joy: there was sufficient ofthe Gaul in him to make him "More than man beforethe fight. Less than woman afterwards." He wasattended to by two navvies; a tall red-headed manand a slender dark man with rather a thoughtful,melancholy cast of countenance. A young gipsyyouth, slouch-hatted, slovenly, wandered up to thegroup, and stood beside Darwen for a minute or two;his piercing eyes moved with a quick alert expressionunder the wide drooping brim of his hat; his face wasvery dirty and his hands thrust deep into his trousers'pockets. The navvies took no notice of him, and hewandered nonchalantly across the ring and took up aposition near Carstairs.

"How many rounds?" he asked.

"To a finish," Bounce answered.

"I'll put a bob on this 'un, he's got the lookof a winner," he growled out in a surly, gruffvoice.

Carstairs glanced up at him quickly, but he turnedround and sauntered off.

"Get ready."

They stepped out into the ring, two splendidspecimens of English manhood. Darwen six feet in hissocks, and Carstairs half an inch shorter. They werein the pink of condition, and both of them full ofsteam. Somewhere near at hand was the girl theyboth wanted, and they had this in mind. Darwen,for the first time in his life, was in love, really in love,with all the ardour of his passionate nature.

"Shake hands," Darwen's seconds called, butCarstairs took no notice, and the five hundredspectators settled themselves to witness a battle of realhatred.

"Time," Bounce called.

Promptly Darwen sprang in with a realistic feint,then, smiling, broke ground and worked round hisantagonist. Carstairs watched him, keeping thecentre of the ring, pivoting slowly on his own axis.Darwen sprang in again with another feint, but stillCarstairs gave no opening, then quick as a flashDarwen gave a left lead and followed up with a heavyright swing; both got home, though not with theirfull effect.

Darwen was at the zenith of a strong man's powers;his head was singularly clear, and his speed almostsupernatural. There was a sort of feline fascinationabout him, his eyes, too, were something catlike, orsnakey; there was an undulating ease in his movementsthat was beautiful, fascinating; he had risento the sort of hysterical height which the Latins seemcapable of, and still the English blood in him kepthim cool. As he stood, that day, he was almost theperfect, scientific fighter. He feinted with wonderfulexpression, he "drew" Carstairs' leads withextremely skilful acting, and timed his countersmarvellously. At the end of the round, Carstairs wasbattered and bruised, but Darwen was as fresh asa daisy.

The navvies maintained a glum silence; this feintingand drawing savoured, to them, of deceit, andthe way Carstairs took his punishment, melted theirhearts. The ex-marine whispered in his ear: "steadydoes it, stick to 'im."

The young gipsy reappeared from the crowd. "Mymoney's still on this 'un," he said.

Next round, Carstairs attacked, persistently, allthe time; his wind was good and he knew it; fromhis earliest infancy he had led a spotlessly clean andwholesome life, and he was sound as a bell from thecrown of his head to the sole of his foot; he was alertand quick too, but it was the staccato briskness of theterrier, and his eyes were the eyes of an Englishman,an engineer. With a fine disregard of punishment,he hustled Darwen through the whole of the round.

The navvies buzzed with excitement, and the younggipsy had to be turned out of the ring by the stewards.

Darwen's seconds performed their office enthusiastically,but their sympathies were really with theother man.

For four rounds Carstairs took all the punishmentsteadily. He bored in all the time, attacking persistently,never once had he feinted or tried to keep away.Darwen's smile began to fade, he was getting angry.This man was such a fool that apparently he couldnot see that he was beaten. There was a devilishgleam of temper in his eyes as they faced each otherfor the fifth round.

Carstairs' left foot and left fist moved in the old,old way. Instead of steadily countering as he hadbeen doing, Darwen dashed in to hustle matters to aclose. Next minute Bounce was standing over himcounting out the seconds. For the first time in thefight Carstairs had feinted—and successfully.

The navvies cheered fervidly.

At the seventh second, Darwen jumped up furiouslyand sprang at Carstairs like a fiend incarnate. "Youdevil," he screamed, "I'll kill you."

But he didn't. Carstairs knocked him down again, andhe lay like a log. Still he was up again before the lastsecond was counted. It was astonishing where he gotthe power from, but he rushed in again like a whirlwind.

Carstairs, cool and precise, but very quick, his greyeyes hard as steel, jabbed him off, and off, and off,till he saw what he wanted, then his wide shouldersswept a half circle in the air, swinging cleanly fromthe hips; his great, strong, right leg, trailing to therear like a stay, braced itself suddenly rigid; andthe right fist, tightly clenched at the moment ofimpact, shot out clean and true in a perfectly straightline to the point of Darwen's eagerly extended jaw:it was a perfect blow, showing a beautiful, smoothripple as one muscle after the other took up its task;then remaining rigid like a statue for one second, withlips firmly closed, and the eyes—the entire expressionof the face, full of definite, resolute purpose;Carstairs for that second seemed more than a man. Nonebut a man with his long record of clean living andstrict training could have risen to such a blow afterreceiving such a pounding as he had.

Darwen dropped for the last time.

There was a tense silence as Bounce stood over him,the tenth second was called and still he lay there;his seconds picked him up and dabbed his face witha wet handkerchief; slowly the light of intelligencereturned to his eyes. He sat up and looked round.There was a subdued cheer; the navvies were unusuallymoved, they felt, somehow, that this was more thanan ordinary fight, every one was still for fully a minute,the silence was oppressive. God knows what waspassing in those five hundred rugged minds. Carstairshimself was strangely impressed; in after lifehe never forgot it. He felt, he said, as though he hadcome suddenly to the last peak of a majestic mountain,and saw a wondrous valley spread out below him.

Darwen's seconds stood behind him holding up hisshoulders. They were quite still, they said no wordas he looked slowly and vacantly round; then,without warning, he bent his head forward into hishands and wept like a child.

A beaten man is the most pathetic sight in allNature: these men were used to death, they hadseen their bosom chums killed, squashed flat by fallingrocks, buried alive in the earth, mangled by machinery;but when Darwen wept they turned their heads.

The young gipsy moved up to Carstairs, as he stoodalone, and whispered in his ear: "I knew you'd win.You'll always win, win whatever you want." Asmall hand reached out and dropped an emerald ringon to the little heap of his clothes over which he wasbending; as he put out his hand to pick it up, he feltthe pressure of warm, soft lips on his cheek. Hestarted up in amazement, but the gipsy had meltedinto the crowd like a shadow. One or two of thenavvies who had seen it grinned from ear to ear, andCarstairs blushed from his forehead to his neck.

"That was a girl," a navvy said. "I thought hewas slim like, too."

Carstairs said nothing, but dressed very quickly.

CHAPTER XX

Bounce had seen that little incident, too. Hecrossed the ring and helped Carstairs to dress.He said nothing, but his peculiar hazel eyes werealight.

While they were still busy, the little civil engineerfrom the water-works appeared on the scene. Helooked round in surprise. "What the blazes are youchaps doing here?" he asked.

A navvy answered from the crowd. "A fight, sir." Thewhole assembly had the air of school boys caughtbreaking bounds.

The little man blazed with anger. "Damn it,"he said, "why didn't you tell me? You know I liketo see that everything is above board at these littlegatherings." He stood on the top of the little hillclear to the view of all.

"Beg parding, sir. This 'ere were sort of impromptoo."

"Impromptu! By Jove—you know I don't likeimpromptu fights."

"Very sorry, sir," the spokesman muttered, andthey all looked it. By sheer force of character andunswerving fairness of treatment, this little man hadobtained, in the course of two years' constantassociation, a complete ascendency over these wild, strongmen.

"Who's been fighting?" he asked.

"Charlie Moore an' a toff bloke, then two toffblokes."

"Oh," he said, in a completely changed tone, andmade his way quickly to where Carstairs was.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Carstairs was dressed and just moving off, "Myname is Carstairs. I'm an engineer too, electricaland mechanical. I'm staying at the Blue Boar inthe village, I have an engagement now. If you willcall there this evening, I shall be pleased to have atalk with you."

"But what's the fight about? Have my men beenmolesting you?"

"Oh no." Carstairs looked round, the navvieswere beginning to move off hurriedly. He did notwant to get them into trouble, still he was not goodat lying. "I was to blame," he said. "We had adifference of opinion and settled it in thetime-honoured way; they behaved like gentlemen."

The little man's eyes sparkled. He looked round,but the last of the five hundred was disappearinghurriedly, like a cart horse colt over the hillock. Helaughed aloud. "They're just damn great kids! thosechaps, but the very best. I shan't be able toget within earshot of one of 'em till Monday morningnow. They'll shun me like the plague." He laughedagain. "By George they are rum chaps. Aboutthe first week they were here there was a violent rowwith the old farmer on the hill there." He pointedto a farm house in the distance. "They wentrabbiting with dogs and ferrets right in front of hishouse; when he expostulated, they were going to pullhis place to pieces. He sent for me. I couldn't stoptheir poaching, of course, nobody could; but Iobjected to their threatening the man. 'Well, sir,'they said (it was that man Moore by the way), 'whatbeat us was the cheek o' the beggar coming an' talkingto three on us.' He didn't speak to one of themafterwards, poor chap, he was frightened out of his wits;they're a mean sort of swine, farmers. Fancy grousingabout a blooming rabbit."

Carstairs laughed. "How about the woods overthere?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't think there's much left in 'em now.The keepers keep away when my chaps are about." Thelittle man laughed. "They have elaborateshooting parties with plenty of beer, and about sixold guns between 'em. Take it in turns for a shot.Gravely presented me with a pair of pheasants once,and got quite shirty when I wouldn't have 'em;couldn't understand that they were stolen. 'Why!the keeper seen us,' they explained. 'If he'd beena wise man he would have not seen you,' I said.'Will 'e 'ave a trout then, mister?' 'No thanks,'I said. 'Well, I'm beggared,' they answered, andwent away growling. They still think I'm a bitmad."

They laughed together and strolled on. Carstairswas obviously impatient, but the little man did notsee it. He only met men with a soul above beer atvery rare intervals.

"Damn funny chaps, you know, but the best, thevery best, at heart. Don't care tuppence for anybody,and quite fail to see why they should. 'Whenmy 'at's on, my roof's on, an' off I goes,' they say.They wander up and get a start, work for a day,'sub' a 'bob,' and slope off. Sometimes a man willstart one day, and next a policeman arrives, and theman is missing, two or three more with him very likely.Damn funny chaps. What for? Oh, nothing seriousas a rule, pinching a pair of boots from a shop window,or something like that, you know; I had a manmurdered once, though; not here—up in the midlands,had a hole knocked in his head with a pick axe,never found out who did it. There are black sheepin every flock, of course."

"Men are about the same as any other machine,I think, you get out rather less than you put in.Breed simply means efficiency and reliability."

"Yes. By Jove, that's so. Look here, come up tomy digs, will you? What! an engagement. Oh,I see. Well, ta-ta for the present."

They were quite close to the caravan, and the littleman looked at Carstairs curiously as he saw wherehe was going. He made no comment, but turnedand made his way back to the village.

The camp was quite silent, the vans were all drawnup together in the form of a square. The dogs andchildren all seemed to have disappeared. Carstairswent up the steps of the caravan, and knocked atthe little door. He began to wonder vaguely if thegipsies had all deserted the place, till he caught sightof the crown of a hat and the muzzle of a gun onthe roof of a caravan.

The door was very quietly opened by the old woman(she was in ragged male attire), and her eyes gleamedlike an eagle's in the sunlight as she looked atCarstairs. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Well done,well done," she said.

He put her hand gently aside. "Where is yourdaughter?" he asked.

"Gone to London," she answered.

Carstairs frowned like a thunder-storm. "Confoundit! She gave me this ring about two minutesago."

The woman smiled and looked at the ring. "Yes,that's her mother's. Don't lose it."

"Yours?" he said. "What's she bolted awayagain for?"

She positively laughed, and Carstairs turned to goaway. She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder."I'm not her mother," she said.

"What! Then who is?"

"Lady Cleeve's sister. She's dead."

"Holy God! But that man—Sir Thomas, said——"

"He didn't know and didn't care much. She's hischild, but not mine; mine died, and we stole this one.God forgive me! She's been more than a daughter tome. And he—he was always drunk, always drunkwhen he wasn't playing the fiddle, always drunk.And now he's dead."

"Oh!" Carstairs said; it was all he could think ofat the time.

The gipsy woman sat on the top step of the littleladder, her head in her hands, crooning to herself."My God! My God! And now he's dead! Hecharmed me with his singing and his playing, and hewas in the gutter playing for coppers and drink, whilehis lawful wife lay dying in her mother's home. Oh,my God! my God!"

Carstairs stood in wonder; he did not know whetherto stay or go. She took no notice of him, but croonedon, rocking herself from side to side. "And now he'sdead. Dead! Him that opened the gates of Heavenwith his fiddle! dead and along with her, but I shallhave him; he's mine, mine, and there's another. Omy God! My God! but I'm going too! I shall bethe first."

Carstairs tapped her on the shoulder. "Pull yourselftogether," he said. "Shall I get you some brandy?"

"Brandy? No! that's been the curse of it all." Sheraised her head and glared at him with eyes likelive coals. "I stole this child, his child, that oughtto have been brought up in the lap of luxury, I stoleher and brought her up like a gipsy to try and bringhim back." She dropped her head into her handsagain and wailed. "God forgive me! God forgive me!"

He shook her quite roughly. "It's no use groaningnow," he said, "try and make amends. Have youtold the girl who she is?"

"Yes, to-day, and gave her the ring. All there isto prove it."

"Is that why she left you, then?" Carstairs couldhardly believe it, remembering the affection the girlhad always shown for this woman whom she believedto be her mother.

"No, no, she kissed me like an angel from heaven.It's you, you who made her leave."

"Me! but she's just given me this ring, and—andshe kissed me too."

The woman looked up at him again, but her eyeswere now dim with tears. "You don't understand,she's very proud, prouder than that old man who'sjust dead. She'll come for that ring some day."

"No! By God, she won't. I'll find her, and takeit to her." He pulled out a card. "Look here, that'smy address. If I don't find her before I go back nextweek, will you send me her address, or any news ofher you may have?"

"I shall be dead in a month; it's no use leavingme this."

"What's the use of talking rot like that?" he said,angrily. "Are you going to help me?"

"No," she answered simply.

He turned and left her without another word."Bounce," he said, as he climbed into the dog-cart,"you've had some experience. Are all women mad?"

"Every one on 'em, sir. That is, them wots anygood."

"Ah! Well, let her go like hell for Southville."

On the way they passed the little civil engineer."Hullo!" he shouted, "are you off, then?"

Carstairs pulled up. "Yes, jump up and come oninto Southville with me, I want some one to swear at."

"Ha! That's it, is it?" He climbed in. "Whatelse are you going to do with me?"

"Put you up for the week-end, swear at you all day,Sunday, and send you back about your business onMonday."

"Well, half a minute; let's go via my digs—thatfarm over there—and I'll collect some togs."

"Not a sock or a pyjama. Come as you are, andwe'll go to church to-morrow, yellow leggings, and all.I want you to be best man."

"This is rather sudden, isn't it?"

"Not at all, the only obstacle is whether I cancatch the bride in time."

"Ah, I see, but there's some formality about banns,and living in the parish, and so on."

"My dear fellow, I'm a parson's son."

"I might have known that by your command ofswear words. So am I."

"Is that so? I might have known that too byyour perverted morals. Never saw such an indignantchap as you when you thought those navvies hadcheated you out of a fight."

"Yes. By Jove, I shall wake those chaps upabout that on Monday."

They all three laughed.

"The bride is along this road somewhere; she'sonly got about twenty minutes or half an hour'sstart. We're bound to catch her, and then, by Jove!I'll gag and bind her if she won't come quietly."

"They never do that," Bounce said, wagging hishead sagely.

"Look here, Bounce, if you sit up there croakingaway like some old raven, I'll chuck you out of thecart."

"Very sorry, sir, but fax is fax, ain't 'em?"

Carstairs turned to the civil engineer. "They callhim Bull-dog Bounce," he explained, "it's no usearguing with him. By the way, I don't know yourname. Mine's Carstairs."

"Whitworth. Jack Whitworth."

"Jack. I'm a Jack, too. So is Bounce here.That's strange."

"No, sir. Beggin' your pardon, sir. A. E. Bounce,sir. Algernon Edward Bounce, A.B. That's howit's writ down in the Service books."

"Yes, of course, so you told me before. I'dforgotten. I'm sorry."

The little civil engineer was inclined to smile tillhe glanced at Bounce's perfectly serious face, then hestared straight ahead, and they drove in silence forsome time.

As they neared the outskirts of Southville and stillsaw no signs of the girl on the road, Carstairs got angry."I wonder if that woman lied to me," he muttered.

They drove on till they reached the hotel. "Noluck this journey," he said, with a resigned smile."Come on in and have a drink, Bounce." They helda council of war in the smoking room. Whitworthraised his brows in wonder at the tale which waspartially disclosed to him.

"The curse of it is, I've got to go up north again onWednesday," Carstairs said.

"Ah, that is awkward. I'll keep an eye on thecamp for you, and let you know if the girl's there, orif that dark chap is hanging around."

"Mister Darwen's 'ad enough I expect, sir."

"Not he, Bounce. He'll turn up smiling again."

Bounce left them shortly afterwards, and the twoengineers, after partaking of a substantial meal,strolled round the town, particularly the railwaystation part of it, in the hope of meeting the girl.At about ten o'clock they went home and wentstraight to bed, they had both had a busy day,particularly Carstairs.

The hotel was old fashioned and very comfortable,but the resources in the way of bedrooms were strictlylimited, partly due to the reputation of the place.Anyhow that evening the only bedroom they had tooffer for Whitworth was a small one right at the topof an obscure wing of the building. Carstairs saidnothing, but had his own luggage taken up there,and gave Whitworth his room, fairly large, close toa bathroom and over-looking a nicely kept lawn andshrubbery. He saw him installed in it, supplying hiswants as much as possible from his own portmanteau.

"I'm sorry I brought you away in such a hurry."

"That's alright, I'm used to roughing it. It'squite a treat to me to have the electric light in my roomand listen to the traffic outside. I feel like a kid on aholiday in London."

"Hope you'll sleep alright. Good night."

"Trust me for that. Good night."

Carstairs was soon in bed and asleep, but it wasstill dark when in his obscure corner of the buildinghe became aware of some sort of commotion going ondownstairs; he had a sort of vague impression thathe had been awakened by a cry. He lay for a momentand heard a police whistle blown violently, and avoice shouting, "Police! Police!"

He sprang out of bed, hurriedly donned a fewgarments, and wound his way along tortuous passagesto the entrance hall. Whitworth was standing there(the centre of a group) in shirt and trousers, with asmall bedroom poker in his hand.

"What's the trouble?" Carstairs asked.

"Trouble! By Gad!" The little man was red asa turkey co*ck and furiously angry. "Some damnedswine tried to rob me, came in through the window.I was awake and heard him climbing up, wonderedwhat it was. The window was open—I always sleepwith it open—he pushed up the bottom sash and gotinside, then I switched on the light and went for him.Look here!" he stretched his neck and pulled downthe collar of his shirt showing finger marks still there."He had no boots or stockings on; he took me bythe throat and held me off, with one foot shoved intothe pit of my stomach. I was as helpless as a kid.His arms were so long I was quite clear of him, and hewas as strong as a tiger. Then—what do you think? helooked in my face a minute, and chucked me acrossthe room. Look here," he exposed a bruised elbow."I grabbed the poker, and he hopped out of thewindow like a monkey. I'll swear he was more likea monkey than anything I've ever seen; he wasdoubled up, hunchbacked, and his head tilted upwardsall the time. His hands were below his knees;he jumped from all fours. Most hideous brute I'veever seen. I ran to the window, intending to chuckthe poker at him, but he was gone; whether up ordown, I couldn't say."

Carstairs listened in silence, his face was very grave.A policeman arrived, and took profuse notes. "Hunchback,"he said. "There was a gang here about threeyear ago with a hunchback bloke."

Then the excitement abated, and the few malevisitors who had come out half dressed, to ascertainthe cause of the trouble, wandered back to bed. Theengineers did likewise.

Carstairs, before getting into bed, carefully examinedthe room; he locked the door, wedged the window,and put his big pocket knife under his pillow. Thenhe slept like a top, for he was at heart a fatalist, andfelt that nothing would happen that night, and hewas right. The morning broke bright and clear,and he and Whitworth were down to breakfastearly.

The little man chatted away merrily about hisadventure as he disposed of a very liberal breakfast."The cheek of the swine, to try and rob me!" he said,with unbounded astonishment and indignation, sothat Carstairs smiled.

"You seem to have imbibed the spirit of yournavvies pretty well."

Whitworth laughed. "By Gad, if I'd got thatpoker a second or two sooner, I'd have flattened himout. Wish old Hisco*cks had been there. He's mysort of body servant, chain-bearer, carries theinstruments, and that sort of thing, one of the finestmen on top of this earth, sixteen stone odd, and nostomach; he'd have flattened that chap to a pulp,he's been in the marine artillery."

"Yes, I know. Bounce knocked him out in aten-round contest in Japan."

"What!" Whitworth dropped his knife and forkin astonishment.

"That's right, because I remember my uncle tellingme about it."

"Good Lord! That little Bounce. Well, I'm hanged."

"My dear chap, Bounce is invincible. You oughtto have seen him chuck a seven-foot policeman out ofthe works in this town one night."

Whitworth went on with his breakfast with a businesslike air. "I must find a job for Bounce," he said,decidedly. "What's his pay now?"

"That's been arranged; he's coming up north withme, driving on the test plate. He's worth his weightin gold there, so prompt, clear-headed, and reliable."

"Mean swine! Fancy keeping a man like thatindoors driving dirty engines, he ought to be outsidein the sun and the rain with the birds and the flowers."

Carstairs laughed. "When you've finished grubbingwe'll get outside with the flowers and the birds,"he said.

Shortly after they sallied forth together and wentfor a brisk walk in the country. Coming back theywere just in time for the people trooping out of church,and who should they meet but Darwen, prayer bookin hand, smiling, gay, as usual.

"Hullo, there's that chap—" Whitworth commenced.

"Yes. He's probably the biggest sweep unhung, butI know his mother, and I must have a word with him."

Darwen held out his hand. "May I presume tocongratulate you on a good score yesterday?" he said.

"I was lucky," Carstairs answered, ignoring thehand. Whitworth strolled on.

Darwen still smiled. "I can't allow that, my dearchap. You were good, scientific. I ought to haveknown you were not such a fool as you look."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, old chap, honestly I consideryou a smart chap; in fact, it begins to seem as ifthere's not room on this earth for both you and I." Hesmiled in his happy, genial way, but his eyes weretaking in every movement of Carstairs' features.

"Oh, the earth is a big place, we can avoid eachother. I'm going to Chilcombe to-morrow, and nextday up north again, I expect, but can't say for certaintill I get my letters. I shall call to see your materwhen I'm that way."

"Yes, do! Of course she need never know ofour little scrap, eh?" Darwen's eyes had the sameold sparkle in them, and Carstairs with immobile faceand calm eyes was watching him as he watched anengine under test.

"No, of course not!"

"By the way one of my old friends in the forcetold me there was a burglary at some hotel here lastnight." His eyes flickered with a sunny smile as hewatched Carstairs' face.

"Ye-es, my hotel. A drunken sailor climbed inat one of the windows and left by the sameroute." Carstairs' face was almost expressionless.

"Ah! You didn't see the fun, then?"

"No, there wasn't much to see, I understand."

Darwen stepped up close and looked intently intohis eyes. "Do you ever lie, Carstairs?"

"Oh, yes! not, I think, frequently; as oftenas you, for instance." His face was sphinx-likestill.

"No, by God, I don't believe you could! Decently!" Hestepped back and laughed aloud. "You'veneglected the most vital accomplishment of modernlife—to lie well. Ta, ta, old chap, I wish we could bepals." He passed on with a happy smile and lookedup to the sun. "The Lord has delivered him intomy hands," he said, to himself.

Carstairs rejoined Whitworth, and they returned tothe hotel. After dinner, as they sat smoking, he said,suddenly: "Would you like to catch that chap whotried to rob you last night?"

"By Gad, I should like to give him a hiding."

Carstairs puffed his pipe in silence for a few moments,his steady, shrewd eyes observing Whitworth closely."That man came to murder me, not to rob you," hesaid, at length.

"Good God, man! What are you talking about?"

"What I believe to be the truth. Can you getto-morrow off, and come home to my place withme—that is, if you're game for a man hunt."

"Rather! But I say—are you sure?"

"Well, er—reasonably. The solution I have inmind seems to satisfy most of the conditions of theproblem; we are up in the clouds somewhere, beyondall rules. The only methods for such problems aretrial and error. Will you come?"

"You bet, but I must get a change of togs, first.What time do you want to go?"

"Oh, in the afternoon some time. You can slipover to your digs in the morning, and you mightbring your man, Hisco*cks, if you can. I'll get Bounce."

So it was settled, and at half-past three on Mondayafternoon, a select-party of four got into a third-classcarriage en route for Chilcombe. Carstairs explainedthe situation. "We're going to catch a burglar,that's all, but I want to keep him myself, that's whyI don't want the police brought into it. I hope thatthey'll come into action later for a double bag."

Bounce and the ex-marine nodded and asked noquestions. They were trained that way, butWhitworth leaned forward and spoke. "I say, it's aghastly business you know, that—that thing was halfan animal, I'll swear it, he didn't speak a word, onlygave an animal sort of snarl, and his eyes as helooked into my face were the eyes of a wild beast." Hegave a little shudder. "By God, we ought to killit on sight."

"We can't do that, you know, but we can stun it.You saw that man who was killed at the vicaragebefore, Bounce?"

"Yes, sir; mangled 'e was."

"I know. I saw Donovan." Carstairs puffed athis pipe. "Must be as strong as an elephant. We'dbetter stun him for a start."

They arrived at Chilcombe and Bounce andHisco*cks put up at the village inn, while Carstairstook Whitworth home. It was a merry gatheringthat night at the vicarage; Stanley Carstairs wasthere, and the Bevengtons came in. Whitworth wasas lively as a cricket, he kept the whole companycontinually on the smile with his humour and endlessanecdotes of his navvies and other people he had met.Jack Carstairs lay back in his chair and listened witha steady smile. He was watching Bessie Bevengtonand Whitworth and was rather glad he'd brought thelittle man home.

It was after eleven when the party broke up, andJack took Whitworth to his bedroom. "Here youare," he said, handing him a heavy cudgel. "I'llmeet you in the hall in half an hour's time."

"Alright. I say, jolly evening. Who's that girl?Is she—engaged?"

"Oh, no, one of the best, too. We've been chumssince we were kids, so I know."

The little man whirled his cudgel round his headthereby seriously endangering the furniture. "We'llflatten that beast out," he said, with extraordinaryfervour.

Carstairs laughed. "In half an hour," he said,and went to his room. He turned the gas full on andstood by the window for some minutes with the blindup, in full view of the lawn and shrubbery below.The sky was quite clear, and a full moon was climbingup behind the distant Cotswold Hills. The beauty ofthe night enchanted him, this was his home, and manymemories thronged his brain as he gazed out at theold familiar landscape silvered over with the soft,romantic light of the moon. For a moment he forgothis mission, but a rustle of leaves among the evergreensbelow and the hoot of an owl quite close at hand,brought him back from the dim and distant past tothe pressing, urgent present. He pulled down theblind, picked up a book, and lay on the bed readingfor half an hour; then he got up, lighted a bull's-eyedark lantern, turned out the gas, and crept softlydownstairs; a dark figure was sitting quietly on oneof the hall chairs, a big stick across its knees. It wasWhitworth. "This way," Carstairs said, softly, andtogether they climbed quietly out of the back kitchenwindow; they stood in the shadow of the wall for aminute and looked round. The lawn was floodedwith the soft moonlight, and the big chestnut treecast a shadow over the clump of laurel bushes nearwhere they stood. Silently they flitted across thenarrow strip of moonlight and disappeared into thedense shadow of the evergreens. A hand stretchedout in the darkness and touched Carstairs on the arm.

"Is that you, Bounce?" he whispered, very low.

"Yes, sir; nothing in sight yet."

"Alright. Get along a bit further where you cansee my window. Is Hisco*cks there?" Somethingthat seemed part of the wall murmured, "Yes, sir."

"This way then." Carstairs moved forward andstepped on a dry twig which snapped with a reportloud enough to wake the dead, so it seemed to theirtensed nerves. Bounce stepped to the front. "Ican see," he whispered, "used to the dark at sea." Theymoved round the shrubbery in single file, veryslowly, till they came to a point where they couldsee the bedroom window, full in the moonlight, justmissed by the shade of the big chestnut tree.

They stood there for half an hour, peering out fromthe darkness into the moonlight. Suddenly theyheard something stirring in the big tree, and nextinstant Whitworth gripped Carstairs by the arm."Good God! Did you see that?" Something, aman or an animal, had shot out from the high branchesof the tree, and landed on the sill of Carstairs' bedroomwindow. They stood there motionless, gazing at thething on the window ledge, astonished, paralysed;all except Bounce. For one second only was he heldmotionless, the next he was on the lawn throwing hisheavy stick at the window sill. The thing turned asthe stick struck it, and looking down, snarled like anangry dog; next minute it sprang on to the tree againand disappeared, from sight. That broke the spell,and they all ran out. "Don't shout!" Carstairswhispered, hoarsely.

Before they were there the thing was down the treeand racing across the grass on all fours. They sawBounce fling himself on to it, and the next thing wasan indistinguishable tangle whirling about the lawn.As they raced up the little sailor sprang clear and lashedout with his fist. The thing stood erect, and they sawit was a hunchbacked man. He rushed at Bouncewho stepped aside. "Stand back!" he commandedthe others in a hoarse whisper. "I'll tackle 'im."

He closed in and they heard the dull thud of a bodyblow as the hunchback reeled back. He chargedagain, snarling angrily. And again they heard a thudas Bounce's bony knuckles came in contact with theman's deformed breast bone.

Hisco*cks raised his stick and rushed forward, butthe sailor motioned him back. They circled roundeach other in the moonlight, while the other threestood silently by. The weirdness of it seemed to havecast a spell over all of them. They saw the sailor stepin, they heard a gasping pant, and next minute thehunchback dropped limply to the ground. At onceBounce bent over him, and pulling some cord from hispocket tied up his wrists and ankles in his masterly,definite manner. "Quick," he whispered, "'e's sucha funny built bloke, I couldn't get at 'im afore." Hestood up and putting his hand to his mouth suckedit and spat. "Bit me, 'e did," he observed.

"That's nasty."

"Yes! Any'ow now we'll pack 'im up. 'Aveyou got the sack, sir?"

Next day, at half-past two in the afternoon, Carstairscalled at Darwen's office in London. As soon as theywere alone, he produced a revolver.

"We captured a bit of property of yours last night,Darwen."

"Ha! Is that so?" He sat down calmly in hischair, toying with an ebony ruler, watching Carstairscarefully, and smiling all the time.

"Put that ruler down; it's no use, your man hasgone back on you. I'll give you twenty-four hoursto corpse yourself, however you like, otherwise I putthe police on you. Before I leave this office I want awritten confession."

The brilliant eyes sparkled with amusem*nt."Dear old Carstairs! It's not bad for a first attempt,but you were not built for a liar. It needs practice,Carstairs! Constant practice. That man is dumb.I cut his tongue before I utilized him for these littlemissions. Ha! Ha! I'm always willing to learnfrom the experience of others. Old Donovan wasbowled out by a tongue, I removed it; swotted upthe literature on the subject, and removed it myself;the human body is a fascinating machine, better thangreasy engines. What's the next move, old chap?" Hissmile was the most charming he had ever worn.

Carstairs toyed with the revolver, keeping his eyeon him all the time. "I think," he said, at length,"that as a duty to civilization I ought to wipe you outhere and now."

"My dear chap, how absurd! What's civilizationdone for you? Nothing! Yes, by Jove, it hasthough, a service of a negative value. Civilizationhas made you a poor man! As a savage, you wouldhave been a chief! Don't make yourself a bigger assthan nature intended, Carstairs, old chap! If I go,you go too, and there's the girl, eh? The girl wescrapped over. The girl who kissed you on the cheek; Isaw her do it, and you blushed like a kid. She'd be leftall alone. Now let's talk this matter over quietly."

Carstairs looked him steadily in the eyes, toyingmeanwhile with the revolver. "Do you know," hesaid, "that that girl is your sister?"

HE LOOKED ROUND, TO MEET THE GRIM GREY EYES OF CARSTAIRS

Darwen doubled up with sudden laughter; in theintensity of it he almost rolled into the fireplace. Asudden click pulled him up; he looked round solemnlyto meet the grim, grey eye of Carstairs gazing at himalong the revolver barrel; he had co*cked it with histhumb.

"Damn it! You're not going to assassinate me,old chap."

"Come away from that poker! This is a six shot,a Colt's forty-four, and every shot means a deadman. With it co*cked as I have it, I can't miss at thisdistance."

"By God, old chap, I'm proud of you. You'rea credit to my up-bringing! Impossible as it may seemyou are becoming day by day less and less of the foolthat you look."

"I tell you again that girl is your sister."

"Well, what the devil am I to do! You won'tlet me laugh."

"Then you don't believe it?"

He spread out his hands in a deprecating gesture."My dear Carstairs!"

Carstairs was thoughtful. "No! I suppose Ishouldn't believe it myself," he said. "The man'sdead, I have no proof except my word. Your matermight——"

"Leave the mater out of it, Carstairs."

"Ye-es. I think so too. You're not fit to liveanyway, and you know my life won't be much to meas long as you're alive."

"Quite so. Quite so. Still there's no need to getpersonal over it. There is not room for you and Ion this little globe. That's it in a nutshell, isn't it?One has to be eliminated, that's obvious; I'm agenerous sort of chap, but I can't oblige you in this.I'm in love, yes, by God, in real love for the first andonly time. I want that girl, also you want her!We have fought with fists, and you won, but that isnot the finish. I'm a sportsman; I'll go back ahundred years with you and we'll fight a duel, eh?A fair and square duel—to a finish."

Carstairs considered, watching him all the time."What with?" he asked.

"Anything you like. I suggest rifles, magazinerifles, to make a clean and engineering job of it."

"Well, I may as well tell you that rifle shootinghas been my hobby for the past two years."

"Noble savage! I won the Gascoign Cup myself."

"Alright, I'll take it at that. Where shall it be?"

"Oh, France! of course. We'll cross to-morrow,and open at a thousand yards. We'll stalk each otheramong the sand hills, just below Havre there. How'sthat for real sport, eh?" He looked at Carstairs'steady, thoughtful face with genuine admiration."By God, Carstairs, you're one of the best! Thebest. It's a pity we crossed. I suppose you're notprepared to give up the girl?"

"Only to a better man, not to a blasted sweep likeyou."

"No, quite so! I should never under any circ*mstancesfight you with sledge hammers, Carstairs.We'll cross to-morrow, or this evening then. I thinkthe Havre boats only go at night. Shall we go roundto Cook's together and book now? Then we'll buy acouple of rifles." He was like a school boy at theprospect of a holiday, the sporting spirit had bittenvery deeply into him. "Come on, old chap," he said,in the height of good humour, and they went outtogether. They had dinner together and journeyedto Southampton together. Carstairs, his hand onthe revolver in his coat pocket, never for one minutetaking his eyes off him. They got aboard the littlesteamer, and she cleared the dock at midnight. Theypaced the deck together, watching the receding lightsof the town; the sky was sprayed and flecked withnumberless little clouds, the moonlight shining throughthe cracks, and ever and anon breaking out into fullpower between the larger gaps.

As they walked together, and the Solent widenedout into the broad English Channel and the Islandfaded from view, Darwen grew strangely pensive andpoetical.

"By Jove, there's nothing like the sea, you know! thesea, by moonlight! Look at that!"

They stood together at the rail, and gazed out overthe tossing, tumbling waste of waters, Carstairs stillwatchful, still suspecting treachery at any minute.Darwen stood silently for some moments, then heburst forth into poetry.

"Weary of myself and sick of asking
What I am, and what I ought to be,
At this vessel's prow I stand which bears me
Forwards, forwards o'er the star-lit sea.

And a look of passionate desire
O'er the sea and to the stars I send.
Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me,
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

'Ah,' once more I cried, 'Ye stars, ye waters,
On my heart your mighty charm renew;
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,
Feel my soul becoming vast like you!'

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of Heaven,
Over the lit sea's unquiet way,
In the rustling night air came the answer:
Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they."

"Do you hear that, Carstairs."

"Yes, I like it."

"Ah, I always knew you had a soul somewhere,deep down the abysmal depth of that great carcase ofyours. Listen! I'll finish it.

'Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they?'

'Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
These demand not that the things without them
Yield them love, amusem*nt, sympathy.

And with the joys the stars perform their shining,
And the sea its long moon-silvered roll;
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.'

Mark that, Carstairs.

'All the fever of some differing soul.'"

"Yes. It's good."

"That is so. It goes on:—

Bounded by themselves, and unregardful
In what state God's other works may be,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see.

A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear.
'Resolve to be thyself; and know that he
Who finds himself, loses his misery!'"

He had spoken softly and slowly, but quite distinctly;the silver cadence of his rich, cultured voice diedaway, and they stood together in silence for someminutes.

"In my opinion, Carstairs, that's one of the finestthings in the English language. When I read that,it seemed to express exactly what I had been vaguelyfeeling for years past. It contains the germs, thekernel, of all the philosophy in the world. 'Resolveto be thyself.' Ye gods, think of that! Define'yourself,' Carstairs! A German professor would fillsix volumes and then not do the job. MatthewArnold does it in one.

'Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring.'

There you are. Take that to heart, Carstairs. Godknows how much energy you've dissipated uselessly,in thoughts on other people, hopes and fears. Lord!I've been as happy as a bird all my life. That's truereligion, Carstairs. I should like to have a talk withyour guv'nor on that. He's a sound man, your guv'nor,but with a weakness for worrying over other people'stroubles. I never do, or very seldom. 'Keep fit,and answer the impulses of your reason.' That'smy motto."

Carstairs said nothing, but watched him closely.He continued. "I say 'I never worry over otherpeople's troubles,' you're the only man I've everworried over; honestly, Carstairs, you appeal to meexceedingly. I've often wondered whether you'rebefore your time or after, there is much of the noblesavage about you. I regard you with awe, yet youcan think. You use steam, and coal, and electricity;but you totally disregard men and women. This littleglobe is just a box of bricks, you and I are part ofthem—everything fits in—your duty here below is tolook after yourself, to fill your little niche efficiently."

Carstairs spoke. "You do that best by consideringcarefully your true relation to other people, the realinterdependence of every one, and the lubricationof sentiment. As an engineer you must know thatonly the truth endures."

"By Jove, that's true. 'Because right is right,' etc.As an individual you would shine, your conceptionof the truth is very exact and your ability to act upto it high. As an engineer you are good, but this isthe age of states and municipalities, of diplomacy andintrigue; when men are judged for what they say,and not for what they do. Had my lot been castamong companies, instead of municipalities, I shouldhave had to entirely alter my tactics. You can talkto a man and smile at him till you're blue in the face,but if he sees that your work don't pan out intotangible dividends, you've got to go. Municipalitiesdon't put much on dividends, they like a smile and aloud voice. If socialism comes to pass, your typewill die out and my type will flourish."

"God forbid."

"My dear chap, happiness is a condition of themind, not of the body. I bet I've made more peoplehappy by my smile, than you have by your work.Socialists are of two classes; wise men and fools(the same as everybody else), the wise men want todevelop and get a good price for their natural powersof persuasion, the fools are sentimental idiots whopropose to do away with misery by doing away withindividuals and the slums. By Jove! the slumsare about the happiest places, slum-bred peoplenever commit suicide, when they feel depressed, theygo in for murder, a much more healthy occupation.Garden mould is rotten-looking stuff, but the wormsenjoy it, and if you take 'em out and put 'em in nice,clean cotton wool, they'll kick the bucket, and ifthere were no worms, there'd be no men, you know.At the present time, England is overflowing withpeople who want to put the worms in cotton wool.It's a question of religion; they have forsaken theirGods. I suppose there are some Christians in England,I haven't met them, probably they could be countedon the fingers of one hand. England is a pagancountry still; your guv'nor is one of the best menI've met, but he's a pure pagan: I'd give a hundredto one in quids that if I slapped him on the rightcheek, he'd instantly plug me in the left eye—and hisentire congregation, also his Bishop, would back himup. The Englishman worships Thor, the magnifiedman with the sledge hammer; I'm a Dago, I worshipthose brainy old chaps who lived in the Pantheon;they took life easily in the sun, and hadn't a moralamongst them; I've rather a contempt for Thor, henever showed any great brain capacity, but simplyslogged around blindly with a sledge hammer. It'sa question of my Gods versus your Gods: A man'sreligion is what he bases the conduct of his life on, notwhich church he attends on Sunday: our stars werein opposition from the start, Carstairs, and the movingfinger of Fate is approaching very rapidly to a blot—theelimination of a unit, with large-bore magazinerifles—and I don't think it'll be me."

He paused and gazed out over the sea.

Carstairs, watching him closely, was lost in admirationof the beauty of his profile silhouetted againstthe moon.

"The whole blooming world," he continued, "seemsto be slopping over with a sticky sort of sentiment.The centre of gravity of civilization is becoming toohigh, it'll topple over presently. We have a new God'The people' and the people are those thick-headedfools one passes in the street: the artizan, who makesthings by the 'piece' (cheap and nasty), because hecan't be trusted to act on the square otherwise; hegets more than his whack of the good things of life,and puts the surplus into beer and baccy; his'missus' would like to keep a servant, and objectsto bringing up kids. Then there's the middle classman, brought up with the ideas and the ambitions ofan aristocrat, the physique of a clerk, and the abilityof a navvy; his recreation is suicide: and thearistocrats, I suppose, are those wishy-washy young men,all nose and no chin, who loaf about the West End,and die of ennui. All due to excessive sentiment!Sentiment is far more dangerous than drink or drugs:in exceedingly small doses it adds to the flavour oflife. Sentiment will get you out of a job quick enough,but it'll never damn well get you into one. You'remy best friend, I honestly like you and admire you,but to-morrow I'm going to shoot you, afterwards Ishall be intensely sorry—for precisely five minutes.Hullo! Who the devil is this?" His voice changedto a note of anger.

Carstairs turned and saw something crawling,creeping, sidling cautiously along the deck, like a dogthat knows he's done wrong. It was the hunchback.He got close up to Darwen, crouching down, and heldup his hands to view; the moon shone out suddenlyfrom behind a cloud, and they saw in the suddenburst of light that the flesh was riven from hands andwrists as though they had been wrenched throughsomething which was too small for them.

Darwen looked at him a moment, then, stoopingdown, struck him across the face with his flat hand."You failed, and I have no use for failures; as anintelligence department Sam failed—and he's gone; as anexecutive, you have failed, too. What use are you?"

Carstairs listened spellbound.

The hunchback gave a piteous moan and lookedup in Darwen's face with a singular, dog-like, appealinglook. He stooped and struck him again in the face."You're a fool, I tell you, a useless fool."

With a sudden bound the thing leaped on to therailing and over into the sea.

Carstairs sprang to the side, Darwen was lookingover like an eager boy. "By Jove!" he said, "thepoor devil can't swim a stroke." He vaulted lightlyon to the top of the broad handrail and stood for onesecond balancing with the graceful ease of the practisedgymnast, then he dived after him. "Stop the ship,Carstairs," he said, as he went. A sailor on the poopthrew a life belt overboard, and raised the alarm.The ship was turned about, and went round in a circlethree times, but nothing was to be seen of either ofthem, so she turned to her course again.

Carstairs leaned long over the side, gazing into thedark water swirling past. A great big "Why?"confronted him. "Why? Why? Why?" heasked himself, and the answer was locked away, withmany another mystery, deep down in the depth of thewater at his feet.

For the rest of the night he paced the deck. Nextday he gave all the information he could to theauthorities: the other passenger, they said, musthave been a stowaway, Carstairs thought so too. Hetook the train to Calais, and returned as quickly aspossible to break the news to Darwen's mother.

She had been up all night and was very haggard."Where's Charlie?" she asked, as soon as she sawhim.

"He's had an accident——"

"He's dead!" she screamed, seizing him by thehand and looking into his eyes. "Dead! Dead!I knew it."

"I'm afraid he is."

"Oh, my God! My God! Tell me, how was it?"

"We were going to Havre, he and I; he jumpedoverboard in the night to rescue a stowaway."

She drew herself up with pride, the bleared eyesshone with an unnatural light. "There! He was asportsman to the last! He played wing three-quarterfor England when he was nineteen, and the same yearhe scored fifty-six against the M.C.C. I was so proud,he was so handsome! And now he's gone! Oh, myboy, my boy, my lovely boy! Oh God, take me too." Shefell forward on her face.

Carstairs picked her up and threw water over her;he called a servant, and hurried out for a doctor.

She was dead—quite dead—her heart, the doctor said.

Carstairs went away and hurried north, he was aday overdue as it was. He explained the matter asmuch as he could to the hard-headed ex-fitter.

"Ay!" the latter said, shaking his head, and therewas a world of sympathy in that shake of the head."It's a bad business, lad, a bad business." He hada commercial head equal to the best in the world, thisman, but his heart was exactly in the right place, too.He broached the subject then to Carstairs that he wasgoing to retire, and offered him a much more importantposition in the firm, which ultimately led (with thegreat success of his many patents) to a partnership.

For six months or so he was kept hard at the grindstone,external affairs troubled him not at all; he heardthat Bessie Bevengton was engaged to Whitworth, whohad got a good appointment on the staff of Sir DonaldCox of Westminster; Bounce never ceased to marvelat the manner in which the hunchback had broken outof the double lashing he had put round his wrists;his brother Stephen had got a picture hung in theacademy: all these things seemed to affect JackCarstairs like vague unimportant rumours, for heknew, in his soul, that the girl was his, waiting for him,and he wanted to go and fetch her: only, sometimes,in the early morning, when the atmosphere outsidewas some ten or fifteen degrees below freezing point,and he wallowed in his cold bath, breathing deeplyand steadily through the nose, then with theexhilarating reaction of his blood as he briskly wipeddown with a rough towel, these whispers from anexternal world would find an echo in his brain. "ByJove, I must write and congratulate old Whitworth,"or "Jolly glad Stephen's done something at last."

Then he got a spell, and went to London. Hestayed with his artist brother.

"We'll go to the opera, and hear the new singer,"the latter said on their first evening together.

"Who is she?" Jack asked.

"Madame Edith D'Arcy, daughter of the late SirThomas D'Arcy, you know. She's wonderful.Perfect statue, and a marvellous voice."

"Let us go by all means. Do you know her to speakto?"

"Well, not exactly. She's a protégée of LadyCleeve's, you know."

"Is that so?"

Before the performance was half over, Jacksurprised his brother by getting up and leaving hisseat.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To see Edith."

"Who?"

"Madame Edith D'Arcy. I'm going to marry her."

"Good Lord!"

"That's what I think, too; she's been dodging mefor years." Carstairs was quite confident, his incomefor the year had totalled considerably nearer £4000,than the £400 stipulated by the autocratic oldaristocrat.

He sent up his card and was admitted to her dressing-room.She was dressed in magnificent robes for thepart she was taking; he looked at her for somemoments, in silence, fascinated; she had attained thefull perfection of her beauty, and it was exceedingrare; her eyes looked into his with a wondrous light.Still in silence he stepped up close and took her hand,then, much to his own astonishment, his great shouldersbent forward, and he kissed the back of her fingers;he had never imagined himself doing such a thing,it was quite spontaneous. He raised his head andlooked into her eyes. "You are my queen," he said,with a smile, and then he took her in his arms andkissed her on the lips.

"So you've come," she said, "you've been a longtime—I—I wanted to do something."

"Ye-es! That is the external—paradox, Iimagine," he answered, gazing steadily into the depthsof her eyes. They were silent for some minutes.The full tide of his deep, strong nature set to thisbeautiful woman; the splendid purpose of life tingledin his blood and shone out through his eyes as he gazedinto hers. Only men like Carstairs feel such a tide.He felt that this was the summit of his life. "Theworld was made for you and me," he said.

"There's the call," she answered, suddenly releasingherself. "I must go."

He stepped to the door and stood with his back toit, the big bulk of him nearly filled it. "No! ByJove, you won't! Not this time."

"But I must," she said, "the manager will befrantic."

"Show me the manager, and I'll flatten him out."

"Please let me go."

"Not till you promise to marry me to-morrow."

"To-morrow! I can't."

"Alright, then, I'll burn this place down," heproduced a box of matches from his pocket.

"Don't be silly. Let me go, please."

"Never again!" He held a lighted match in hishand. "I'm willing to compromise; will you namethe day?"

"This time next year."

"Absurd!" He held the match to some draperystuff near, and watched it slowly kindle. "I'll giveyou till this time next month."

"Two months?" she pleaded.

"Alright," he said, crumpling up the cloth in hishands. He produced her mother's ring from hiswaistcoat pocket, and slipped it on her finger. "That'ssealed then. What's the price of the curtain?"

"Five pounds," she said, as she disappeared throughthe door.

"Dirt cheap," he answered. "I'd buy a hundredat the same price." And the audience, who werecompetent to judge, said that Madame Edith D'Arcyhad never sung as she sang that night.

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