A Knight on Wheels Part 53

"By the way, Brand," he said, as he waited for the proper adjustment of the bath's temperature, "there is a mutual friend of ours on board, travelling second cla.s.s. Did you know?"

"Yes," said Brand thickly, "I did."

He swung the steam-pipe savagely back into its clip, flung two hot towels down on a seat, and departed, banging the door behind him. That was the beginning and end of the second day's conversation.

Philip saw nothing of Miss Jennings during the next few days, for the weather continued to be boisterous, and that lady--unlike other and less considerate members of the s.h.i.+p's company--preferred to endure the pangs of _mal-de-mer_ in the seclusion of her own cabin. It was not until the fourth day out that he saw her again. She was reclining languidly in a chair, convalescent, but obviously disinclined for conversation. Philip pa.s.sed her by.

The fifth day broke bright and sunny, and the Bosphorus, clear of the Newfoundland Banks, with their accompanying fogs and ground-swell, became a centre of social activity. Vigorous couples tramped up and down, snuffing the breeze. Unpleasant children ran shrieking round the deck, galloping over the same sets of toes at regular intervals. Elderly gentlemen played interminable games of deck-quoits and bull-board. In the smoking-room enthusiastic alcoholists gathered, to splice the main brace and bid in the auction sweep-stake on the day's run. New York was only twenty-four hours away.

Philip, descending to his cabin for a book, pa.s.sed Citizen Brand, polis.h.i.+ng cabin doorhandles with fierce energy. He paused.

"Brand," he said, "I want to have a palaver with you. Can you come and see me in my cabin this evening?"

Brand considered.

"I shall get a telling-off from the second steward if I do," he said.

"Regular Cossack, he is. This s.h.i.+p's full of rotten rules and red-tape.

Still, after all, he can only sack me, which will save me the trouble of deserting. All right: I'll come."

He appeared in Philip's cabin at ten o'clock that night, and consented to drink whiskey-and-water out of a tooth-gla.s.s.

"Well," enquired Philip, lighting his pipe, "what are your prospects in the States. Got a berth?"

"Not yet," said Brand.

"I am going on a visit to some of the big establishments out there. If I come across anything that would suit you, shall I put it in your way?"

Brand thanked him gruffly, and said:--

"I don't know. I don't know what to say. The fact is, I don't know where I shall have to live yet."

"Have to live?"

"Yes, have to live. I can't settle anything. I--Oh, d.a.m.n it, I don't know! Leave me alone!"

He sat staring savagely at the floor, with his head in his hands.

"Brand, my friend," remarked Philip, puffing at his pipe, "you and I have been acquainted for a considerable time now, haven't we?"

Brand nodded, and Philip continued:--

"I'm going to a.s.sume the privilege of an old friend, and enquire into your private affairs."

"Fat lot of information you'll get," was the gracious reply.

"Very well, then," said Philip cheerfully. "I won't enquire: I'll a.s.sume. Having a.s.sumed that everything I meant to ask about is as I think it is, I'll tell you something. It's this: you are a pretty good chap."

Brand's gloomy eyes turned upon Philip suspiciously.

"What do you mean?" he snarled.

"I mean this. You have done a pretty fine thing. If the information interests you, I may tell you that you have taught me a lesson; but that's beside the point. Last Friday you were in a comfortable berth, doing well, and rising rapidly. To-day you are a bath-steward, without any status or prospects. Why?"

"Because I'm a blasted fool," replied Brand.

"No, I don't think so," continued Philip, "I prefer to look at it differently. You have sacrificed everything, and staked your whole future--on what? On an Idea--a single Idea. I call that a pretty fine thing."

"What Idea?" snapped Brand.

"A very pretty little Idea," said Philip. "She is now sleeping peacefully two decks below this."

Brand sprang to his feet, his eyes blazing.

"And why not?" he demanded. "Do you deny my right to follow her, and look after her, and see she comes to no harm, whatever she may think of me or do to me? I love her! Do you understand what that means? I love her! Gentlemen like you and Rendle, you don't know the meanin' of the word. With you it's just: 'Fine girl, what? Come and have supper at the Savoy to-night!' That's what you call love!" Brand's arms were waving: he was rapidly lapsing into his old Hyde Park manner. "When you've finished with one girl, or the girl's finished with you, what do you do?

Kiss your 'and and get another! Bah!"

"And what do you do, Brand," enquired Philip imperturbably, "when a lady gives you up?"

"I give up my job: I give up everything, so as to be free; and I follow her. That's what I do. She's a child: she's not able to look after herself."

"Now, my impression of Miss Jennings's character," said Philip, "is exactly the opposite. I have rarely met a woman who seemed to me so well-balanced and self-possessed."

"Up to a point, and in a manner of speaking," agreed Brand, conversing more rationally now, "you are right. But that's a woman all over. She may keep her head for months at a time, and snap her fingers at man after man; and then one fine day a fellow comes along that's no better than fifty others she's turned down--and what does she do? She goes potty! She crumples up! She crawls round him and eats out of his hand!

Why is it? In G.o.d's name, sir, why is it?"

His head dropped into his hands again.

"When did this happen?" asked Philip gently. He felt strangely awed in the presence of this elemental soul.

"I'll tell you," said Brand. "It'll do me good. She and I had been getting on pretty well of late. We weren't exactly engaged, but she allowed no other man near her but me. I gave up a lot to please her. I gave up speaking in the Park, because she said it wasn't gentlemanly. I joined the Church of England--me that's been a Freethinker ever since I could think! I gave up being a Socialist, because she said it was low. I cut my wings, and clamped myself down, and dressed myself up like a Guy Fawkes--all to please her. I let her order me about, and I liked it! I liked it! That's pretty degrading, ain't it? I felt degraded and in love at the same time, if you know what I mean. That's a rotten state to be in, I don't think!"

Philip was listening intently. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt that he had heard this story before. Then he remembered Uncle Joseph, and realised that all human experience appears to run upon much the same lines.

"Well, we were happy enough," continued Brand, "for a matter of two years or so. The only trouble was that when I suggested marriage she said she was very comfortable as she was and did not want to lose her independence. (They're all for independence nowadays: I don't know what causes it: Board Schools, perhaps.) In her company I was too pleased with life ever to argue about anything, so I didn't press it. But there was one big risk that I overlooked, and that was the risk of another man b.u.t.ting in. And that's just what happened. A feller came along. He had everything that I hadn't--fine manners and plenty of silly talk, and nasty little love-making ways. He put the come-hither on Lil. As I told you in a fortnight she was eating out of his hand. I'm not the man to take that sort of thing lying down. I asked her straight what she meant by it. She flared up, and asked when I had been appointed her keeper. I said we was engaged. She said we was no such thing. I said if we wasn't it was about time, considering all things, that we was. She asked what I meant by that. I said if she had any sort of notion of fair play she would know. After that she told me she never wanted to see me again. I said she was only antic.i.p.ating my own wishes; and we parted. We ain't spoke since. That was six weeks ago."

"What became of the other man?" asked Philip.

Brand smiled grimly.

"Him? I went to him next day, and told him if ever he spoke to Lil again I'd push his face in."

"What did he say to that?"

"He was most gentlemanly about it. Oh, _most_ gentlemanly!" Brand a.s.sumed the mincing accent which he reserved for his impersonations of the aristocracy. "Told me he had no desire to come between an honest working-man and his future wife. Said he was not _permanently_ interested in the lady! He got no further than that, because that was where I _did_ push his face in. He was a nasty sight when I'd finished with him. He never went near Lil again, though,--the rabbit! Since than not a word has pa.s.sed between her and me, except when business required.

Then, last Friday, I saw her going round the office and garage saying good-bye to everybody--except me, of course--and telling them she was going to America. I waited till the dinner-hour; then wrote to headquarters, resigned my job, and went straight to Liverpool, where I managed to get signed on aboard this boat. That's all."

"What are you going to do when you get to New York?" asked Philip.