The Light That Failed Part 29

'When she finds that I don't write, she'll stop writing. It's better so. I couldn't be any use to her now,' d.i.c.k argued, and the tempter suggested that he should make known his condition. Every nerve in him revolted. 'I have fallen low enough already. I'm not going to beg for pity. Besides, it would be cruel to her.' He strove to put Maisie out of his thoughts; but the blind have many opportunities for thinking, and as the tides of his strength came back to him in the long employless days of dead darkness, d.i.c.k's soul was troubled to the core. Another letter, and another, came from Maisie. Then there was silence, and d.i.c.k sat by the window, the pulse of summer in the air, and pictured her being won by another man, stronger than himself. His imagination, the keener for the dark background it worked against, spared him no single detail that might send him raging up and down the studio, to stumble over the stove that seemed to be in four places at once. Worst of all, tobacco would not taste in the darkness. The arrogance of the man had disappeared, and in its place were settled despair that Torpenhow knew, and blind pa.s.sion that d.i.c.k confided to his pillow at night. The intervals between the paroxysms were filled with intolerable waiting and the weight of intolerable darkness.

'Come out into the Park,' said Torpenhow. 'You haven't stirred out since the beginning of things.'

'What's the use? There's no movement in the dark; and, besides,'--he paused irresolutely at the head of the stairs,--'something will run over me.'

'Not if I'm with you. Proceed gingerly.'

The roar of the streets filled d.i.c.k with nervous terror, and he clung to Torpenhow's arm. 'Fancy having to feel for a gutter with your foot!' he said petulantly, as he turned into the Park. 'Let's curse G.o.d and die.'

'Sentries are forbidden to pay unauthorised compliments. By Jove, there are the Guards!'

d.i.c.k's figure straightened. 'Let's get near 'em. Let's go in and look.

Let's get on the gra.s.s and run. I can smell the trees.'

'Mind the low railing. That's all right!' Torpenhow kicked out a tuft of gra.s.s with his heel. 'Smell that,' he said. 'Isn't it good?' d.i.c.k sniffed luxuriously. 'Now pick up your feet and run.' They approached as near to the regiment as was possible. The clank of bayonets being unfixed made d.i.c.k's nostrils quiver.

'Let's get nearer. They're in column, aren't they?'

'Yes. How did you know?'

'Felt it. Oh, my men!--my beautiful men!' He edged forward as though he could see. 'I could draw those chaps once. Who'll draw 'em now?'

'They'll move off in a minute. Don't jump when the band begins.'

'Huh! I'm not a new charger. It's the silences that hurt. Nearer, Torp!--nearer! Oh, my G.o.d, what wouldn't I give to see 'em for a minute!--one half-minute!'

He could hear the armed life almost within reach of him, could hear the slings tighten across the bandsman's chest as he heaved the big drum from the ground.

'Sticks crossed above his head,' whispered Torpenhow.

'I know. I know! Who should know if I don't? H's.h.!.+'

The drum-sticks fell with a boom, and the men swung forward to the crash of the band. d.i.c.k felt the wind of the ma.s.sed movement in his face, heard the maddening tramp of feet and the friction of the pouches on the belts. The big drum pounded out the tune. It was a music-hall refrain that made a perfect quickstep--

He must be a man of decent height, He must be a man of weight, He must come home on a Sat.u.r.day night In a thoroughly sober state; He must know how to love me, And he must know how to kiss; And if he's enough to keep us both I can't refuse him bliss.

'What's the matter?' said Torpenhow, as he saw d.i.c.k's head fall when the last of the regiment had departed.

'Nothing. I feel a little bit out of the running,--that's all. Torp, take me back. Why did you bring me out?'

CHAPTER XII

There were three friends that buried the fourth, The mould in his mouth and the dust in his eyes And they went south and east, and north,-- The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.

There were three friends that spoke of the dead,-- The strong man fights, but the sick man dies.-- 'And would he were with us now,' they said, 'The sun in our face and the wind in our eyes.'

--Ballad.

THE NILGHAI was angry with Torpenhow. d.i.c.k had been sent to bed,--blind men are ever under the orders of those who can see,--and since he had returned from the Park had fluently sworn at Torpenhow because he was alive, and all the world because it was alive and could see, while he, d.i.c.k, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only burdens upon their a.s.sociates. Torpenhow had said something about a Mrs.

Gummidge, and d.i.c.k had retired in a black fury to handle and re-handle three unopened letters from Maisie.

The Nilghai, fat, burly, and aggressive, was in Torpenhow's rooms.

Behind him sat the Keneu, the Great War Eagle, and between them lay a large map embellished with black-and-white-headed pins.

'I was wrong about the Balkans,' said the Nilghai. 'But I'm not wrong about this business. The whole of our work in the Southern Soudan must be done over again. The public doesn't care, of course, but the government does, and they are making their arrangements quietly. You know that as well as I do.'

'I remember how the people cursed us when our troops withdrew from Omdurman. It was bound to crop up sooner or later. But I can't go,' said Torpenhow. He pointed through the open door; it was a hot night. 'Can you blame me?'

The Keneu purred above his pipe like a large and very happy cat--'Don't blame you in the least. It's uncommonly good of you, and all the rest of it, but every man--even you, Torp--must consider his work. I know it sounds brutal, but d.i.c.k's out of the race,--down,--gastados expended, finished, done for. He has a little money of his own. He won't starve, and you can't pull out of your slide for his sake. Think of your own reputation.'

'd.i.c.k's was five times bigger than mine and yours put together.'

'That was because he signed his name to everything he did. It's all ended now. You must hold yourself in readiness to move out. You can command your own prices, and you do better work than any three of us.'

'Don't tell me how tempting it is. I'll stay here to look after d.i.c.k for a while. He's as cheerful as a bear with a sore head, but I think he likes to have me near him.'

The Nilghai said something uncomplimentary about soft-headed fools who throw away their careers for other fools. Torpenhow flushed angrily. The constant strain of attendance on d.i.c.k had worn his nerves thin.

'There remains a third fate,' said the Keneu, thoughtfully. 'Consider this, and be not larger fools than necessary. d.i.c.k is--or rather was--an able-bodied man of moderate attractions and a certain amount of audacity.'

'Oho!' said the Nilghai, who remembered an affair at Cairo. 'I begin to see,--Torp, I'm sorry.'

Torpenhow nodded forgiveness: 'You were more sorry when he cut you out, though.--Go on, Keneu.'

'I've often thought, when I've seen men die out in the desert, that if the news could be sent through the world, and the means of transport were quick enough, there would be one woman at least at each man's bedside.'

'There would be some mighty quaint revelations. Let us be grateful things are as they are,' said the Nilghai.

'Let us rather reverently consider whether Torp's three-cornered ministrations are exactly what d.i.c.k needs just now.--What do you think yourself, Torp?'

'I know they aren't. But what can I do?'

'Lay the matter before the board. We are all d.i.c.k's friends here. You've been most in his life.'

'But I picked it up when he was off his head.'

'The greater chance of its being true. I thought we should arrive. Who is she?'

Then Torpenhow told a tale in plain words, as a special correspondent who knows how to make a verbal precis should tell it. The men listened without interruption.

'Is it possible that a man can come back across the years to his calf-love?' said the Keneu. 'Is it possible?'

'I give the facts. He says nothing about it now, but he sits fumbling three letters from her when he thinks I'm not looking. What am I to do?'

'Speak to him,' said the Nilghai.