LITMIR.BIZ

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about it, Mr. Wacks, and will you have a taste?"

      His jeering tones had come back, and he held up the jar, eyeing me with every expression of contempt. I shook my head feebly, and he went on tauntingly.

      "Not a little bit, Mr. Wacks. Just think what it would do. You would go up to the office like a man—like a human being, sir. Think how you would walk into those chaps—think of the grudges you could pay back—think how astonished they would be. Wouldn't their eyes bulge when the blooming bunny showed his claw—wouldn't they gape to see the blasted worm turning round at last! Oh—get out, you little beast—get away from me, quick—I'm sick of your putty face. Get out, I say—get out."

      I got up hastily in real alarm. I had never seen the captain in quite such a kind of rage before. His face twitched horribly, and I thought he was going to have another fit.

      I got to my own room as quickly as I could, and, throwing myself upon the bed, gave way passionately to the tears of a little child.

      Yes—how was it all going to end? As the old man had said, it couldn't go on for ever, and what was I going to do? The story he had told me hadn't interested me in the least. I didn't believe it, and I didn't disbelieve it—I simply hadn't taken it in. But his contempt had stung me somehow, and his bitter tongue had cut me somewhere on the raw. I had never felt so miserable and so hopeless before.

      The next day, Sunday, turned out a fine and glorious day, and I looked to the service in chapel to make up in some way for the humiliations and worries of the week. But everything was against me still, and before the service began I had yet another horrible humiliation to get over.

      As was my general habit, I had got early to the chapel, and had just settled myself comfortably in my accustomed seat, when I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Turning round curiously, I found Lucy's gentle face, all flushed and animated, within a few inches of my own.

      "Oh, do come out, please, Mr. Wacks," she whispered quickly. "Deacon Brown's horse is trying to bolt, and it's tied to the railings. His mother's in the chaise."

      I guessed what had happened at once. Every Sunday Deacon Brown used to bring his old mother to chapel in the chaise, and every Sunday he used to tie the horse up to the chapel railings whilst he went over to the minister's house to have a yarn with him before the service began. Then they would both walk over together, and between them help the old lady out of the chaise, and gallantly escort her up the aisle to her allotted seat in the front pew. The horse was young and mettlesome, and was always rolling its eyes and pricking its ears when anything noisy went by. Everyone had said it would bolt one day, but the deacon had always pooh-poohed and laughingly replied that it was quiet as a lamb, and only showing play.

      I ran out quickly and there was the brute as I had expected, tugging viciously at the cord that held him to the railings, prancing up and dawn and giving the old lady in the chaise a very fair imitation of a steamer dipping in a heavy sea. I looked round in horrible nervousness. There were plenty of women and children round, but I was the only man to be seen.

      "Catch hold of his head, Mr. Wacks," squeaked out an old lady, vigorously brandishing a fearful looking sunshade right in front of the beast's eyes, "catch hold of his head, Mr. Wacks, and hold it low down."

      Catch hold of his head, I thought. How could I get anywhere near the beast, let alone catch hold of his head? His front legs were pumping viciously up and down, and it looked sudden death to me to go anywhere within three yards. I turned quite sick with nervousness and stood stock still, feebly wondering what on earth I was going to do.

      "Catch hold of his head, please," plaintively called out the white-faced old lady in the chaise. "He'll get away if you don't get hold of him quickly."

      Other people began to join in, and I could see contemptuous glances being thrown from all sides in my direction. I stood quite still, however, helplessly doing nothing, with the sweat now all covering my forehead in small beads. Every moment it looked as if the horse would break loose, and every moment I became more and more convinced in my own mind that it was not an occasion where I could successfully interfere. Let the beast jump up and down, I thought. He'll soon get tired, and if the rope holds on no one will be a penny the worse, and, besides, it will be a good lesson to the deacon not to leave his poor old frightened mother alone in the chaise again.

      What would ultimately have happened goodness only knows, but suddenly there was a rush and a shout behind me. I was knocked down roughly into the road, and a man sprang over me to the horse's head.

      Almost in a second it seemed he had seized hold of the bridle, and long before I had got on my feet he had secured the brute firmly, and was gently soothing and patting it back to a quiet state.

      Something in the man's voice seemed familiar to me, and, clearing my smarting eyes of dust, I saw to my disgust that it was Waller. Waller of all people, to have witnessed my cowardice. What a tale he would be making of it at the office! What humiliation for me again tomorrow.

      They all crowded round to thank him, and I saw old Mrs. Brown, whom he apparently knew, introduce him to Lucy. Lucy impulsively clasped his outstretched hand in both of hers and, with her sweet and gentle face uplifted, said something that wreathed his face in a broad, self-satisfied, and delighted smirk.

      My one piece of good fortune was that for the moment everyone had forgotten me, and taking advantage of their absorbed interest in the wretched Waller, I slunk away home, unnoticed and unmissed.

      Monday was again a black day with me in the office, and I sensed instinctively that things had come almost to a head.

      In the morning complaint was made to me about the noise in our room. A sarcastic message was sent in from the counting house that, if we didn't mind, they would like sometimes to be able to hear themselves speak.

      In the afternoon Mr. William had suddenly interrupted a game of darts. From the interested comments of the room generally I gathered that the game had just reached a most exciting stage. Waller was 'two up,' but Muggins had still 'three to play.' The firm's penholders made excellent darts, and with the end nicely split to hold a steadying length of paper good hits were being obtained upon the target, on the back of the country ledger.

      Mr. William had not said much, but he had given me a quick, stern look and I had shivered in my shoes.

      That evening I returned home almost bowed down with grief. My nerves were strung up almost to breaking point.

      I had just reached the garden gate when Mrs. Bratt came out of the hall door. She was red-eyed and had been crying.

      "He's dead," she called out directly she caught sight of me. "He's dead—poor old Captain Barker."

      "Dead," I repeated numbly. "My God! When did he die?"

      "Just after his dinner," she half sobbed. "He said he wasn't well and would lay down a bit. I helped him to the bed and he just fell back straight off and was gone. The doctor's been and he's to be buried tomorrow. I'm going to see about it now. Oh! Mr. Wacks, isn't it terrible—he's been with me over eight years and I'll never have another lodger like him. I've put your things all ready and you've only got to make the tea. I shan't be gone an hour. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, but I'm so upset I can't think of things properly," and she went off with her handkerchief to her eyes.

      For a moment or two I hesitated to enter the silent house. I was as frightened of the dead as of the living, and the thought of the dead body, all alone there on the bed, filled me with horror. I tiptoed quickly through the hall and shut myself up closely in the kitchen. I wasn't in the mood for any tea; I felt too miserable for anything. Poor old Captain Barker. How many, many nights I must have played with him and, on the whole, how nice he had always been to me. It was only the brandy that made him swear at me and call me names.

      Poor old fellow, but what a lonely life his had been. Well, he was dead now, and all his troubles were over. I wished I were dead, too. Anything to get out of all my worry.

      I would have gladly killed myself if I had known how, and then my thoughts went in a flash to the little brown jar in the box. What a strange tale it was he had told me! Could it by any means have been true?

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