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. **** 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, ****, was dead in the death of the blind, who, at the best, are only burdens upon their associates. Torpenhow had said something about a Mrs. Gummidge, and **** 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 ****** 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 ****'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.'
'****'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 **** 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 **** had worn his nerves thin.
'There remains a third fate,' said the Keneu, thoughtfully. 'Consider this, and be not larger fools than necessary. **** 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 **** 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 ****'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.
'Oh yes! Write to her,--I don't know her full name, remember,--and ask her to accept him out of pity. I believe you once told **** you were sorry for him, Nilghai. You remember what happened, eh? Go into the bedroom and suggest full confession and an appeal to this Maisie girl, whoever she is. I honestly believe he'd try to kill you; and the blindness has made him rather muscular.'
'Torpenhow's course is perfectly clear,' said the Keneu. 'He will go to Vitry-sur-Marne, which is on the Bezieres-Landes Railway,--single track from Tourgas. The Prussians shelled it out in '70 because there was a poplar on the top of a hill eighteen hundred yards from the church spire There's a squadron of cavalry quartered there,--or ought to be. Where this studio Torp spoke about may be I cannot tell. That is Torp's business. I have given him his route. He will dispassionately explain the situation to the girl, and she will come back to ****,--the more especially because, to use ****'s words, "there is nothing but her damned obstinacy to keep them apart."'
'And they have four hundred and twenty pounds a year between 'em.
**** never lost his head for figures, even in his delirium. You haven't the shadow of an excuse for not going,' said the Nilghai.
Torpenhow looked very uncomfortable. 'But it's absurd and impossible. Ican't drag her back by the hair.'
