Second String. Hope Anthony

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СКАЧАТЬ yourself – you who are making a precarious two? And where lies the difference between selling wood and selling meat – wood from Canada and meat in Meriton? Andy's broad conception of the world told him that there was none; his narrow observation of the same sphere convinced him that the difference was, in its practical bearings, considerable. Nay, confine yourself to meat alone: was there no difference between importing cargoes of that questionable "chilled" article and disposing of joints of unquestionable "home-bred" over the counter? All the argument was for the home-bred. But to sell the home-bred joints one wore a blue apron and carried a knife and a steel – or, at all events, smacked of doing these things; whereas the wholesale cargoes of "chilled" involved no such implements or associations. Once again, Canada was Canada, New Zealand New Zealand, Meriton Meriton. With these considerations mingled two pictures – dinner at Halton, and Jack Rock's convivial party.

      "I'll get up," said Andy, too sore beset by his problem to lie abed any more.

      Church! The bells rang almost as soon as Andy – he had dawdled and lounged over dressing and breakfast in Sunday's beneficent leisure – was equipped for the day. In Meriton everybody went to Church, except an insignificant, tolerated, almost derided minority who frequented a very small, very ugly Methodist chapel in a by-street – for towns like Meriton are among the best preserves of the Establishment. Andy always went to church on a Sunday morning, answering the roll-call, attending parade, accepting the fruits of his fathers' wisdom, as his custom was. "Church, and a slice of that cold beef, and then a jolly long walk!" he said to himself. He had a notion that this typical English Sunday – the relative value of whose constituents he did not, and we need not, exactly assess – might help him to settle his problem. The cold beef and the long walk made part of the day's character – the "Church" completed it. This was Andy's feeling; it is not, of course, put forward as what he ought to have felt.

      So Andy went to church – in a cut-away coat and a tall hat, though it drizzled, and he would sooner have been in a felt hat, impervious to the rain. He sat just half-way down the nave, and it must be confessed that his attention wandered. He had such a very important thing to settle in this world; it would not go out of his mind, though he strove to address himself to the issues which the service suggested. He laboured under the disadvantage of not being conscious of flagrant iniquity, though he duly confessed himself a miserable offender. He looked round on the neighbours he knew so well; they were all confessing that they were miserable offenders. Andy believed it – it was in the book – but he considered most of them to be good and honest people, and he was almost glad to see that they did not look hopelessly distressed over their situation.

      The First Lesson caught and chained his wandering attention. It was about David and Jonathan; it contained the beautiful lament of friend for friend, the dirge of a brotherly love. The Rector's voice was rather sing-song, but it would have needed a worse delivery to spoil the words: "How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high places! I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me; thy love for me was wonderful, passing the love of women. How are the mighty fallen and the weapons of war perished!" Thus ended the song, so rich in splendour, so charged with sorrow.

      "Clinking!" was Andy's inward comment. Then in a flash came the thought, "Why, of course, I must ask Harry Belfield; he'll tell me what to do all right."

      The reference of his problem to Harry ought to have disposed of it for good, and left Andy free to perform his devotions with a single mind. But it only set him wondering what Harry would decide, wondering hard and – there was no escaping from it – jealously. His service in the ranks, his residence in communities at least professedly democratic, had not made him a thorough democrat, it seemed. He might have acquired the side of democracy the easier of the two to acquire; he might be ready to call any man his equal, whatever his station or his work. He stumbled at the harder task of seeing himself, whatever his work or station, as any man's equal – at claiming or assuming, not at according, equality. And in Meriton! To claim or assume equality with any and every man in Meriton would, if he accepted Jack Rock's offer, be to court ridicule from equals and unequals all alike, and most of all from his admitted inferiors. Surely Harry would never send him to the butcher's shop? That would mean that Harry thought of him (for all his kindness) as of Chinks or of the Bird. Could he risk discovering that, after all, Harry – and Harry's friends – thought of him like that? A sore pang struck him. Had he been at Nutley – at Halton – only on sufferance? He had an idea that Harry would send him to the butcher's shop – would do the thing ever so kindly, ever so considerately, but all the same would do it. "Well, it's the safe thing, isn't it, old chap?" he fancied Harry saying; and then returning to his own high ambitions, and being thereafter very friendly – whenever he chanced to pass the shop. Andy never deceived himself as to the quality of Harry's friendship: it lay, at the most, in appreciative acceptance of unbounded affection. It was not like Jonathan's for David. Andy was content. And must not acceptance, after all, breed some return? For whatever return came he was grateful. In this sphere there was no room even for theories of equality, let alone for its practice.

      For some little time back Andy had been surprised to observe a certain attribute of his own – that of pretty often turning out right. He accounted for it by saying that an average man, judging of average men and things, would fairly often be right – on an average; men would do what he expected, things would go as he expected – on an average. Such discernment as was implied in this Andy felt as no endowment, no clairvoyance; rather it was that his limitations qualified him to appreciate other people's. He would have liked to feel able to except Harry Belfield who should have no limitations – only he felt terribly sure of what Harry Belfield would say: Safety, and the shop!

      By this time the church service was ended, the cold beef eaten, most of the long walk achieved. For while these things went straight on to an end, Andy's thoughts rolled round and round, like a squirrel in a cage.

      "A man's only got one life," Andy was thinking to himself for the hundredth time as, having done his fifteen miles, he came opposite the entry to Nutley on his way home after his walk. What a lot of thoughts and memories there had been on that walk! Walking alone, a man is the victim – or the beneficiary – of any number of stray recollections, ideas, or fancies. He had even thought of – and smiled over – sardonic Miss Dutton's sardonic remark that he was worth ten of either Billy Foot or – Harry Belfield! Well, the poor girl had come one cropper; allowances must be made.

      Cool, serene, with what might appear to the eyes of less happy people an almost insolently secure possession of fortune's favour, Harry Belfield stood at Nutley gate. Andy, hot and dusty, winced at being seen by him; Harry was so remote from any disarray. Andy's heart leapt at the sight of his friend – and seemed to stand still in the presence of his judge. Because the thing – the problem – must come out directly. There was no more possibility of shirking it.

      Vivien was flitting – her touch of the ground seemed so light – down the drive, past the deep dark water, to join Harry for a stroll. His invitation to a stroll on that fine still Sunday afternoon had not been given without significance nor received without a thousand tremblings. So it would appear that it was Andy's ill-fortune to interrupt.

      Harry was smoking. He took his cigar out of his mouth to greet Andy.

      "Treadmill again, old boy? Getting the fat off?"

      "You're the one man I wanted to see." Then Andy's face fell; it was an awful moment. "I want to ask your advice."

      "Look sharp!" said Harry, smiling. "I've an appointment. She'll be here any minute."

      "Jack Rock's offered to turn the shop over to me, as soon as I learn the business. I say, I – I suppose I ought to accept? He says it's worth hard on five hundred a year. I say, keep that dark; he told me not to tell anybody."

      "Gad, is it?" said Harry, and whistled softly.

      Vivien came in sight of him, and walked СКАЧАТЬ