UNIVERSITY OF SOCIAL SCIENCES AND HUMANITIES FACULTY OF ENGLISH LINGUISTICS AND LITERATURE INTRODUCTION TO LITERATURE THE STORY OF AN HOUR Knowing that Mrs Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone She would have no one follow her There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life The delicious breath of rain was in the air In the street below a peddler was crying his wares The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips She said it over and over under hte breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes They stayed keen and bright Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination And yet she had loved him sometimes Often she had not What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being! "Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, imploring for admission "Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door you will make yourself ill What are you doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door." "Go away I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease of the joy that kills THE COP AND THE ANTHEM O Henry (1862 – 1910) ON HIS BENCH in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily When wild geese honk high of nights, and when women without seal-skin coats grow kind to their husbands, and when Soapy moves uneasily on his bench in the park, you may know that winter is near at hand A dead leaf fell in Soapy's lap That was Jack Frost's card Jack is kind to the regular denizens of Madison Square, and gives fair warning of his annual call At the corners of four streets he hands his pasteboard to the North Wind, footman of the mansion of All Outdoors, so that the inhabitants thereof may make ready Soapy's mind became cognizant of the fact that the time had come for him to resolve himself into a singular Committee of Ways and Means to provide against the coming rigor And therefore he moved uneasily on his bench The hibernatorial ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest In them there were no considerations of Mediterranean cruises, of soporific Southern skies drifting in the Vesuvian Bay Three months on the Island was what his soul craved Three months of assured board and bed and congenial company, safe from Boreas and bluecoats, seemed to Soapy the essence of things desirable For years the hospitable Blackwell's had been his winter quarters Just as his more fortunate fellow New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach and the Riviera each winter, so Soapy had made his humble arrangements for his annual hegira to the Island And now the time was come On the previous night three Sabbath newspapers, distributed beneath his coat, about his ankles and over his lap, had failed to repulse the cold as he slept on his bench near the spurting fountain in the ancient square So the Island loomed big and timely in Soapy's mind He scorned the provisions made in the name of charity for the city's dependents In Soapy's opinion the Law was more benign than Philanthropy There was an endless round of institutions, municipal and eleemosynary, on which he might set out and receive lodging and food accordant with the simple life But to one of Soapy's proud spirit the gifts of charity are encumbered If not in coin you must pay in humiliation of spirit for every benefit received at the hands of philanthropy As Caesar had his Brutus, every bed of charity must have its toll of a bath, every loaf of bread its compensation of a private and personal inquisition Wherefore it is better to be a guest of the law, which though conducted by rules, does not meddle unduly with a gentleman's private affairs Soapy, having decided to go to the Island, at once set about accomplishing his desire There were many easy ways of doing this The pleasantest was to dine luxuriously at some expensive restaurant; and then, after declaring insolvency, be handed over quietly and without uproar to a policeman An accommodating magistrate would the rest Soapy left his bench and strolled out of the square and across the level sea of asphalt, where Broadway and Fifth Avenue flow together Up Broadway he turned, and halted at a glittering café, where are gathered together nightly the choicest products of the grape, the silkworm and the protoplasm Soapy had confidence in himself from the lowest button of his vest upward He was shaven, and his coat was decent and his neat black, ready-tied four-in-hand had been presented to him by a lady missionary on Thanksgiving Day If he could reach a table in the restaurant unsuspected success would be his The portion of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind A roasted mallard duck, thought Soapy, would be about the thing—with a bottle of Chablis, and then Camembert, a demitasse and a cigar One dollar for the cigar would be enough The total would not be so high as to call forth any supreme manifestation of revenge from the café management; and yet the meat would leave him filled and happy for the journey to his winter refuge But as Soapy set foot inside the restaurant door the head waiter's eye fell upon his frayed trousers and decadent shoes Strong and ready hands turned him about and conveyed him in silence and haste to the sidewalk and averted the ignoble fate of the menaced mallard Soapy turned off Broadway It seemed that his route to the coveted island was not to be an epicurean one Some other way of entering limbo must be thought of At a corner of Sixth Avenue electric lights and cunningly displayed wares behind plate-glass made a shop window conspicuous Soapy took a cobblestone and dashed it through the glass People came running around the corner, a policeman in the lead Soapy stood still, with his hands in his pockets, and smiled at the sight of brass buttons “Where's the man that done that?” inquired the officer excitedly “Don't you figure out that I might have had something to with it?” said Soapy, not without sarcasm, but friendly, as one greets good fortune The policeman's mind refused to accept Soapy even as a clue Men who smash windows not remain to parley with the law's minions They take to their heels The policeman saw a man half way down the block running to catch a car With drawn club he joined in the pursuit Soapy, with disgust in his heart, loafed along, twice unsuccessful On the opposite side of the street was a restaurant of no great pretensions It catered to large appetites and modest purses Its crockery and atmosphere were thick; its soup and napery thin Into this place Soapy took his accusive shoes and telltale trousers without challenge At a table he sat and consumed beefsteak, flapjacks, doughnuts and pie And then to the waiter he betrayed the fact that the minutest coin and himself were strangers “Now, get busy and call a cop,” said Soapy “And don't keep a gentleman waiting.” “No cops for youse,” said the waiter, with a voice like butter cakes and an eye like the cherry in a Manhattan cocktail “Hey, Con!” Neatly upon his left ear on the callous pavement two waiters pitched Soapy He arose, joint by joint, as a carpenter's rule opens, and beat the dust from his clothes Arrest seemed but a rosy dream The Island seemed very far away A policeman who stood before a drug store two doors away laughed and walked down the street Five blocks Soapy traveled before his courage permitted him to woo capture again This time the opportunity presented what he fatuously termed to himself a “cinch.” A young woman of a modest and pleasing guise was standing before a show window gazing with sprightly interest at its display of shaving mugs and inkstands, and two yards from the window a large policeman of severe demeanor leaned against a water plug It was Soapy's design to assume the role of the despicable and execrated “masher.” The refined and elegant appearance of his victim and the contiguity of the conscientious cop encouraged him to believe that he would soon feel the pleasant official clutch upon his arm that would insure his winter quarters on the right little, tight little isle Soapy straightened the lady missionary's ready-made tie, dragged his shrinking cuffs into the open, set his hat at a killing cant and sidled toward the young woman He made eyes at her, was taken with sudden coughs and “hems,” smiled, smirked and went brazenly through the impudent and contemptible litany of the “masher.” With half an eye Soapy saw that the policeman was watching him fixedly The young woman moved away a few steps, and again bestowed her absorbed attention upon the shaving mugs Soapy followed, boldly stepping to her side, raised his hat and said: “Ah there, Bedelia! Don't you want to come and play in my yard?” The policeman was still looking The persecuted young woman had but to beckon a finger and Soapy would be practically en route for his insular haven Already he imagined he could feel the cozy warmth of the station-house The young woman faced him and, stretching out a hand, caught Soapy's coat sleeve “Sure, Mike,” she said joyfully, “if you'll blow me to a pail of suds I'd have spoke to you sooner, but the cop was watching.” With the young woman playing the clinging ivy to his oak Soapy walked past the policeman overcome with gloom He seemed doomed to liberty At the next corner he shook off his companion and ran He halted in the district where by night are found the lightest streets, hearts, vows and librettos Women in furs and men in greatcoats moved gaily in the wintry air A sudden fear seized Soapy that some dreadful enchantment had rendered him immune to arrest The thought brought a little of panic upon it, and when he came upon another policeman lounging grandly in front of a transplendent theatre he caught at the immediate straw of “disorderly conduct.” On the sidewalk Soapy began to yell drunken gibberish at the top of his harsh voice He danced, howled, raved and otherwise disturbed the welkin The policeman twirled his club, turned his back to Soapy and remarked to a citizen “'Tis one of them Yale lads celebratin' the goose egg they give to the Hartford College Noisy; but no harm We've instructions to lave them be.” Disconsolate, Soapy ceased his unavailing racket Would never a police man lay hands on him? In his fancy the Island seemed an unattainable Arcadia He buttoned his thin coat against the chilling wind In a cigar store he saw a well-dressed man lighting a cigar at a swinging light His silk umbrella he had set by the door on entering Soapy stepped inside, secured the umbrella and sauntered off with it slowly The man at the cigar light followed hastily “My umbrella,” he said, sternly “Oh, is it?” sneered Soapy, adding insult to petit larceny “Well, why don't you call a policeman? I took it Your umbrella! Why don't you call a cop? There stands one on the corner.” The umbrella owner slowed his steps Soapy did likewise, with a presentiment that luck would again run against him The policeman looked at the two curiously “Of course,” said the umbrella man—“that is—well, you know how these mistakes occur—I—if it's your umbrella I hope you'll excuse me—I picked it up this morning in a restaurant—If you recognize it as yours, why—I hope you'll—” “Of course it's mine,” said Soapy, viciously The ex-umbrella man retreated The policeman hurried to assist a tall blonde in an opera cloak across the street in front of a street car that was approaching two blocks away Soapy walked eastward through a street damaged by improvements He hurled the umbrella wrathfully into an excavation He muttered against the men who wear helmets and carry clubs Because he wanted to fall into their clutches, they seemed to regard him as a king who could no wrong At length Soapy reached one of the avenues to the east where the glitter and turmoil was but faint He set his face down this toward Madison Square, for the homing instinct survives even when the home is a park bench But on an unusually quiet corner Soapy came to a standstill Here was an old church, quaint and rambling and gabled Through one violet-stained window a soft light glowed, where, no doubt, the organist loitered over the keys, making sure of his mastery of the coming Sabbath anthem For there drifted out to Soapy's ears sweet music that caught and held him transfixed against the convolutions of the iron fence The moon was above, lustrous and serene; vehicles and pedestrians were few; sparrows twittered sleepily in the eaves—for a little while the scene might have been a country churchyard And the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for he had known it well in the days when his life contained such things as mothers and roses and ambitions and friends and immaculate thoughts and collars The conjunction of Soapy's receptive state of mind and the influences about the old church wrought a sudden and wonderful change in his soul He viewed with swift horror the pit into which he had tumbled, the degraded days, unworthy desires, dead hopes, wrecked faculties and base motives that made up his existence And also in a moment his heart responded thrillingly to this novel mood An instantaneous and strong impulse moved him to battle with his desperate fate He would pull himself out of the mire; he would make a man of himself again; he would conquer the evil that had taken possession of him There was time; he was comparatively young yet; he would resurrect his old eager ambitions and pursue them without faltering Those solemn but sweet organ notes had set up a revolution in him Tomorrow he would go into the roaring downtown district and find work A fur importer had once offered him a place as driver He would find him tomorrow and ask for the position He would be somebody in the world He would— Soapy felt a hand laid on his arm He looked quickly around into the broad face of a policeman “What are you doin' here?” asked the officer “Nothin',” said Soapy “Then come along,” said the policeman “Three months on the Island,” said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning 10 He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover 'How wonderful the stars are,' he said to her,'and how wonderful is the power of love!' 'I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball,' she answered; 'I have ordered passionflowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy.' He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales At last he came to the poor house and looked in The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman's thimble Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings 'How cool I feel,' said the boy, 'I must be getting better;' and he sank into a delicious slumber Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had done 'It is curious,' he remarked, 'but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold.' 'That is because you have done a good action,' said the Prince And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep Thinking always made him sleepy When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath 'What a remarkable phenomenon,' said the Professor of Omithology as he was passing over the bridge 'A swallow in winter!' And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they could not understand 'To-night I go to Egypt,' said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, 'What a distinguished stranger!' so he enjoyed himself very much When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince 'Have you any commissions for Egypt?' he cried; 'I am just starting.' 'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'will you not stay with me one night longer?' 'I am waited for in Egypt,' answered the Swallow To-morrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon All night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent At noon the yellow lions come down to the water's edge to drink They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.' 'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince,'far away across the city I see a young man in a garret He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and 14 he has large and dreamy eyes He is trying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint.' 'I will wait with you one night longer,' said the Swallow, who really had a good heart 'Shall I take him another ruby?' 'Alas! I have no ruby now,' said the Prince; 'my eyes are all that I have left They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago Pluck out one of them and take it to him He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.' 'Dear Prince,' said the Swallow,'I cannot that;' and he began to weep 'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'do as I command you.' So the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the student's garret It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof Through this he darted, and came into the room The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets 'I am beginning to be appreciated,' he cried; 'this is from some great admirer Now I can finish my play,' and he looked quite happy The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes 'Heave a-hoy!' they shouted as each chest came up 'I am going to Egypt!' cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince 'I am come to bid you good-bye,' he cried 'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince,'will you not stay with me one night longer?' 'It is winter,' answered the Swallow, and the chill snow will soon be here In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them My companions are building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves are watching them, and cooing to each other Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea 'In the square below,' said the Happy Prince, 'there stands a little match-girl She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her 'I will stay with you one night longer,' said the Swallow,'but I cannot pluck out your eye You would be quite blind then.' 'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'do as I command you.' 15 So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand 'What a lovely bit of glass,' cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing Then the Swallow came back to the Prince 'You are blind now,' he said, 'so I will stay with you always.' 'No, little Swallow,' said the poor Prince, 'you must go away to Egypt.' 'I will stay with you always,' said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince's feet All the next day he sat on the Prince's shoulder, and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands He told him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold fish in their beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies 'Dear little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women There is no Mystery so great as Misery Fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell me what you see there.' So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep themselves warm 'How hungry we are' they said 'You must not lie here,' shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen 'I am covered with fine gold,' said the Prince, 'you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy.' Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street 'We have bread nod' they cried Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers down from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the Prince, he loved him too well He picked up crumbs outside the baker's door when the baker was not looking, and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings 16 But at last he knew that he was going to die He had just strength to fly up to the Prince's shoulder once more.'Good-bye, dear Prince!' he murmured, 'will you let me kiss your hand?' 'I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you.' 'It is not to Egypt that I am going,' said the Swallow I am going to the House of Death Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?' And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors As they passed the column he looked up at the statue: 'Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!' he said 'How shabby indeed!' cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the Mayor, and they went up to look at it 'The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer,' said the Mayor; 'in fact, he is little better than a beggar!' 'Little better than a beggar,' said the Town Councillors 'And there is actually a dead bird at his feet,' continued the Mayor 'We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here.' And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince 'As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful,' said the Art Professor at the University Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal 'We must have another statue, of course,' he said, 'and it shall be a statue of myself.' 17 FLIGHT Above the old man's head was the dovecote, a tall wire-netted shelf on stilts, full of strutting, preening birds The sunlight broke on their grey breasts into small rainbows His ears were lulled by their crooning, his hands stretched up towards the favourite, a homing pigeon, a young plump-bodied bird which stood still when it saw him and cocked a shrewd bright eye 'Pretty, pretty, pretty,' he said, as he grasped the bird and drew it down, feeling the cold coral claws tighten around his finger Content, he rested the bird lightly on his chest, and leaned against a tree, gazing out beyond the dovecote into the landscape of a late afternoon In folds and hollows of sunlight and shade, the dark red soil, which was broken into great dusty clods, stretched wide to a tall horizon Trees marked the course of the valley; a stream of rich green grass the road His eyes travelled homewards along this road until he saw his granddaughter swinging on the gate underneath a frangipani tree Her hair fell down her back in a wave of sunlight, and her long bare legs repeated the angles of the frangipani stems, bare, shining-brown stems among patterns of pale blossoms She was gazing past the pink flowers, past the railway cottage where they lived, along the road to the village His mood shifted He deliberately held out his wrist for the bird to take flight, and caught it again at the moment it spread its wings He felt the plump shape strive and strain under his fingers; and, in a sudden access of troubled spite, shut the bird into a small box and fastened the bolt 'Now you stay there,' he muttered; and turned his back on the shelf of birds He moved warily along the hedge, stalking his granddaughter, who was now looped over the gate, her head loose on her arms, singing.The light happy sound mingled with the crooning of the birds, and his anger mounted `Hey!' he shouted; saw her jump, look back, and abandon the gate Her eyes veiled themselves, and she said in a pert neutral voice: 'Hullo, Grandad.' Politely she moved towards him, after a 18 lingering backward glance at the road 'Waiting for Steven, hey?' he said, his fingers curling like claws into his palm Any objection?' she asked lightly, refusing to look at him He confronted her, his eyes narrowed, shoulders hunched, tight in a hard knot of pain which included the preening birds, the sunlight, the flowers He said: `Think you're old enough to go courting, hey?' The girl tossed her head at the old-fashioned phrase and sulked, 'Oh, Grandad!' 'Think you want to leave home, hey? Think you can go running around the fields at night?' Her smile made him see her, as he had every evening of this warm end-of-summer month, swinging hand in hand along the road to the village with that red-handed, red throated, violentbodied youth, the son of the postmaster Misery went to his head and he shouted angrily: 'I'll tell your mother!' 'Tell away!' she said, laughing, and went back to the gate He heard her singing, for him to hear: 'I've got you under my skin, I've got you deep in the heart of ' 'Rubbish,' he shouted 'Rubbish Impudent little bit of rubbish!' Growling under his breath he turned towards the dovecote, which was his refuge from the house he shared with his daughter and her husband and their children But now the house would be empty Gone all the young girls with their laughter and their squabbling and their teasing He would be left, uncherished and alone, with that square-fronted, calm-eyed woman, his daughter He stopped, muttering, before the dovecote, resenting the absorbed cooing birds From the gate the girl shouted: 'Go and tell! Go on, what are you waiting for?' Obstinately he made his way to the house, with quick, pathetic persistent glances of appeal back at her But she never looked around Her defiant but anxious young body stung him into love and repentance He stopped, 'But I never meant ' he muttered, waiting for her to turn and run to him 'I didn't mean ' She did not turn She had forgotten him Along the road came the young man Steven, with something in his hand A present for her? The old man stiffened as he watched the gate swing back, and the couple embrace In the brittle shadows of the frangipani tree his granddaughter, his darling, lay in the arms of the postmaster's son, and her hair flowed back over his shoulder 'I see you!' shouted the old man spitefully They did not move He stumped into the little whitewashed house, hearing the wooden veranda creak angrily under his feet His daughter was sewing in the front room, threading a needle held to the light He stopped again, looking back into the garden The couple were now sauntering among the 19 bushes, laughing As he watched he saw the girl escape from the youth with a sudden mischievous movement, and run off through the flowers with him in pursuit He heard shouts, laughter, a scream, silence 'But it's not like that at all,' he muttered miserably 'It's not like that Why can't you see? Running and giggling, and kissing and kissing You'll come to something quite different.' He looked at his daughter with sardonic hatred, hating himself They were caught and finished, both of them, but the girl was still running free 'Can't you see?' he demanded of his invisible granddaughter, who was at that moment lying in the thick green grass with the postmaster's son His daughter looked at him and her eyebrows went up in tired forbearance 'Put your birds to bed?' she asked, humouring him 'Lucy,' he said urgently, 'Lucy ' 'Well, what is it now?' 'She's in the garden with Steven.' 'Now you just sit down and have your tea.' He stumped his feet alternately, thump, thump, on the hollow wooden floor and shouted: 'She'll marry him I'm telling you, she'll be marrying him next!' His daughter rose swiftly, brought him a cup, set him a plate 'I don't want any tea I don't want it, I tell you.' 'Now, now,' she crooned 'What's wrong with it? Why not?' 'She's eighteen Eighteen!' 'I was married at seventeen and I never regretted it.' 'Liar,' he said 'Liar Then you should regret it Why you make your girls marry? It's you who it What you it for? Why?' 'The other three have done fine They've three fine husbands Why not Alice?' 'She's the last,' he mourned 'Can't we keep her a bit longer?' 'Come, now, Dad She'll be down the road, that's all She'll be here every day to see you.' 'But it's not the same.' He thought of the other three girls, transformed inside a few months from charming petulant spoiled children into serious young matrons 20 'You never did like it when we married,' she said 'Why not? Every time, it's the same When I got married you made me feel like it was something wrong And my girls the same You get them all crying and miserable the way you go on Leave Alice alone She's happy.' She sighed, letting her eyes linger on the sunlit garden 'She'll marry next month There's no reason to wait.' 'You've said they can marry?' he said incredulously 'Yes, Dad, why not?' she said coldly, and took up her sewing His eyes stung, and he went out on to the veranda Wet spread down over his chin and he took out a handkerchief and mopped his whole face The garden was empty From around the corner came the young couple; but their faces were no longer set against him On the wrist of the postmaster's son balanced a young pigeon, the light gleaming on its breast 'For me?' said the old man, letting the drops shake off his chin 'For me?' 'Do you like it?' The girl grabbed his hand and swung on it 'It's for you, Grandad Steven brought it for you.' They about him, affectionate, concerned, trying to charm away his wet eyes and his misery They took his arms and directed him to the shelf of birds, one on each side, enclosing him, petting him, saying wordlessly that nothing would be changed, nothing could change, and that they would be with him always The bird was proof of it, they said, from their lying happy eyes, as they thrust it on him 'There, Grandad, it's yours It's for you.' They watched him as he held it on his wrist, stroking its soft, sun-warmed back, watching the wings lift and balance 'You must shut it up for a bit', said the girl intimately 'Until it knows this is its home.' 'Teach your grandmother to suck eggs,' growled the old man Released by his half-deliberate anger, they fell back, laughing at him 'We're glad you like it.' They moved off, now serious and full of purpose, to the gate, where they hung, backs to him, talking quietly More than anything could, their grown-up seriousness shut him out, making him alone; also, it quietened him, took the sting out of their tumbling like puppies on the grass They had forgotten him again Well, so they should, the old man reassured himself, feeling his throat clotted with tears, his lips trembling He held the new bird to his face, for the caress of its silken feathers Then he shut it in a box and took out his favourite 'Now you can go, he said aloud He held it poised, ready for flight, while he looked down the garden towards the boy and the girl Then, clenched in the pain of loss, he lifted the bird on his wrist, and watched it soar A whirr and a spatter of wings, and a cloud of birds rose into the evening from the dovecote At the gate Alice and Steven forgot their talk and watched the birds On the veranda, that woman, his daughter, stood gazing, her eyes shaded with a hand that still held her sewing 21 It seemed to the old man that the whole afternoon had stilled to watch his gesture of selfcommand, that even the leaves of the trees had stopped shaking Dry-eyed and calm, he let his hands fall to his sides and stood erect, staring up into the sky The cloud of shining silver birds flew up and up, with a shrill cleaving of wings, over the dark ploughed land and the darker belts of trees and the bright folds of grass, until they floated high in the sunlight, like a cloud of motes of dust They wheeled in a wide circle, tilting their wings so there was flash after flash of light, and one after another they dropped from the sunshine of the upper sky to shadow, one after another, returning to the shadowed earth over trees and grass and field, returning to the valley and the shelter of night The garden was all a fluster and a flurry of returning birds Then silence, and the sky was empty The old man turned, slowly, taking his time; he lifted his eyes to smile proudly down the garden at his granddaughter She was staring at him She did not smile She was wide-eyed, and pale in the cold shadow, and he saw the tears run shivering off her face 22 MR KNOW-ALL I was prepared to dislike Max Kelada even before I knew him The war had just finished and the passenger traffic in the ocean-going liners was heavy Accommodation was very hard to get and you had to put up with whatever the agents chose to offer you You could not hope for a cabin to yourself and I was thankful to be given one in which there were only two berths But when I was told the name of my companion my heart sank It suggested closed portholes and the night air rigidly excluded It was bad enough to share a cabin for fourteen days with anyone (I was going from San Francisco to Yokohama), but I should have looked upon it with less dismay if my fellow passenger's name had been Smith or Brown) When I went on board I found Mr Kelada's luggage already below I did not like the look of it; there were too many labels on the suit-cases, and the wardrobe trunk was too big He had unpacked his toilet things, and I observed that he was a patron of the excellent Monsieur Coty; for I saw on the washing-stand his scent, his hair-wash and his brilliantine Mr Kelada's brushes, ebony with his monogram in gold, would have been all the better for a scrub I did not at all like Mr Kelada I made my way into the smoking-room I called for a pack of cards and began to play patience I had scarcely started before a man came up to me and asked me if he was right in thinking my name was so and so 23 "I am Mr Kelada," he added, with a smile that showed a row of flashing teeth, and sat down "Oh, yes, we're sharing a cabin, I think." "Bit of luck, I call it You never know who you're going to be put in with I was jolly glad when I heard you were English I'm all for us English sticking together when we're abroad, if you understand what I mean." I blinked "Are you English?" I asked, perhaps tactlessly "Rather You don't think I look like an American, you? British to the backbone, that's what I am." To prove it, Mr Kelada took out of his pocket a passport and airily waved it under my nose King George has many strange subjects Mr Kelada was short and of a sturdy build, clean-shaven and dark-skinned, with a fleshy hooked nose and very large, lustrous and liquid eyes His long black hair was sleek and curly He spoke with a fluency in which there was nothing English and his gestures were exuberant I felt pretty sure that a closer inspection of that British passport would have betrayed the fact that Mr Kelada was born under a bluer sky than is generally seen in England "What will you have?" he asked me I looked at him doubtfully Prohibition was in force and to all appearance the ship was bone-dry When I am not thirsty I not know which I dislike more, ginger ale or lemon squash But Mr Kelada flashed an oriental smile at me "Whisky and soda or a dry martini, you have only to say the word." From each of his hip pockets he fished a flask and laid it on the table before me I chose the martini, and calling the steward he ordered a tumbler of ice and a couple of glasses "A very good cocktail," I said "Well, there are plenty more where that came from, and if you've got any friends on board, you tell them you've got a pal who's got all the liquor in the world." Mr Kelada was chatty He talked of New York and of San Francisco He discussed plays, pictures, and politics He was patriotic The Union Jack is an impressive piece of drapery, but when it is flourished by a gentleman from Alexandria or Beirut, I cannot but feel that it loses somewhat in dignity Mr Kelada was familiar I not wish to put on airs, but I cannot help feeling that it is seemly in a total stranger to put "mister" before my name when he addresses me Mr Kelada, doubtless to set me at my ease, used no such formality I did not like Mr Kelada I 24 had put aside the cards when he sat down, but now, thinking that for this first occasion our conversation had lasted long enough, I went on with my game "The three on the four," said Mr Kelada There is nothing more exasperating when you are playing patience than to be told where to put the card you have turned up before you have had a chance to look for yourself "It's coming out, it's coming out," he cried "The ten on the knave." With rage and hatred in my heart I finished Then he seized the pack "Do you like card tricks?" "No, I hate card tricks," I answered "Well, I'll just show you this one." He showed me three Then I said I would go down to the dining-room and get my seat at table "Oh, that's all right," he said "I've already taken a seat for you I thought that as we were in the same state-room we might just as well sit at the same table." I did not like Mr Kelada I not only shared a cabin with him and ate three meals a day at the same table, but I could not walk round the deck without his joining me It was impossible to snub him It never occurred to him that he was not wanted He was certain that you were as glad to see him as he was to see you In your own house you might have kicked him downstairs and slammed the door in his face without the suspicion dawning on him that he was not a welcome visitor He was a good mixer, and in three days knew everyone on board He ran everything He managed the sweeps, conducted the auctions, collected money for prizes at the sports, got up quoit and golf matches, organized the concert and arranged the fancy-dress ball He was everywhere and always He was certainly the best hated man in the ship We called him Mr Know-All, even to his face He took it as a compliment But it was at mealtimes that he was most intolerable For the better part of an hour then he had us at his mercy He was hearty, jovial, loquacious and argumentative He knew everything better than anybody else, and it was an affront to his overweening vanity that you should disagree with him He would not drop a subject, however unimportant, till he had brought you round to his way of thinking The possibility that he could be mistaken never occurred to him He was the chap who knew We sat at the doctor's table Mr Kelada would certainly have had it all his own way, for the doctor was lazy and I was frigidly indifferent, except for a man called Ramsay who sat there also He was as dogmatic as Mr Kelada and resented bitterly the Levantine's cocksureness The discussions they had were acrimonious and interminable 25 Ramsay was in the American Consular Service and was stationed at Kobe He was a great heavy fellow from the Middle West, with loose fat under a tight skin, and he bulged out of this readymade clothes He was on his way back to resume his post, having been on a flying visit to New York to fetch his wife who had been spending a year at home Mrs Ramsay was a very pretty little thing, with pleasant manners and a sense of humour The Consular Service is ill-paid, and she was dressed always very simply; but she knew how to wear her clothes She achieved an effect of quiet distinction I should not have paid any particular attention to her but that she possessed a quality that may be common enough in women, but nowadays is not obvious in their demeanour You could not look at her without being struck by her modesty It shone in her like a flower on a coat One evening at dinner the conversation by chance drifted to the subject of pearls There had been in the papers a good deal of talk about the culture pearls which the cunning Japanese were making, and the doctor remarked that they must inevitably diminish the value of real ones They were very good already; they would soon be perfect Mr Kelada, as was his habit, rushed the new topic He told us all that was to be known about pearls I not believe Ramsay knew anything about them at all, but he could not resist the opportunity to have a fling at the Levantine, and in five minutes we were in the middle of a heated argument I had seen Mr Kelada vehement and voluble before, but never so voluble and vehement as now At last something that Ramsay said stung him, for he thumped the table and shouted: "Well, I ought to know what I am talking about I'm going to Japan just to look into this Japanese pearl business I'm in the trade and there's not a man in it who won't tell you that what I say about pearls goes I know all the best pearls in the world, and what I don't know about pearls isn't worth knowing." Here was news for us, for Mr Kelada, with all his loquacity, had never told anyone what his business was We only knew vaguely that he was going to Japan on some commercial errand He looked round the table triumphantly "They'll never be able to get a culture pearl that an expert like me can't tell with half an eye." He pointed to a chain that Mrs Ramsay wore " You take my word for it, Mrs Ramsay, that chain you're wearing will never be worth a cent less than it is now." Mrs Ramsay in her modest way flushed a little and slipped the chain inside her dress Ramsay leaned forward He gave us all a look and a smile flickered in his eyes "That's a pretty chain of Mrs Ramsay's, isn't it?" "I noticed it at once," answered Mr Kelada "Gee, I said to myself, those are pearls all right." "I didn't buy it myself, of course I'd be interested to know how much you think it cost." "Oh, in the trade somewhere round fifteen thousand dollars But if it was bought on Fifth Avenue shouldn't be surprised to hear that anything up to thirty thousand was paid for it." 26 Ramsay smiled grimly "You'll be surprised to hear that Mrs Ramsay bought that string at a department store the day before we left New York, for eighteen dollars." Mr Kelada flushed Rot It's not only real, but it's as fine a string for its size as I've ever seen." Rot It's not only real, but it's as fine a siring for its size as I've ever seen." "Done." "Oh, Elmer, you can't bet on a certainty," said Mrs Ramsay She had a little smile on her lips and her tone was gently deprecating "Can't I? If I get a chance of easy money like that I should be all sorts of a fool not to take it." "But how can it be proved?" she continued "It's only my word against Mr Kelada's." "But how can it be proved?" she continued "It's only my word against Mr Kelada's." I can afford to lose a hundred dollars," said Mr Kelada "Take it off, dear Let the gentleman look at it as much as he wants." Mrs Ramsay hesitated a moment She put her hands to the clasp "I can't undo it," she said "Mr Kelada will just have to take my word for it." I had a sudden suspicion that something unfortunate was about to occur, but I could think of nothing to say Ramsay jumped up "I'll undo it." He handed the chain to Mr Kelada The Levantine look a magnifying glass from his pocket and closely examined it A smile of triumph spread over his smooth and swarthy face He handed back the chain He was about to speak Suddenly he caught sight of Mrs Ramsay's face It was so white that she looked as though she were about to faint She was staring at him with wide and terrified eyes They held a desperate appeal; it was so clear that I wondered why her husband did not see it Mr Kelada stopped with his mouth open He flushed deeply You could almost see the effort he was making over himself 27 "I was mistaken," he said "It's a very good imitation, but of course as soon as I looked through my glass I saw that it wasn't real I think eighteen dollars is just about as much as the damned thing's worth." He took out his pocket book and from it a hundred-dollar bill He handed it to Ramsay without a word "Perhaps that'll teach you not to be so cocksure another time, my young friend," said Ramsay as he took the note I noticed that Mr Kelada's hands were trembling The story spread over the ship as stories do, and he had to put up with a good deal of chaff that evening It was a fine joke that Mr Know-All had been caught out But Mrs Ramsay retired to her state-room with a headache Next morning I got up and began to shave Mr Kelada lay on his bed smoking a cigarette Suddenly there was a small scraping sound and I saw a letter pushed under the door I opened the door and looked out There was nobody there I picked up the letter and saw that it was addressed to Max Kelada The name was written in block letters I handed it to him "Who's this from?" He opened it "Oh!" He took out of the envelope, not a letter, but a hundred-dollar bill He looked at me and again he reddened He tore the envelope into little bits and gave them to me "Do you mind just throwing them out of the porthole?" I did as he asked, and then I looked at him with a smile "No one likes being made to look a perfect damned fool," he said "Were the pearls real?" "If I had a pretty little wife I shouldn't let her spend a year in New York while I stayed at Kobe," said he At that moment I did not entirely dislike Mr Kelada He reached out for his pocket book and carefully put in it the hundred-dollar note 28 ... waist that he had stopped to talk to her 'Shall I love you said the Swallow', who liked to come to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow So he flew round and round her, touching the water... you're going to be put in with I was jolly glad when I heard you were English I'm all for us English sticking together when we're abroad, if you understand what I mean." I blinked "Are you English? "... moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome There would be no one to live for during those coming years;