Читать книгу The Complete Works - George Bernard Shaw, George Bernard Shaw - Страница 56

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Two days later, Mary was finishing the sketch which Mrs Herbert had interrupted. Something was wrong with her: at every sound in the house she changed color and stopped to listen. Suddenly the door was opened; and a housemaid entered, rigid with indignation.

“Oh Clara, you frightened me. What is it?”

“If you please, Miss, is it my place to be called names and swore at by the chootor?”

“Why? What has happened?”

“Master gave me a note after breakfast to give Mr Jack, Miss. He was not in his room then; so I left it on the table. As soon as I heard him moving about, I went and asked him had he got it. The answer I got — begging your pardon, Miss — was, ‘Go to the devil, you jade.’ If I am expected to put up with that from the likes of him, I should wish to give warning.”

“I am very sorry, Clara. Why did he behave so? Did you say anything rude to him?”

“Not likely, Miss. I hope I respect myself more than to stop and bandy words. His door was wide open; and he had his portmanteau in the middle of the floor, and was heaping his things into it as fast as he could. He was grinding his teeth, too, and looked reg’lar wicked.”

“Well, Clara, as Mr Jack will be leaving very soon, I think you had better pass it over.”

“Indeed, Miss? Is Mr Jack going?”

“Yes,” said Mary, turning to her easel.

“Oh!” said the housemaid slowly. After lingering a moment in vain for further information, she hastened to the kitchen to tell the news. She had closed the door; but it did not fasten, and presently a draught from an open window in the hall blew it softly open. Though Mary wanted it shut, so that Jack should not see her if he passed on his way out, she was afraid to stir. She had never been so unreasonably nervous in her life before; and she sat there helpless pretending to draw until she heard the dreaded footstep on the stairs. Her heart beat in a terrible crescendo as the steps approached, passed, stopped, returned, and entered the room. When she forced herself to look up, he was standing there eying her, with her father’s letter in his hand.

“What does this mean?” he said.

Mary glanced round as it to escape from his eyes but had to look at him as she replied faintly, “You had better ask Mr Sutherland.”

“Mr Sutherland has nothing to do with it. You are mistress here.”

He waited long enough for an answer to shew that she had none to make. Then, shaking his head, he deliberately tore the letter into fragments. That stung her into saying:

“I do not wish to pursue the subject with you.”

“I have not asked your leave,” he replied. “I give you a lesson for the benefit cf the next wretch that will hold my position at the mercy of your ignorant caprice. You have spoiled the labor of the past three months for me; upset my plans; ruined me, for aught I know. Tell your father, who wants to discharge me at the end of the month, that I discharge myself now. I am not a dog, to sit at his table after the injustice he has done me.”

“He has done you no injustice, Mr Jack. He has a perfect right to choose who shall remain in his household. And I think he has acted rightly. So does Mr Herbert.”

Jack laughed gruffly. “Poor devil!” he said, “he fancies he can give ideas to the world because a few great men have given some to him. I am sorry I let his stiff manners put me out of temper with him the other night. He hates me instinctively because he feels in me what he misses in himself. But you ought to know better. Why, he hated that drunken rascal I had here, because he could handle his clarinet like a man with stuff in him. I have no more time for talking now. I have been your friend and have worked hard with your brother for your sake, because I thought you helped me to this place when I was desperately circumstanced. But now I shall not easily forgive you.” He shook his head again at her, and walked out, shutting the door behind him. The housemaid was in the hall. “My portmanteau and a couple of other things are on the landing outside my door,” he said, stopping as he passed her. “You will please give them to the man I send.”

“And by whose orders am I to trouble myself about your luggage, pray?”

Jack turned and slowly advanced upon her until she, retreating, stood against the wall. “By my orders, Mrs. Boldface,” he said. “Do as you are bid — and paid for, you hussy.”

“Well, certainly,” began the housemaid, as he turned away, “that’s—”

Jack halted and looked round wickedly at her. She retired quickly, grumbling. As he left the house, Herbert, coming in at the gate, was surprised to see him laughing heartily; for he had never seen him in good humor before.

“Good morning, Mr Jack,” said Adrian as they passed.

“Goodbye,” said Jack, derisively. And he went on. Before Adrian reached the doorstep, he heard the other roaring with laughter in the road.

Jack, when he had had his laugh out, walked quickly away, chuckling, and occasionally shaking his fist at the sky. When he came to Colonel Beatty’s house, he danced fantastically past the gate, snapping his fingers. He laughed boisterously at this performance at intervals until he came into the streets. Here, under the eye of the town, he was constrained to behave himself less remarkably; and the constraint made him so impatient that he suddenly gave up an intention he had formed of taking a lodging there, and struck off to the railway station at Slough.

“When is there a train to London?” he said, presenting himself at the booking-office.

“There’s one going now,” replied the clerk coolly.

“Now!” exclaimed Jack. “Give me a ticket — third class — single.”

“Go to the other window. First class only here.”

“First class, then,” cried Jack, exasperated. “Quick.” And he pushed in a half sovereign.

The clerk, startled by Jack’s voice, hastily gave him a ticket and an installment of the change. Jack left the rest, and ran to the platform just in time to hear the engine whistle.

“Late, sir. You’re late,” said a man in the act of slamming the barrier. By way of reply, Jack dragged it violently back and rushed after the departing train. There was a shout and a rush of officials to stop him; and one of them seized him, but, failing to hold him, was sent reeling by the collision. The next moment Jack opened the door of a first-class carriage, and plunged in in great disorder. The door was shut after him by an official, who stood on the footboard to cry out, “You will be summonsed for this, sir, so you shall. You shall be sum—”

“Go to the deuce,” retorted Jack, in a thundering voice. As the man jumped off, he turned from the door, and found himself confronted by a tall thin old gentleman, sprucely dressed, who cried in a high voice:

“Sir, this is a private compartment. I have engaged this compartment. You have no business here.”

“You should have had the door locked then,” said Jack, with surly humor, seating himself, and folding his arms with an air of concentrated doggedness.

“I — I consider your intrusion most unwarrantable — most unjustifiable,” continued the the gentleman.

Jack chuckled too obviously, at the old gentleman’s curious high voice and at his discomfiture. Then, deferring a little to white hairs, he said, “Well, well: I can get into another carriage at the next station.”

“You can do nothing of the sort, sir,” cried the gentleman, more angrily than before. “This is an express train. It does not stop.”

“Then I do, — where I am,” aid Jack curtly, with a new and more serious expression of indignation; for he had just remarked that there was one other person in the carriage — a young lady.

“I will not submit to this, sir. I will stop the train.”

“Stop it then,” said Jack, scowling at him. “But let me alone.”

The gentleman, with flushes of color coming and going on his withered cheek, turned to the alarum and began to read the printed instructions as to its use. “You had better not stop the train, father,” said the lady. “You will only get fined. The half-crown you gave the guard does not—”

“Hold your tongue,” said the gentleman. “I desire you not to speak to me, Magdalen, on any pretext whatsoever.” Jack, who had relented a little on learning the innocent relationship between his fellow travellers glanced at the daughter. She was a tall lady with chestnut hair, burnished by the rays which came aslant through the carriage window. Her eyes were bright hazel; her mouth small, but with full lips, the upper one, like her nose, tending to curl upward. She was no more than twenty; but in spite of her youth and trivial style of beauty, her manner was self-reliant and haughty. She did not seem to enjoy her journey, and took no pains to conceal her illhumor, which was greatly increased by the rebuke which her father had addressed to her. Her costume of maize color and pale blue was very elegant, and harmonized admirably with her fine complexion. Jack repeated his glance at short intervals until he discovered that her face was mirrored in the window next which he sat. He then turned away from her, and studied her appearance at his ease.

Meanwhile the gentleman, grumbling in an undertone, had seated himself without touching the alarum, and taken up a newspaper. Occasionally he looked over at his daughter, who, with her cheek resting on her glove, was frowning at the landscape as they passed swiftly through it. Presently he uttered an exclamation of impatience, and blew off some dust and soot which had just settled on his paper. Then he rose, and shut the window.

“Oh, pray don’t close it altogether, father,” said the lady. “It is too warm. I am half suffocated as it is.”

“Magdalen: I forbid you to speak to me.”

Magdalen pouted, and shook her shoulders angrily. Her father then went to the other door of the carriage, and closed the window there also. Jack instantly let it down with a crash, and stared truculently at him.

“Sir,” said the gentleman: “if, you — if sir — had you politely requested me not to close the window, I should not have — I would have respected your objection.”

“And if you, sir,” returned Jack, “had politely asked my leave before meddling with my window, I should, with equal politeness, have conveyed to you my invincible determination to comply with the lady’s reasonable request.”

“Ha! Indeed!” said the gentleman loftily. “I shall not — ah — dispute the matter with you.” And he resumed his seat, whilst his daughter, who had looked curiously at Jack for a moment, turned again to the landscape with her former chagrined expression.

For some time after this they travelled in peace: the old gentleman engaged with his paper: Jack chuckling over his recent retort. The speed of the train now increased speed; and the musician became exhilarated as the telegraph poles shot past, hardly visible.

When the train reached a part of the line at which the rails were elevated on iron chairs, the smooth grinding of the wheels changed to a rhythmic clatter. The racket became deafening; and Jack’s exhilaration had risen to a reckless excitement, when he was recalled to his senses by the gentleman, whom he had forgotten, calling out:

“Sir: will you oblige me by stopping those infernal noises.”

Jack, confused, suddenly ceased to grind his teeth and whistle through them. Then he laughed and said goodhumoredly, “I beg your pardon: I am a composer.”

“Then have the goodness to remember that you are not now in a printing office,” said the gentleman, evidently Supposing him to be a compositor. “You are annoying this lady, and driving me distracted with your hissing.”

“I do not mind it in the least” said the lady stubbornly.

“Magdalen: I have already desired you twice to be silent.”

“I shall speak if I please,” she muttered. Her father pretended not to hear her, and sat still for the next ten minutes, during which he glanced at Jack several times, with an odd twinkle in his eye. Then he said:

“What did you say you were, sir, may I ask?”

“A composer.”

“You are a discomposer, sir,” cried the old gentleman man promptly. “You are a discomposer.” And he began a chirping laughter, which Jack, after a pause of wonder, drowned with a deeptoned roar of merriment. Even the lady, determined as she was to be sulky, could not help smiling. Her father then took up the newspaper, and hid his face with it, turning his back to Jack, who heard him occasionally laughing to himself.

“I wish I had something to read,” said the young lady after some time, turning discontentedly from the window.

“A little reflexion will do you no harm,” said her parent. “A little reflexion, and, I will add, Magdalen, a little repentance perhaps.”

“I have nothing but disappointment and misery to reflect about, and I have no reason to be repentant. Please get me a novel at the next station — or give me some money, and I will get one myself.”

“Certainly not. You are not to be trusted with money. I forbid you ever to open a novel again. It is from such pestilential nonsense that you got the ideas which led to your present disgraceful escapade. Now, I must beg of you not to answer me, Magdalen. I do not wish to enter into a discussion with you, particularly before strangers.”

“Then do not make strangers believe that—”

“Hold your tongue, Magdalen. Do you disobey me intentionally? You should be ashamed to speak to me.”

The young lady bit her lip and reddened. “I think—” she began.

“Be silent.” cried her father, seizing his umbrella and rapping it peremptorily on the floor. Jack sprang up.

“Sir,” he said: “how dare you behave so to a lady?”

“This lady is my daughter, k — k — confound your impertinence,” replied the other irascibly.

“Then don’t treat her as if she were your dog,” retorted Jack “I am an artist, sir — an artist — a poet; and I will not permit a young and beautiful woman to be tyrannized in my presence.”

“It I were a younger man—” began the gentleman, grasping his umbrella

“If you were,” shouted Jack, “you would have nothing but tenderness and respect for the lady; or else, by the power of sound, I would pulverize you—” allegro martellatissimo — on the spot.”

“Do not threaten me, sir,” said the old gentleman spiritedly, rising and confronting his adversary. “What right have you to interfere with the affairs of strangers — perfect strangers? Are you mad, sir; or are you merely ignorant?”

“Neither. I am as well versed in the usages of the world as you; and I have sworn not to comply with them when they demand a tacit tolerance of oppression. The laws of society, sir, are designed to make the world easy for cowards and liars. And lest by the infirmity of my nature I should become either the one or the other, or perhaps both, I never permit myself to witness tyranny without rebuking it, or to hear falsehood without exposing it. If more people were of my mind, you would never have dared to take it for granted that I would witness your insolence towards your daughter without interfering to protect her.”

To this speech the old gentleman could find no reply. He stared at Jack a few moments, and then, saying, “I request you to mind your own business, sir. I have nothing to say to you,” went back in dudgeon to his seat. The lady then leaned forward and said haughtily, “Your interference is quite unnecessary, thank you. I can take care of myself.”

“Aye,” retorted Jack, frowning at her: “you are like other children. I was not such a fool as to expect gratitude from you.” The girl blushed and looked away towards the landscape. Her father again stared at Jack, who resumed his seat with a bounce; folded his arms; and glowered. Five minutes later the train stopped; and the guard came for their tickets.

“I relied on you,” said the gentleman to him, for an empty carriage. Instead of that, I have had a most unpleasant journey. I have been annoyed — damnably annoyed.”

“Ha! ha!” roared Jack. “Ha! ha! ha!”

The guard turned sternly to him, and said, “Ticket, sir, please,” as though he expected the ticket to prove a third class one. When he received it he held it between his lips, whilst he opened a memorandum and then continued, “I want your name and address, sir, please.”

“What for?”

“For getting in when the train was in motion, sir, at Slough. The Company’s orders are strict against it. You might have been killed, sir.”

“And what the devil is it to the Company whether I am killed or not?”

“Be quick, sir, please,” said the guard, uncertain whether to coax or be peremptory. “Our time is up.”

Jack looked angry for a moment; then shrugged his shoulders and said, “My name is Jack; and I live nowhere.”

The man let his book fall to his side, and mutely appealed to the old gentleman to witness the treatment he was enduring.

“Come, sir,” be said, “what’s the use in this? We’ll only have to detain you; and that won’t be pleasant for either of us.”

“Is that a threat” said Jack fiercely.

“No, sir, There’s no one threatening you. We’re all gentlemen here. I only do my duty, as you understand, sir — none better. What is your name, sir?”

“My name is Jack. I tell you. Mr Owen Jack.”

“Oh! I didn’t take it rightly at first. Now your address, sir, please.”

“I have none. Did you never hear of a man without any home? If the place where 1 slept last night, and where my property is, will do you, you can put care of Mr Charles Sutherland, Beulah, Windsor. Here’s a card for you.”

“I know Mr Sutherland well, sir,” said the guard, putting up his book.”

“And by Heaven,” said Jack, vehemently, “if I hear another word of this, I will complain of you for taking half-a-crown from this gentleman and then shutting me and a lady in with him for a whole journey. I believe him to be insane.”

“Guard,” screamed the old gentleman, quite beside himself. But the guard, disconcerted at Jack’s allusion to the half-crown, hurried away and started the train. Nevertheless the gentleman would not be silenced. “How dare you, sir, speak of me as being insane?” he said.

“How dare you, sir, grumble at a journey which has only been marred by your own peevishness? I have enjoyed myself greatly. I have enjoyed the sunshine, the scenery, the rhythm of the train, and the company of my fellow travellers — except you, sir; and even your interruptions are no worse than untimely pleasantries. I never enjoyed a journey more in my life.”

“You are the most impertinent man I ever met, sir.”

“Precisely my opinion of you, sir. You commenced hostilities; and if you have caught a Tartar you have only yourself to thank.”

“You broke into my carriage.”

“Your carriage, sir! My carriage just as much as yours — more so. You are an unsocial person, sir.”

“Enough said, sir,” said the gentleman. “It does not matter. Enough said, if you please.”

“Well, sir,” said Jack, more good humoredly, “I apologize. I have been unnaturally repressed for the last three months; and I exploded this morning like a bombshell. The force of the explosion was not quite spent when I met you; and perhaps I had less regard for your seniority than I might have shewn at another time.”

“My seniority has nothing to do with the question, sir. My age is no concern of yours.”

“Hush, father,” whispered the lady. “Do not reply to him. It is not dignified.”

The old gentleman was about to make some angry reply, when the train ran alongside the platform at Paddington, and a porter opened the door, crying, “Ensom or foa’ w’eol, sir.”

“Get me a hansom, porter.”

“Right, sir. Luggage, sir?”

“There is a tin box,” said the lady, “a brown one With the initials M. B. on it.”

The porter touched his cap and went away. The gentleman got out, and stood wiih his daughter at the carriage door, awaiting the return of the porter. Jack slowly followed, and stood, irresolute, near them, the only person there without business or destination.

“I wonder what is delaying that fellow with our cab” said the old gentleman, after about fifteen seconds. “The vagabond has been picked up by someone else, and has forgotten us. Are we to stand here all day?”

“He will be here presently” said Magdalen. “He has not had time—”

“He has had time to call twenty cabs since. Remain here until I return, Madge. Do you hear?”

“Yes.” said the girl. He looked severely at her, and walked away towards the luggage van. Her color rose as she looked after him. Meanwhile the porter had placed the box on a cab; and he now returned to Magdalen.

“This way, Miss, W’ere’s the genlman?” She looked quickly at the porter; then towards the crowd in which her father had disappeared; then, after a moment of painful hesitation, at Jack, who was still standing near.

“Never mind the gentleman,” she said to the porter: “he is not coming with me.” And as he turned to lead the way to the cab, she pulled off her glove; took a ring from her finger; and addressed Jack with a burning but determined face.

“I have no money to pay for my cab. Will you give me some in exchange for this ring — a few shillings will be enough? Pray do not delay me. Yes or no?”

Jack lost only a second in staring amazedly at her before he thrust his hand in his pocket, and drew out a quantity of gold, silver and bronze coin, more than she could grasp with ease. “Keep the ring,” he said. “Away with you.”

“You must take it,” she said impatiently. “And I do not need all this money.”

“Thousand thunders!” exclaimed Jack with sudden excitement, “here is your father. Be quick.”

She looked round, scared; but as Jack pushed her unceremoniously towards the cab, she recovered herself and hurried into the hansom.

“Here, porter: give this ring to that gentleman,” she said, giving the man a shilling and the ring. “Why doesn’t he drive on?” she added, as the cab remained motionless, and the porter stood touching his cap.

“Whereto, Miss?”

“Bond Street,” she cried. “As fast as possible. Do make him start at once.”

“Bond Street, “ shouted Jack commandingly to the driver. “Make haste. Double fare. Prestissimo!” And the cab dashed out of the station as if the horse had caught Jack’s energy.

The lady gev me this for you, sir,” said the porter. Yes,” said Jack, “Thank you.” It was an oldfashioned ring, with a diamond and three emeralds, too small for his little finger. He pocketed it, and was considering what he should do next, when the old gentleman, no longer impatient and querulous, but pale and alarmed, came by, looking anxiously about him. When he saw Jack he made a movement as though to approach him, but checked himself and resumed his search in another direction. Jack began feel compunction; for the gentleman’s troubled expression was changing into one of grief and fear. The crowd and bustle were diminishing. Soon there was no difficulty in examining separately all the passengers who remained on the platform. Jack resolved to go lest he betray the young lady’s destination to her father; but he had walked only a few yards, when, hearing a voice behind him say “This is him, sir,” he turned and found himself face to face with the old gentleman. The porter stood by, saying, “How could I know, sir? I seen the gen’lman in the carriage with you, an’ I seen the lady speakin to him arterwards. She took money off him and gev him a ring, as I told you. If youd left the luggage to me, sir, ‘stead of going arter it to the wrong van, you wouldnt ha’ lost her.

“Very well: that will do.” The porter made a pretence of retiring but remained within hearing.

“Now, sir,” continued the gentleman, addressing Jack, “I know what you are, If you dont tell me once at once, the name and address of the theatrical scoundrels to whom you are spy and kidnapper: by — by — by God! I’ll give you to the nearest policeman.”

“Sir,” said Jack sternly: “if your daughter has run away from you. it is your own fault for not treating her kindly. The porter has told you what happened between us. I know no more of the matter than he does.”

“I don’t believe you. You followed her from Windsor. The porter saw you give her” (here the old gentleman choked)— “saw what passed here just now.”

“Yes, sir. You leave your daughter penniless, and compel her to offer her ornaments for sale to a stranger at a railway station. By my soul, you are a nice man to have charge of a young girl.”

“My daughter is incapable of speaking to a stranger. You are in the pay of one of those infernal theatrical agents with whom she has been corresponding. But I’ll unmask you, sir. I’ll unmask you.”

“If you were not an inveterately wrongheaded old fool,” said Jack hotly, “you would not mistake a man of genius for a crimp. You ought to be ashamed of your temper. You are collecting a crowd too. Do you want the whole railway staff to know that you have driven your daughter away?”

“You lie, you villain,” cried the gentleman, seizing him by the collar, “you lie. How dare you, you — you — pock-marked ruffian, say that I drove away my daughter? I have been invariably kind to her — no parent more so. She was my special favorite. If you repeat that slander, I’ll — I’ll “ He shook his fist in Jack’s face, and released him. Jack, who had suffered the grasp on his collar without moving, turned away deeply offended, and buttoned his coat. Then, as the other was about to recommence, he interrupted him by walking away. The gentleman followed him promptly.

“You shall not escape by running off,” he said, panting.

You have insulted me, sir,” said Jack. “If you address another word to me, I’ll hand you to the police. As I cannot protect myself against a man of your years, I will make the law protect me.”

The gentleman hesitated. Then his eyes brightened; and he said, “Then call the police. Call them quickly. You have a ring of mine about you — an heirloom of my family. You shall account for it. Ah! I have you now, you vagabond.”

“Pshaw!” said Jack, recovering from a momentary check, “she sent me the ring by the hands of that porter, although I refused it. I might as well accuse her of stealing my money.”

“It shall be refunded at once,” said the gentleman, reddening and pulling out his purse. “How much did you give her”’

“How should I know?” said Jack with scorn. “I do not count what I give to women who are in need. I gave her what I found in my pocket. Are you willing to give me what you find in yours?”

“By heaven, you are an incredibly impudent swindler,” cried the gentleman, looking at him with inexpressible feeling.

“Come, gentlemen. “ said an official, advancing between them, “couldn’t you settle your little difference somewhere else?*

“I am a passenger,” said Jack; “and am endeavoring to leave the station. If it is your business to keep order here, I wish you would rid me of this gentleman. He has annoyed me ever since the train started from Slough.”

“I am in a most painful position,” said the old gentleman, with emotion. “I have lost my child here; and this man knows her whereabouts. He will tell me nothing; and I — I don’t know what to do.” Then, turning to Jack with a fresh explosion of wrath, he cried, “Once for all, you villain, will you tell me who your employers are?”

“Once for all,” replied Jack, “I will tell you nothing, because I have nothing to tell you. You refuse to believe me; you are infernally impertinent to me; you talk about my employers and of spying and kidnapping: I think you are mad.”

“Are you not a theatrical agent? Answer that.”

“No. I am not a theatrical agent. As I told you before, I am a composer and teacher of music. If you have any pupils for me, I shall be glad to teach them: if not, go your way, and let me go mine. I am tired of you.”

“There, sir,” said the official, “the gentleman can’t answer you no fairer nor that. If you have a charge to make against him, why, charge him. If not, as he says, you had better move on. Let me call you a cab, and you can follow the young lady. That’s the best thing you can do. She might run as far as Scotland while you’re talking. Send down a ‘ansom there, Bill, will you?”

The man laid his hand persuasively on the arm of the old gentleman, who hesitated, with his lip trembling.

“Sir,” said Jack, with sudden dignity: “on my honor I am a perfect stranger to your daughter and her affairs. You know all that passed between us. If you do not wish to lose sight of me, give me your card; and I will send you my address as soon as I have one.”

“I request — I — I implore you not to trifle with me in this matter,” said the gentleman, slowly taking out his card case. “It would be a — a heartless thing to do. Here is my card. If you have any information, or can acquire any, it shall be liberally paid for — most liberally paid.

Jack, offended afresh, looked at him with scorn; snatched the card, and turned on his heel. The gentleman looked wistfully after him, sighed, shivered, and got into the cab.

The card was inscribed, “Mr. Sigismund Brailsford, Kensington Palace Gardens.”