Born in Exile (25 page)

'It's uncommonly good,' replied the journalist, laughing. 'I had
a prejudice against the fellow, but he has overcome me. It's more
than good farce—something like really strong humour here and
there.'

'I quite believe it,' said Peak, 'yet I couldn't read a page.
Whatever the mob enjoys is at once spoilt for me, however good I
should otherwise think it. I am sick of seeing and hearing the
man's name.'

Earwaker shook his head in deprecation.

'Narrow, my boy. One must be able to judge and enjoy
impartially.'

'I know it, but I shall never improve. This book seems to me to
have a bad smell; it looks mauled with dirty fingers. I despise
Oldwinkle for his popularity. To make them laugh, and to laugh
with
them—pah!'

They debated this point for some time, Peak growing more
violent, though his friend preserved a smiling equanimity. A tirade
of virulent contempt, in which Godwin exhibited all his powers of
savage eloquence, was broken by a visitor's summons at the
door.

'Here's Malkin,' said the journalist; 'you'll see each other at
last.'

Peak could not at once command himself to the look and tone
desirable in meeting a stranger; leaning against the mantelpiece,
he gazed with a scowl of curiosity at the man who presented
himself, and when he shook hands, it was in silence. But Malkin
made speech from the others unnecessary for several minutes. With
animated voice and gesture, he poured forth apologies for his
failure to keep the appointment of six or seven weeks ago.

'Only the gravest call of duty could have kept me away, I do
assure you! No doubt Earwaker has informed you of the
circumstances. I telegraphed—I think I telegraphed; didn't I,
Earwaker?'

'I have some recollection of a word or two of scant excuse,'
replied the journalist.

'But I implore you to consider the haste I was in,' cried
Malkin; 'not five minutes, Mr. Peak, to book, to register luggage,
to do everything; not five minutes, I protest! But here we are at
last. Let us talk! Let us talk!'

He seated himself with an air of supreme enjoyment, and began to
cram the bowl of a large pipe from a bulky pouch.

'How stands the fight with Kenyon and Co.?' he cried, as soon as
the tobacco was glowing.

Earwaker briefly repeated what he had told Peak.

'Hold out! No surrender and no compromise! What's your opinion,
Mr Peak, on the abstract question? Is a popular paper likely, or
not, to be damaged in its circulation by improvement of style and
tone—within the limits of discretion?'

'I shouldn't be surprised if it were,' Peak answered, drily.

'I'm afraid you're right. There's no use in blinking truths,
however disagreeable. But, for Earwaker, that isn't the main issue.
What he has to do is to assert himself. Every man's first duty is
to assert himself. At all events, this is how I regard the matter.
I am all for individualism, for the development of one's
personality at whatever cost. No compromise on points of faith!
Earwaker has his ideal of journalistic duty, and in a fight with
fellows like Runcorn and Kenyon he must stand firm as a rock.'

'I can't see that he's called upon to fight at all,' said Peak.
'He's in a false position; let him get out of it.'

'A false position? I can't see that. No man better fitted than
Earwaker to raise the tone of Radical journalism. Here's a big
Sunday newspaper practically in his hands; it seems to me that the
circumstances give him a grand opportunity of making his force
felt. What are we all seeking but an opportunity for striking out
with effect?'

Godwin listened with a sceptical smile, and made answer in slow,
careless tones.

'Earwaker happens to be employed and paid by certain capitalists
to increase the sale of their paper.'

'My dear sir!' cried the other, bouncing upon his seat. 'How can
you take such a view? A great newspaper surely cannot be regarded
as a mere source of income. These capitalists declare that they
have at heart the interests of the working classes; so has
Earwaker, and he is far better able than they to promote those
interests. His duty is to apply their money to the best use,
morally speaking. If he were lukewarm in the matter, I should be
the first to advise his retirement; but this fight is entirely
congenial to him. I trust he will hold his own to the last possible
moment.'

'You must remember,' put in the journalist, with a look of
amusement, 'that Peak has no sympathy with Radicalism.'

'I lament it, but that does not affect my argument. If you were
a high Tory, I should urge you just as strongly to assert yourself.
Surely you agree with this point of mine, Mr. Peak? You admit that
a man must develop whatever strength is in him.'

'I'm not at all sure of that.'

Malkin fixed himself sideways in the chair, and examined his
collocutor's face earnestly. He endeavoured to subdue his
excitement to the tone of courteous debate, but the words that at
length escaped him were humorously blunt.

'Then of what
are
you sure?'

'Of nothing.'

'Now we touch bottom!' cried Malkin. 'Philosophically speaking,
I agree with you. But we have to live our lives, and I suppose we
must direct ourselves by some conscious principle.'

'I don't see the necessity,' Peak replied, still in an impassive
tone. 'We may very well be guided by circumstances as they arise.
To be sure, there's a principle in that, but I take it you mean
something different.'

'Yes I do. I hold that the will must direct circumstances, not
receive its impulse from them. How, then, are we to be guided? What
do you set before yourself?'

'To get through life with as much satisfaction and as little
pain as possible.'

'You are a hedonist, then. Well and good! Then that is your
conscious principle'—

'No, it isn't.'

'How am I to understand you?'

'By recognising that a man's intellectual and moral principles
as likely as not tend to anything but his happiness.'

'I can't admit it!' exclaimed Malkin, leaping from his chair.
'What
is
happiness?'

'I don't know.'

'Earwaker,
what
is happiness? What
is
happiness?'

'I really don't know,' answered the journalist, mirthfully.

'This is trifling with a grave question. We all know perfectly
well that happiness is the conscious exertion of individual powers.
Why is there so much suffering under our present social system?
Because the majority of men are crushed to a dead level of
mechanical toil, with no opportunity of developing their special
faculties. Give a man scope, and happiness is put within his
reach.'

'What do you mean by scope?' inquired Godwin.

'Scope? Scope? Why, room to expand. The vice of our society is
hypocrisy; it comes of over-crowding. When a man isn't allowed to
be himself, he takes refuge in a mean imitation of those other men
who appear to be better off. That was what sent me off to South
America. I got into politics, and found that I was in danger of
growing dishonest, of compromising, and toadying. In the
wilderness, I found myself again.—Do you seriously believe that
happiness can be obtained by ignoring one's convictions?'

He addressed the question to both, snuffing the air with head
thrown back.

'What if you have no convictions?' asked Peak.

'Then you are incapable of happiness in any worthy sense! You
may graze, but you will never feast.'

The listeners joined in laughter, and Malkin, after a moment's
hesitation, allowed his face to relax in good-humoured
sympathy.

'Now look here!' he cried. 'You—Earwaker; suppose you sent
conscience to the devil, and set yourself to please Runcorn by
increasing the circulation of your paper by whatever means. You
would flourish, undoubtedly. In a short time you would be chief
editor, and your pockets would burst with money. But what about
your peace of mind? What about happiness?'

'Why, I'm disposed to agree with Peak,' answered the journalist.
'If I
could
take that line, I should be a happier man than
conscientiousness will ever make me.'

Malkin swelled with indignation.

'You don't mean it! You are turning a grave argument into
jest!—Where's my hat? Where the devil is my hat? Send for me again
when you are disposed to talk seriously.'

He strode towards the door, but Earwaker arrested him with a
shout.

'You're leaving your pipe!'

'So I am. Where is it?—Did I tell you where I bought this
pipe?'

'No. What's the wood?'

On the instant Malkin fell into a cheerful vein of reminiscence.
In five minutes he was giving a rapturous description of tropical
scenes, laughing joyously as he addressed now one now the other of
his companions.

'I hear you have a mind to see those countries, Mr. Peak,' he
said at length. 'If you care for a travelling companion—rather
short-tempered, but you'll pardon that—pray give me the preference.
I should enjoy above all things to travel with a man of
science.'

'It's very doubtful whether I shall ever get so far,' Godwin
replied, musingly.

And, as he spoke, he rose to take leave. Earwaker's protest that
it was not yet ten o'clock did not influence him.

'I want to reflect on the meaning of happiness,' he said,
extending his hand to Malkin; and, in spite of the smile, his face
had a sombre cast.

The two who were left of course discussed him.

'You won't care much for Peak,' said Earwaker. 'He and I suit
each other, because there's a good deal of indifferentism in both
of us. Moral earnestness always goes against the grain with him;
I've noticed it frequently.'

'I'm sorry I spoke so dogmatically. It wasn't altogether good
manners. Suppose I write him a short letter, just expressing my
regret for having been led away'—

'Needless, needless,' laughed the journalist. 'He thinks all the
better of you for your zeal. But happiness is a sore point with
him; few men, I should think, have known less of it. I can't
imagine any circumstances which would make him thoroughly at peace
with himself and the world.'

'Poor fellow! You can see something of that in his face. Why
doesn't he get married?'

'A remarkable suggestion!—By the way, why don't
you
?'.

'My dear boy, there's nothing I wish more, but it's a business
of such fearful precariousness. I'm one of those men whom marriage
will either make or ruin. You know my characteristics; the
slightest check upon my independence, and all's up with me. The
woman I marry must be perfectly reasonable, perfectly
good-tempered; she must have excellent education, and every
delicacy of breeding. Where am I to find this paragon?'

'Society is open to you.'

'True, but I am not open to society. I don't take kindly to the
people of my own class. No, I tell you what—my only chance of
getting a suitable wife is to train some very young girl for the
purpose. Don't misunderstand me, for heaven's sake! I mean that I
must make a friendship with some schoolgirl in whose education I
can have a voice, whose relatives will permit me to influence her
mind and develop her character. What do you think of this
idea?'

'Not bad, but it demands patience.'

'And who more patient than I? But let us talk of that poor Mrs.
Jacox and her girls. You feel that you know them pretty well from
my letters, don't you? Nothing more monstrous can be imagined than
the treatment to which this poor woman has been subjected! I
couldn't have believed that such dishonesty and brutality were
possible in English families of decent position. Her husband
deserted her, her brother robbed her, her sister-in-law libelled
her,—the whole story is nauseating!'

'You're quite sure that she tells you the truth?'

Malkin glared with sudden resentment.

'The truth? What! you also desire to calumniate her? For shame,
Earwaker! A poor widow toiling to support herself in a foreign
country, with two children dependent on her.'

'Yes, yes, yes; but you seem to know very little of her.'

'I know her perfectly, and all her circumstances!'

Mrs. Jacox was the mother of the two girls whom Malkin had
escorted to Rouen, after an hour or so of all but casual
acquaintance. She and her history had come in a very slight degree
under the notice of certain good-natured people with whom Malkin
was on friendly terms, and hearing that the children, Bella and
Lily, aged fourteen and twelve respectively, were about to
undertake alone a journey to the Continent, the erratic hero felt
it incumbent upon him to see them safe at their mother's side.
Instead of returning forthwith, he lingered in Normandy for several
weeks, striking off at length, on the summons of a friend, to
Orleans, whence he was only to-day returned. Two or three letters
had kept Earwaker informed of his movements. Of Mrs. Jacox he wrote
as he now spoke, with compassionate respect, and the girls,
according to him, were exquisite models of budding maidenhood.

'You haven't told me,' said Earwaker, calmly fronting the
indignant outburst, 'what her circumstances are—at present.'

'She assists an English lady in the management of a
boardinghouse,' Malkin replied, with an air which forbade trivial
comment. 'Bella and Lily will of course continue their studies. I
daresay I shall run over now and then to see them.'

'May I, without offence, inquire if either of these young ladies
seems suitable for the ideal training of which you spoke?'

Malkin smiled thoughtfully. He stood with his legs apart and
stroked his blond beard.

'The surmise is not unnatural. Well, I confess that Bella has
inspired me with no little interest. She is rather mature,
unfortunately; I wish she had been Lily's age. We shall see; we
shall see.'

Musing, he refilled his pipe, and gossip was prolonged till
something after one o'clock. Malkin was never known to retire
willingly from an evening's congenial talk until the small hours
were in progress.