Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (713 page)

‘“By what sire? Prove it,” says Gander, before ‘is senior officers could get in a word.

‘“I will,” says Macklin, surgin’ on ‘is two thumbs. An’, mark you, none of ‘em spoke! I forget whom he said was the sire of this ‘Enery James-man; but ‘e delivered ‘em a lecture on this Jane-woman for more than a quarter of an hour. I know the exact time, because my old Skoda was on duty at ten-minute intervals reachin’ after some Jerry formin’- up area; and her blast always put out the dug-out candles. I relit ‘em once, an’ again at the end. In conclusion, this Macklin fell flat forward on ‘is face, which was how ‘e generally wound up ‘is notion of a perfect day. Bosko absoluto!

‘“Take ‘im away,” says ‘Ammick to me. “‘E’s sufferin’ from shell- shock.”

‘To cut a long story short, that was what first put the notion into my ‘ead. Wouldn’t it you? Even ‘ad Macklin been a ‘ighup Mason — ’

‘Wasn’t ‘e, then?’ said Anthony, a little puzzled.

‘‘E’d never gone beyond the Blue Degrees, ‘e told me. Any’ow, ‘e’d lectured ‘is superior officers up an’ down; ‘e’d as good as called ‘em fools most o’ the time, in ‘is toff’s voice. I ‘eard ‘im an’ I saw ‘im. An’ all he got was-me told off to put ‘im to bed! And all on account o’ Jane! Would you have let a thing like that get past you? Nor me, either! Next mornin’, when his stummick was settled, I was at him full-cry to find out ‘ow it was worked. Toff or no toff, ‘e knew his end of a bargain. First, ‘e wasn’t takin’ any. He said I wasn’t fit to be initiated into the Society of the Janeites. That only meant five bob more-fifteen up to date.

‘“Make it one Bradbury,” ‘e says. “It’s dirt-cheap. You saw me ‘old the Circus in the ‘ollow of me ‘and?”

‘No denyin’ it. I ‘ad. So, for one pound, he communicated me the Password of the First Degree, which was Tilniz an’ trap-doors.

‘“I know what a trap-door is,” I says to ‘im, “but what in ‘ell’s Tilniz?”‘

‘“You obey orders,” ‘e says, “an’ next time I ask you what you’re thinkin’ about you’ll answer, ‘Tilniz an’ trap-doors,’ in a smart and soldierly manner. I’ll spring that question at me own time. All you’ve got to do is to be distinck.”

‘We settled all this while we was skinnin’ spuds for dinner at the back o’ the rear-truck under our camouflage-screens. Gawd, ‘ow that glue-paint did stink! Otherwise, ‘twasn’t so bad, with the sun comin’ through our pantomime-leaves, an’ the wind marcelling the grasses in the cutting. Well, one thing leading to another, nothin’ further ‘appened in this direction till the afternoon. We ‘ad a high standard o’ livin’ in Mess-an’ in the Group, for that matter. I was talon’ away Mosses lunch-dinner ‘e would never call it-an’ Mosse was fillin’ ‘is cigarette-case previous to the afternoon’s duty. Macklin, in the passage, comin’ in as if ‘e didn’t know Mosse was there, slings ‘is question at me, an’ I give the countersign in a low but quite distinck voice, makin’ as if I ‘adn’t seen Mosse. Mosse looked at me through and through, with his cigarette-case in his ‘and. Then ‘e jerks out ‘arf a dozen-best Turkish-on the table an’ exits. I pinched ‘em an’ divvied with Macklin.

‘“You see ‘ow it works,” says Macklin. “Could you ‘ave invested a Bradbury to better advantage?”

‘“So far, no,” I says. “Otherwise, though, if they start provin’ an’ tryin’ me, I’m a dead bird. There must be a lot more to this Janeite game.”

‘“‘Eaps an’ ‘eaps,” he says. “But to show you the sort of ‘eart I ‘ave, I’ll communicate you all the ‘Igher Degrees among the Janeites, includin’ the Charges, for another Bradbury; but you’ll ‘ave to work, Dobbin.”‘

‘‘Pretty free with your Bradburys, wasn’t you?’ Anthony grunted disapprovingly.

‘What odds? Ac-tually, Gander told us, we couldn’t expect to av’rage more than six weeks longer apiece, an’, any’ow, I never regretted it. But make no mistake-the preparation was somethin’ cruel. In the first place, I come under Macklin for direct instruction re Jane.’

‘Oh! Jane was real, then?’ Anthony glanced for an instant at me as he put the question. ‘I couldn’t quite make that out.’

‘Real!’ Humberstall’s voice rose almost to a treble. ‘Jane? Why, she was a little old maid ‘oo’d written ‘alf a dozen books about a hundred years ago. ‘Twasn’t as if there was anythin’ to ‘em, either. I know. I had to read ‘em. They weren’t adventurous, nor smutty, nor what you’d call even interestin’-all about girls o’ seventeen (they begun young then, I tell you), not certain ‘oom they’d like to marry; an’ their dances an’ card-parties an’ picnics, and their young blokes goin’ off to London on ‘orseback for ‘air-cuts an’ shaves. It took a full day in those days, if you went to a proper barber. They wore wigs, too, when they was chemists or clergymen. All that interested me on account o’ me profession, an’ cuttin’ the men’s ‘air every fortnight. Macklin used to chip me about bein’ an ‘air-dresser. ‘E could pass remarks, too!’

Humberstall recited with relish a fragment of what must have been a superb comminationservice, ending with, ‘You lazy-minded, lousyheaded, long-trousered, perfumed perookier.’

‘An’ you took it?’ Anthony’s quick eyes ran over the man.

‘Yes. I was after my money’s worth; an’ Macklin, havin’ put ‘is ‘and to the plough, wasn’t one to withdraw it. Otherwise, if I’d pushed ‘im, I’d ha’ slew ‘im. Our Battery Sergeant Major nearly did. For Macklin had a wonderful way o’ passing remarks on a man’s civil life; an’ he put it about that our B.S.M. had run a dope an’ dolly-shop with a Chinese woman, the wrong end o’ Southwark Bridge. Nothin’ you could lay ‘old of, o’ course; but — ’ Humberstall let us draw our own conclusions.

‘That reminds me,’ said Anthony, smacking his lips. ‘I ‘ad a bit of a fracas with a fare in the Fulham Road last month. He called me a paras-tit-ic Forder. I informed ‘im I was owner-driver, an’ ‘e could see for ‘imself the cab was quite clean. That didn’t suit ‘im. ‘E said it was crawlin’.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘One o’ them blue-bellied Bolshies of postwar Police (neglectin’ point-duty, as usual) asked us to flirt a little quieter. My joker chucked some Arabic at ‘im. That was when we signed the Armistice. ‘E’d been a Yeoman-a perishin’ Gloucestershire Yeoman-that I’d helped gather in the orange crop with at Jaffa, in the ‘Oly Land!’

‘And after that?’ I continued.

‘It ‘ud be ‘ard to say. I know ‘e lived at Hendon or Cricklewood. I drove ‘im there. We must ‘ave talked Zionism or somethin’, because at seven next mornin’ him an’ me was tryin’ to get petrol out of a milkshop at St. Albans. They ‘adn’t any. In lots o’ ways this war has been a public noosance, as one might say, but there’s no denyin’ it ‘elps you slip through life easier. The dairyman’s son ‘ad done time on Jordan with camels. So he stood us rum an’ milk.’

‘Just like ‘avin’ the Password, eh?’ was Humberstall’s comment.

‘That’s right! Ours was Imshee kelb. Not so ‘ard to remember as your Jane stuff.’

‘Jane wasn’t so very ‘ard-not the way Macklin used to put ‘er,’ Humberstall resumed. ‘I ‘ad only six books to remember. I learned the names by ‘eart as Macklin placed ‘em. There was one called Persuasion, first; an’ the rest in a bunch, except another about some Abbey or other-last by three lengths. But, as I was sayin’, what beat me was there was nothin’ to ‘em nor in ‘em. Nothin’ at all, believe me.’

‘You seem good an’ full of ‘em, any’ow,’ said Anthony.

‘I mean that ‘er characters was no use! They was only just like people you run across any day. One of ‘em was a curate-the Reverend Collins- always on the make an’ lookin’ to marry money. Well, when I was a Boy Scout, ‘im or ‘is twin brother was our troop-leader. An’ there was an upstandin’ ‘ard-mouthed Duchess or a Baronet’s wife that didn’t give a curse for any one ‘oo wouldn’t do what she told ‘em to; the Lady-Lady Catherine (I’ll get it in a minute) De Bugg. Before Ma bought the ‘airdressin’ business in London I used to know of an ‘olesale grocer’s wife near Leicester (I’m Leicestershire myself) that might ‘ave been ‘er duplicate. And-oh yes-there was a Miss Bates; just an old maid runnin’ about like a hen with ‘er ‘ead cut off, an’ her tongue loose at both ends. I’ve got an aunt like ‘er. Good as gold-but, you know.’

‘Lord, yes!’ said Anthony, with feeling. ‘An’ did you find out what Tilniz meant? I’m always huntin’ after the meanin’ of things mesel?’

‘Yes, ‘e was a swine of a Major-General, retired, and on the make. They’re all on the make, in a quiet way, in Jane. ‘E was so much of a gentleman by ‘is own estimation that ‘e was always be’avin’ like a hound. You know the sort. ‘Turned a girl out of ‘is own ‘ouse because she ‘adn’t any money-after, mark you, encouragin’ ‘er to set ‘er cap at his son, because ‘e thought she had.’

‘But that ‘appens all the time,’ said Anthony. ‘Why, me own mother — ’

‘That’s right. So would mine. But this Tilney was a man, an’ some’ow Jane put it down all so naked it made you ashamed. I told Macklin that, an’ he said I was shapin’ to be a good Janeite. ‘Twasn’t his fault if I wasn’t. ‘Nother thing, too; ‘avin’ been at the Bath Mineral Waters ‘Ospital in ‘Sixteen, with trench-feet, was a great advantage to me, because I knew the names o’ the streets where Jane ‘ad lived. There was one of ‘em-Laura, I think, or some other girl’s name-which Macklin said was ‘oly ground. “If you’d been initiated then,” he says, “you’d ha’ felt your flat feet tingle every time you walked over those sacred pavin’-stones.”

‘“My feet tingled right enough,” I said, “but not on account of Jane. Nothin’ remarkable about that,” I says.

‘“‘Eaven lend me patience!” he says, combin’ ‘is ‘air with ‘is little hands. “Every dam’ thing about Jane is remarkable to a pukka Janeite! It was there,” he says, “that Miss What’s-herName” (he had the name; I’ve forgotten it) “made up ‘er engagement again, after nine years, with Captain T’other Bloke.” An’ he dished me out a page an’ a half of one of the books to learn by ‘eart-Persuasion, I think it was.’

‘‘You quick at gettin’ things off by ‘eart?’ Anthony demanded.

‘Not as a rule. I was then, though, or else Macklin knew ‘ow to deliver the Charges properly. ‘E said ‘e’d been some sort o’ schoolmaster once, and he’d make my mind resume work or break ‘imself. That was just before the Battery Sergeant-Major ‘ad it in for him on account o’ what he’d been sayin’ about the Chinese wife an’ the dollyshop.’

‘What did Macklin really say?’ Anthony and I asked together. Humberstall gave us a fragment. It was hardly the stuff to let loose on a pious post-war world without revision.

‘And what had your B.S.M. been in civil life?’ I asked at the end.

‘‘Ead-embalmer to an ‘olesale undertaker in the Midlands,’ said Humberstall; ‘but, o’ course, when he thought ‘e saw his chance he naturally took it. He came along one mornin’ lickin’ ‘is lips. “You don’t get past me this time,” ‘e says to Macklin. “You’re for it, Professor.”

‘“‘Ow so, me gallant Major,” says Macklin; “an’ what for?”

‘“For writin’ obese words on the breech o’ the ten-inch,” says the B.S.M. She was our old Skoda that I’ve been tellin’ you about. We called ‘er “Bloody Eliza.” She ‘ad a badly wore obturator an’ blew through a fair treat. I knew by Macklin’s face the B.S.M. ‘ad dropped it somewhere, but all he vow’saifed was, “Very good, Major. We will consider it in Common Room,” The B.S.M, couldn’t ever stand Macklin’s toff’s way o’ puttin’ things; so he goes off rumblin’ like ‘ell’s bells in an ‘urricane, as the Marines say. Macklin put it to me at once, what had I been doin’? Some’ow he could read me like a book.

‘Well, all I’d done-an’ I told ‘im he was responsible for it-was to chalk the guns. ‘Ammick never minded what the men wrote up on ‘em. ‘E said it gave ‘em an interest in their job. You’d see all sorts of remarks chalked on the sideplates or the gear-casin’s.’

‘What sort of remarks?’ said Anthony keenly.

‘Oh! ‘Ow Bloody Eliza, or Spittin’ Jim-that was our old Mark Five Nine-point-two-felt that morning, an’ such things. But it ‘ad come over me-more to please Macklin than anythin’ else-that it was time we Janeites ‘ad a look in. So, as I was tellin’ you, I’d taken an’ rechristened all three of ‘em, on my own, early that mornin’. Spittin’ Jim I ‘ad chalked “The Reverend Collins”-that Curate I was tellin’ you about; an’ our cut-down Navy Twelve, “General Tilney,” because it was worse wore in the groovin’ than anything I’d ever seen. The Skoda (an’ that was where I dropped it) I ‘ad chalked up “The Lady Catherine De Bugg.” I made a clean breast of it all to Macklin. He reached up an’ patted me on the shoulder. “You done nobly,” he says. “You’re bringin’ forth abundant fruit, like a good Janeite. But I’m afraid your spellin’ has misled our worthy B.S.M. That’s what it is,” ‘e says, slappin’ ‘is little leg. “‘Ow might you ‘ave spelt De Bourgh for example?”

‘I told ‘im. ‘Twasn’t right; an’ ‘e nips off to the Skoda to make it so. When ‘e comes back, ‘e says that the Gander ‘ad been before ‘im an’ corrected the error. But we two come up before the Major, just the same, that afternoon after lunch; ‘Ammick in the chair, so to speak, Mosse in another, an’ the B.S.M, chargin’ Macklin with writin’ obese words on His Majesty’s property, on active service. When it transpired that me an’ not Macklin was the offendin’ party, the B.S.M, turned ‘is hand in and sulked like a baby. ‘E as good as told ‘Ammick ‘e couldn’t hope to preserve discipline unless examples was made-meanin’, o’ course, Macklin.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard all that,’ said Anthony, with a contemptuous grunt. ‘The worst of it is, a lot of it’s true.’

‘‘Ammick took ‘im up sharp about Military Law, which he said was even more fair than the civilian article.’