"Ha!" said Tom, "that reminds me of something his Lordship once said to me. It "appened at the Dublin "Orse Show, as his Lordship was one o" the judges, with me by to "elp "im. There was a roan mare just brought into the ring, and his Lordship says to me, lookin" "ard at the mare all the time, "Tom, my boy," he says, "did you ever "ave a sweetheart?" "Yes, my Lord," I says, "several." "Are they livin" or dead?" says he. "I never killed none on "em, my Lord," I says; "that"s all _I_ knows about it."
"Treat "em "andsome, my boy, treat "em "andsome," says he in the solemnest voice you ever "eard; "it"s desperate bad luck on a man as has to do wi" "osses when a" angry sweetheart dies on him. And look "ere, Tom," he says in a whisper, "from the way the back o" my "ead"s a-tinglin", _it"s a" angry sweetheart as we"re judgin" now_.--Pa.s.s her down," he says to the groom as were leadin" the mare, "pa.s.s her down.
Divil a prize shall that one have! She"s a dangerous bad "oss."
III
Among Professor Scattergood"s numerous admirers there have always been some to whom his arguments for the Friendliness of the Universe proved unconvincing. They would begin by pulling his logic to pieces, and conclude by saying, with the air of people who keep their strongest argument to the last: "It looks, at all events, as though the friendly Universe had done our good Professor a most unfriendly turn by depriving him of Ethelberta and subst.i.tuting the present Mrs Scattergood in her place." And there was no denying the force of the argument.
For half a long lifetime John Scattergood had lived his earnest days with little aid from those sources of spiritual vitality upon which most of us depend. Love in all its finer essences had been denied him--denied him, as he knew better than anybody, by that very Universe whose friendliness he had set himself to prove. Among the many lonely souls who live in crowded places it would be hard to find one lonelier than he. Even the demonstrated friendliness of the Universe did not seem to thaw his heart, or to break down the barriers of his reserve. The surest means of discovering his inner mind was to put your ear to the keyhole on one of the many occasions when he was talking to himself.
"_Wie brennt mein alte Wunde!_" is what you would often hear him say.
Mrs Scattergood was said to have once been a very beautiful woman; and I can well believe it was even so. She was the daughter of a baronet, and had been brought up to think that the mission of women in this world is to have a good time. But her husband had thwarted this mission; at all events, he had not provided its fulfilment. And the lady made it a point of daily practice to remind him of the failure, driving the reminder home with the help of expletives learnt in her father"s stables long ago. John Scattergood would retire from these interviews talking to himself. "If I could keep her from the morphia," he would say, "I think I could bear the rest." He would then shut himself up in his study, would take out the miniature of Ethelberta from his secret drawer--a foolish thing to do, but a thing which somehow he couldn"t help; would shake his head and say for the thousandth time, "Wie brennt mein alte Wunde!" After which, having brushed aside a tear, he would take up his pen and continue his proof of the Friendliness of the Universe according to the Inflexible Method.
If Scattergood could have seen himself, as I see him in memory, seated in his quiet study, with the household skeleton, the philosophical thesis, and the gold-rimmed miniature of Ethelberta, in their respective positions, forming as it were the three points of a mystic triangle, I think he might have discerned in the Universe something of deeper import than ever appeared within the four corners of his philosophy. But alas! All Q.E.D."s are fatal to emotion, and it was Q.E.D. that Scattergood had placed at the end of his great thesis. In some respects he resembled that other great philosopher who became so absorbed in his proof of the existence of G.o.d that he forgot to say his prayers. The fact of the matter is, that after proving the ultimate nature of the Universe to be friendly his heart was no warmer than before. Indeed, his interest in that august Object had stiffened into the chill rigidity of a professional pose. His thesis, by becoming demonstrably true, had ceased to be morally exciting. He actually looked forward to his afternoon ride as a means of getting the taste of the Universe out of his mouth.
By long and devious ways, John Scattergood had thus arrived at the point from which he had set out; he had arrived, I mean, at that extremely common state of mind when one actual smile seen on the face of the world, or a moment of contact with any one of the innumerable friendly presences which the world harbours, was worth more to him, both as philosopher and man, than were all the achievements of the Inflexible Method, past, present, and to come. And I have now to record that such a smile was vouchsafed to him, and such a living contact provided, by the mediation of a four-footed beast.
Let no one suppose, however, that our Professor was led astray by fatuous fancies concerning his mare. He did not jump to the conclusion that she was a reincarnation of the long-lost Ethelberta. The Inflexible Method, thank G.o.d, saved him from that. But if you ask me how it all came about, I am bound to confess I don"t know. All we can be sure of is that his mare did for Professor Scattergood something which a lifetime of reflection had been unable to accomplish. No doubt the lifetime of reflection had dried the fuel. But it was the influence of Ethelberta that brought the flame.
"It"s quite true," he said one day, "that I prepare my lectures on horseback; and people tell me that I have fallen into a habit of preparing them aloud. But the fact is, I am going to deliver a new course; and I find that horse-exercise quickens the action of the brain--a necessary thing at my time of life, when one"s powers of expression are on the wane, and new ideas increasingly difficult to put into form."
"You ride a beautiful animal," said his interlocutor.
"Yes, and as good as she"s beautiful." And then in his softest voice he repeated the line:
"Tra bell"e buona, non so qual fosse piu."
This favourable view of Ethelberta"s qualities was by no means convincing to Professor Scattergood"s friends. We knew she was "bella"; but we doubted the "buona." The spectacle of an elderly Doctor of Divinity setting out for his daily ride on a magnificent racehorse in the pink of condition was indeed a vision to fill the bold with astonishment and the timid with alarm. "The man is mad," said some; "will no one warn him of his danger?" Various attempts were made, but they came to nothing. Knowing myself to be the least cogent of advisers, I kept silence to the last; but when all the others had failed I resolved to try my hand.
"Scattergood," I said, "that thoroughbred of yours is not a suitable mount for a man of your years. She ought to be ridden by a jockey. I wish to Heaven you would sell her."
"Nothing in this world would induce me to part with Ethelberta," he answered.
"I"m sorry to hear it. There"s no man living in England at this moment whose life is more precious than yours. We can"t afford to lose you.
Then think of your----" I was going to say "your wife," but I checked myself in time: "Think of your work. It"s a very serious matter. Sure as fate that brute"--("She"s not a _brute_," he interrupted)--"sure as fate that beauty will run away with you one of these days and break your neck."
"How do you know that?" he asked quietly.
"Because she"s run away with you twice already, and you escaped only by a miracle. She"ll do it again, and next time you may not be quite so fortunate."
"She"ll never do it again," he said in the same quiet voice.
"How do you know that?" I said, thinking that I had turned the tables on him.
"Never mind how. I know it well enough."
"By the Inflexible Method?"
"Of course not," he said with some annoyance. "There are different kinds of certainty, and this is one of the most certain of all."
"More certain than the Inflexible----?"
"Oh, d.a.m.n the Inflexible Method!" he cried. "I"m sick to death of it.
You"ll do me a kindness by not mentioning it again."
"All right; I"m as sick of it as you are. After all, it"s not your philosophy I"m thinking of; what I am concerned about is your life. Now, Scattergood," I added--for I was an old friend,--"frankly, between you and me, don"t you think you"re a fool?"
"My dear fellow, I am and always have been a ----" and here he used that objectionable word--"always have been a certain sort of fool. But not about Ethelberta. We understand each other perfectly. She looks after me and takes care of me like a--like a mother. My life is absolutely safe in her hands--I mean, of course, on her back."
"Confound those mixed metaphors!" I cried. "That"s the seventh I"ve heard to-day, and they"re horribly confusing, even when they are corrected as you corrected yours. Now, what on earth do you mean?"
He looked at me curiously. "I mean," he said, "that Ethelberta may be trusted to the uttermost."
"Scattergood," I said, "there"s a sort of friendship in the Universe which does not scruple on occasion to break every bone in a man"s body, and I greatly fear that Ethelberta may be one of its ministers. Now, here"s a plain question. Would you be prepared to stand before your cla.s.s to-morrow morning and bid them trust the Universe for no better reasons than those on which you trust your life to the tender mercies of that bru----of Ethelberta?"
"I only wish I could find them reasons half as good."
"Half as good as what?"
"As those for which I trust my life to Ethelberta."
"What are they?"
"I can"t tell you. If I did tell, the reasons would lose their force.
But until they are uttered they are quite conclusive."
"What!" I cried; "are the reasons _taboo_? Have you found a magic formula?"
"Don"t jest," he said. "The matter"s far too serious. There is more at stake than the mere safety of my life."
"Then you admit your life _is_ at stake," said I; and I thought I had scored a point.
"No, I don"t. But other things are--things of far greater importance. My life, however, runs no risk from Ethelberta."
"Then tell me this. Who runs the bigger risk--you who trust your life to a beast for no reasons you can a.s.sign; or we, your disciples, who trust ourselves to the Universe in the name of your philosophy?"
"By far the bigger risk," he answered, "is yours."
"Then you mean to say that you have better reasons for trusting your beast than we have for trusting your system?"
"I do."
"You are quite serious?"
"I am."
"But follow this out," I said. "If we, your disciples, run the bigger risk in trusting ourselves to your system, you, its author, run the same risk yourself."