The Simpkins Plot Page 9

  CHAPTER IX.

  It was the evening of the second day of the _Spindrift's_ cruise. Thewind, which had come fresh from the east in the morning, followed thesun round in its course, blowing gently from the south at mid-day, andbreathing very faintly from the west in the evening. After sunset itdied away completely. The whole surface of the bay lay calm, save hereand there where some chance movement of the air ruffled a tiny patch ofwater; or where, at the corners of the islands and in very narrowchannels, the inward drawing of the tide marked long, curved lines andillusive circles on the oily sea. The _Spindrift_ was poisedmotionless on the surface of the water, borne slowly, almostimperceptibly, forward by the sweep of the tide. Her mainsail, boomedout, hung in loose folds. The sheet, freed from all strain, was bornedown by its own weight, until the slack of it dipped in the water.Terns and gulls, at lazy rest, floated close to the yacht's side. Longrows of dark cormorants, perched on rocky points, strained their necksand peered at her. Innumerable jelly-fish spread and sucked togetheragain their transparent bodies, reaching down and round about them withpurple feelers. Now and then some almost imperceptible breath of windswayed the yacht's boom slowly forward against the loose runner and thestay, lifted the dripping sheet from the water, and half bellied thesail. Then the _Spindrift_ would press forward, her spars creakingslightly, tiny ripples playing round her bows, a double line of oilybubbles in her wake. Again the impulse would fail her, and she wouldlie still among the palpitating jellyfish, perfectly reflected in thewater beneath her; but carried steadily on by the silent shorewardswelling of the tide.

  Major Kent sat at the tiller smoking. He was in that mood of vacantobliviousness of the ordinary affairs of life which long drifting oncalm seas induces. The helplessness of man in a sailing-ship, when thewind fails him, begets a kind of fatalistic acceptance of theinevitable, which is the nearest thing to peace that any of us everattain. Indeed to drift along the tide is peace, and no conviction ofthe inevitableness of the worries which lurk in ambush for us on theland has any power to break the spell.

  Meldon lay stretched on the deck outside the combing of the cockpit.Nirvana had no attraction for him. He resented forced inactivity as anunendurable wrong. Instead of smoking with half-closed eyes, he peeredeagerly forward under the sail. He noted everything--the floatinggulls and puffins, the stiff, wild-eyed cormorants, the jelly-fish, thewhirling eddies of the tide. As the yacht drifted on, or was drivenforward by the occasional faint puffs of air, he hissed through histeeth in the way known to sailors as whistling for a breeze. He gazedlong and steadily at the beach beyond the _Spindrift's_ moorings.

  "I think," he said at last, "that there is a man on the shore, and helooks to me very much as if he was waiting for us."

  Major Kent made no answer. His feeling was that the man who waitedmight be left to wait without speculation about his purpose. Guessingat the possible business of an unknown and distant man is a form ofmental exertion very distasteful to any one who has entered into thecalm joy of drifting home after sunset. But Meldon was a man ofincurably active mind. He was deeply interested in the solitary figureon the beach. The yacht was borne very slowly on, and it becamepossible at last to distinguish the figure of the waiter more clearly.

  "He looks to me," said Meldon a few minutes later, "very like thatfellow Callaghan, the Ballymoy House gardener."

  There was another pause. A puff of wind, the last vital rally of theexpiring breeze, carried the _Spindrift_ forward till the punt at hermoorings lay almost under her bow.

  "It is Callaghan," said Meldon, "and there's only one thing which canpossibly bring him here at this hour. Something of real importancemust have happened between Simpkins and Miss King. I wonder what itis."

  "Catch the punt, J. J., and haul her aft till you get a hold of thebuoy. If we drift past we'll never get back again. There's barelysteerage way on the boat this minute."

  Meldon stepped forward. There was a noise of straining ropes andsplashing. Then he stood upright and pulled the buoy on board.

  "Unless something exceptionally interesting has occurred," said Meldon,"I can't understand Callaghan waiting for us like this. Perhapsthey've got engaged."

  "Nonsense," said the Major; "how could they in two days? Let go thepeak halyards, and take a pull on the topping lift."

  The sail came slowly down. Major Kent and Meldon leaned across thegaff and dragged at the folds of it. Callaghan hailed the yacht fromthe shore.

  "Hold on," said Meldon. "Keep what you've got to say till I come toyou. I can't have the details of an interesting love affair shoutedacross a stretch of water."

  The sails were made up and the yacht safely moored. Meldon hustledMajor Kent into the punt, and pulled rapidly for the beach. The punt'skeel grated on the gravel. Meldon seized the painter in his hand andleaped ashore.

  "Now," he said to Callaghan, "trot out your news. Have they gotengaged?"

  "They have not," said Callaghan.

  "Then I suppose there must have been what you call impropriety ofconduct. If so--"

  "There has not," said Callaghan.

  "That's just as well; for if there had been, I should have had to askyou to wait before giving me details until the Major had gone a goodbit of the way home. He's an unmarried man, and I don't think it wouldbe good for him to--"

  "There was no impropriety of conduct that I seen," said Callaghan.

  "Well, it can't be helped. I should have been glad, of course, to hearthat Simpkins had been pushing his way on a bit, holding her hand orsomething of that kind. I suppose, now, if anything of the sortoccurred you'd be sure to have seen it."

  "Don't I tell you there wasn't," said Callaghan; "nor there couldn'thave been, for Simpkins wasn't near the place since the afternoon youwas in it yourself."

  "What! Do you mean to say--?"

  "He was in it the once," said Callaghan, "not long after you leaving,and barring that she gave him a cup of tea there was nothing passedbetween them, and I wouldn't say he was there half an hour."

  "Do you hear that, Major? That silly ass Simpkins has actually flungaway a priceless opportunity. He hasn't been near her."

  "I'm glad to hear it," said Major Kent. "Perhaps now you'll stop yourfoolish games."

  "Could she have gone out to meet him anywhere?" said Meldon toCallaghan.

  "She could not. It wouldn't be possible for her to do the likeunbeknown to me, for I had my eye on her."

  "All day?"

  "After what your reverence was saying to me I'd have been afraid to lether out of my sight."

  "Very well, Callaghan, you can go home. I shall have to think thematter over. I don't deny that I'm disappointed. I thought when I sawyou standing there on the shore that you'd have had some definite newsfor me."

  "I was up at the Major's house searching for you," said Callaghan, "andwhen you weren't within I took a look round and I seen the yacht comingin on the tide, so I thought it would save me a journey to-morrow if Iwaited for you."

  "Quite right," said Meldon. "It's not your fault nothing has happened,and I don't blame you in the least. Good-night."

  Callaghan shambled off along the beach. The Major and Meldon, whocarried the punt's oars, struck across the fields towards PortsmouthLodge.

  "I can't understand it at all," said Meldon. "After what I said toSimpkins I simply can't understand his neglecting his opportunitieslike this. You'd think from the way he's behaving that he doesn't wantto be married at all."

  "Perhaps he doesn't," said the Major. "Any way, you can do no morethan you've done. You may as well drop it now, and have the rest ofyour holiday in peace."

  "The fact is," said Meldon, "I ought not to have gone away and leftthem. I had no business to take that cruise in the _Spindrift_. IfI'd been here--"

  "I don't see what you could have done. If the fellow doesn't want thegirl, how could you force him to go and marry her? Any way, it's agood job for Miss King that he hasn't."

  "If
I'd been here--" said Meldon, and then paused.

  "What would you have done?"

  "I'd have done what I'm going to do now that I'm back."

  "And what's that?"

  "Throw them together," said Meldon. "Insist on his being constantlywith her until he begins to appreciate her charm. I defy any one, anyone who's not already married, to resist Miss King if she looks at himout of the corners of her eyes as she did at me the other day."

  "She won't do that," said the Major. "No woman would, once she hadseen Simpkins."

  "Oh, she'll do it all right. Don't you fret about that. All I haveto do is to give her a proper opportunity by throwing them together abit."

  "I don't quite see how you're going to do that if Simpkins won't gonear her."

  "You wouldn't see, of course. Indeed you couldn't, because I don'tquite know myself yet how it is to be managed. I shall have to thinkit all over very carefully. I may have to spend the greater part ofthe night considering the matter; but one thing you may be quiteconfident about, Major, and that is that when I say they are to bethrown together, they will be thrown together. I shall make sucharrangements that Simpkins simply won't be able to escape, however hardhe tries."

  Meldon was not obliged to spend a sleepless night devising meetingsbetween Simpkins and Miss King. He put the oars into the coach-houseas soon as he reached Portsmouth Lodge, and then settled down with apipe on a hammock-chair outside the door. He was ready with apractical suggestion by the time Major Kent had finished dressing fordinner. Being too wise to propose a difficult matter to a hungry man,he waited until the meal was nearly over before he said anything to hisfriend.

  "Major," he said, "to-morrow is Sunday, and I think it would be acapital thing if you introduced yourself to Miss King after church.You could waylay her just outside the porch, and tell her who you are.I've talked to her a good deal about you, so she'll know you directlyshe hears your name."

  "I don't think I'll do that, J. J.," said the Major. "From what you'vetold me about her I don't think she's the kind of woman I'd care about.I think I'll keep clear of her as much as I can."

  "I told you," said Meldon, "that she was good-looking and had pleasantmanners when not irritated. I don't see what objection you can have toher."

  "I wasn't thinking about her appearance or her manners. They may beall right, but if what you said is true and she really--"

  "Don't be narrow-minded, Major. I hate that kind of pharisaicalbigotry. The fact that Mrs. Lorimer behaved as she did is no reason inthe world why you should cut the poor woman. It's a well-known factthat people who are really much worse than she is are freely receivedinto the best society; and, in any case, the latest systems of moralityare quite changing the view that we used to take about murder. TakeNietzsche, for instance--"

  "Who's Nietzsche?"

  "He's a philosopher," said Meldon, "or rather he was, for he's deadnow. He divided all morality into two kinds--slave morality, which heregards as despicable, and master morality, which is of the mostsuperior possible kind."

  "Still--I don't know anything about the man you mention, but I supposeeven he would have drawn the line at murder."

  "Not at all. Master morality, which, according to his system, is thebest kind, consists entirely of being the sort of man who is able toget into a position to bully other people. Slave morality, on theother hand, consists in having the kind of temperament which submits tobeing bullied, and pretends to think it a fine thing to suffer. Nowmurder, as any one can see, is simply an extreme form of bullying; andtherefore a successful murderer, according to Nietzsche's philosophy,is the finest kind of man there is. Whereas his victims, the lateLorimer, for instance, are mere slaves, and therefore thoroughlydespicable. You follow me so far, I suppose?"

  "No, I don't. If any man says what you say that fellow says--"

  "Nietzsche doesn't actually say all that," said Meldon. "He hadn't asufficiently logical mind to work out his philosophy to its ultimatepractical conclusions, but you may take my word for it that I've givenyou the gist of his system."

  "Then he ought to have been hanged."

  "I daresay he ought," said Meldon. "I need scarcely say I don't agreewith him. But that's not the point. As a matter of fact, so far frombeing hanged or incurring any kind of odium, his system is quite themost popular there is at present. London is full of young men inlarge, round spectacles, and scraggy women who haven't succeeded ingetting married--the leaders of modern thought, you'll observe,Major--every one of whom is deeply attached to Nietzsche. You can't,without labelling yourself a hopeless reactionary, fly right in theface of cultured society by refusing to associate with Miss King."

  "I won't mix myself up with--"

  "Come now, Major, that sort of attitude would have been all very wellfifty years ago, but it won't do now. You simply can't shut yourselfup and say that you won't speak to any one who doesn't agree with youin every opinion you have. As a matter of fact, you associate freelywith lots of people who differ from you in religion and politics farmore fundamentally than poor Miss King does. You can't refuse to knowher simply because she accepts a system of philosophy which you neverheard of till this minute, and even now don't thoroughly understand inspite of all I've told you about it."

  "In any case," said the Major, "I don't like women who flirt. And youtold me yourself that she tried to flirt with you."

  "Ah," said Meldon, "now we're getting at your real reasons. I thoughtyou couldn't be in earnest about the Nietzschean philosophy. That wasmerely an excuse. What you're really afraid of is that Miss King mightmarry you. I don't blame you for being a little cautious about that,knowing what you do about the fate of her former husbands. At the sametime I may point out--"

  "I'm not the least afraid of her marrying me. She won't get thechance."

  "Then why do you say you object to her flirting?"

  "Because I do object to it. I don't like that kind of woman."

  "Do you mean to say, Major, that a girl isn't to be allowed to makeeyes at the man she's going to marry?"

  "I don't say anything of the sort. Of course, if she's going to marrya man--but really, J. J., I don't know anything about these things."

  "Then don't talk about them. You may take my word for it, Major, thatMiss King is perfectly justified in being as nice as ever she can toSimpkins."

  "I never said anything about Simpkins. As far as I can make out sheisn't particularly nice to Simpkins."

  "No, she isn't, so far; but that's only because she hasn't had a fairchance. When we get them out together in the _Spindrift_--"

  "What?"

  "When we get the two of them out together in the _Spindrift_," saidMeldon, speaking slowly and distinctly, "you'll see that she'll makeherself perfectly fascinating--not to you or me, but to Simpkins."

  "Leaving Miss King out of the question," said the Major, "I'd like youto be perfectly clear about this. I won't--"

  "Before we go on to Simpkins," said Meldon, "we must settle definitelyabout Miss King. Is it understood that you catch her after churchtomorrow and invite her out for a sail with us in the _Spindrift_?"

  "No; I won't. I wouldn't in any case; but if Simpkins--"

  "I'm not going on to Simpkins yet. I must finish Miss King first.You've given your reasons for not making her acquaintance, and I'veshown you that they are utterly feeble and won't hold water for aminute. If you've no other objection, then I think, as astraightforward man, you are bound to admit you are in the wrong and dowhat you ought to have been ready to do without all this arguing."

  "To oblige you," said the Major, "and because I want you to have apleasant holiday now you're here, I will ask Miss King out with usonce. But I won't ask Simpkins. The man is a horrid bounder, whomakes himself objectionable to everybody, and I won't ask him."

  "Nobody wants you to ask him. I'll ask him."

  "That will be just the same thing. Once for all, J. J., I won't havethat man on board my boat."


  "I don't think," said Meldon, "that you are behaving with quite yourusual fairness, Major. You don't like Simpkins. I am not going intothe reasons for your dislike. They may be sound, or they may be thereverse. I simply state the fact that you don't get on with the man.Very well. I don't get on with Miss King. I told you the other daythat I offended her, and she was what I should call extremely rude tome afterwards. But do I bring that up as a reason why you should nottake her for a sail in the _Spindrift_? Certainly not. It won't, as amatter of fact, be particularly pleasant for me having to sit in thesame boat all day with a young woman who won't speak to me; but I'mprepared to sacrifice myself and do it. And you ought to be ready todo the same thing in the case of Simpkins."

  "I'm not," said the Major. "I can't and won't have Simpkins."

  "My dear Major, don't you see that your quarrel with Simpkins is one ofthe strongest points in the whole plan? He won't speak to you when hesees that you dislike him. Miss King won't speak to me. What will theconsequence be? Why, of course, they'll be thrown together. They musttalk to each other, and that's exactly what we want them to do. IfSimpkins was a friend of yours, and if Miss King was particularly fondof me, there'd be no use our taking them out at all. They wouldn't beobliged to talk to each other."

  "If you've finished your dinner, J. J., we may as well go into the nextroom and smoke. I don't see that there's any use going on with thisconversation."

  "There isn't; not the least. But you'll do me the justice, Major, toadmit that it wasn't I who insisted on it. I could perfectly well havearranged the matter in two sentences, but you would argue with me aboutevery single thing I said."

  Major Kent rose and opened the door for his friend. They went togetherinto the study and sat down. The Major, after a few preliminaryexcuses, took the two copies of _The Times_, which had arrived by postwhilst he was out in the _Spindrift_. He settled down to the leadingarticles with a comfortable sense that he was doing his duty. Meldonwandered round the room looking for something to read. He found a newbook on boat-building which promised to be interesting. Unfortunatelyit turned out to be highly technical, and therefore dull. It droppedfrom his knees. He nodded, took the pipe from his mouth, lay backcomfortably, and went to sleep. Major Kent satisfied himself that theEnglish navy, though in some ways the best in the world, was in otherrespects inefficient and utterly useless as a national defence. Then,at about ten o'clock, he too went asleep. A few minutes later he beganto snore, and the noise he made woke Meldon. He felt for his pipe,filled and lit it. He sat gazing at Major Kent for a quarter of anhour, then he coughed loudly. The Major woke with a start.

  "It's a remarkable thing," said Meldon, "how sleepy two days on the seamake one. I had a nap myself. You were sound and snoring."

  "It's early yet," said the Major, glancing at the clock. "I seldomturn in before eleven."

  "I'm going to turn in now," said Meldon. "I'd be better in bed, for Ican't sleep here with the way you're snoring. I just woke you up tosay that I'll get a hold of Simpkins some time to-morrow and settlethings with him. I daresay, after the way he has behaved to the poorold rector, that he'll be ashamed to come to church, but I'll look himup afterwards. You'll be responsible for Miss King."

  "I can't argue any more to-night," said the Major, yawning; "but don'tyou go to bed under the impression that I'm going to have Simpkins inthe yacht, for I'm not."

  "I don't want to argue either, but I'll just say one word to you beforeI go: one word that I'd like to have imprinted on your mind during thenight. You won't mind listening to one word, will you?"

  "Not if it's only one."

  "It is literally and simply one. Duty."

  "Duty!" said the Major, sitting up.

  "Yes, duty. You're an Englishman, Major, at least by descent, and youknow that there's one appeal which is never made in vain to Englishmen,and that is the appeal to duty. Wasn't that the meaning of the signalNelson hoisted just before he asked Hardy to kiss him! And what didHardy do? Kissed him at once, though he can't possibly have liked it."

  "I think you've got the story wrong somewhere, J. J. As well as Irecollect--"

  "I may be inaccurate in some of the details," said Meldon, "but thebroad principle is as I state it; and I put it to you now, Major,before I say good-night, will you or will you not respond to theappeal? Remember Trafalgar and the old _Victory_. You're a militaryman, of course, but you must have some respect for Nelson."

  "I have. But I don't see how duty comes in in this case. Oh, J. J.!I wish you'd go to bed and stop talking."

  "I will. I want to. I'm absolutely dropping off to sleep, but I can'tgo till I've explained to you where your duty lies. Here is the townof Ballymoy groaning under an intolerable tyranny. Doyle's life is aburden to him. O'Donoghue can't sleep at night for fear of a LocalGovernment Board enquiry. The police are harried in the discharge oftheir duties. The rector's bronchitis is intensified to a dangerousextent. Sabina Gallagher's red-haired cousin, whose name I've not yetbeen able to discover, is perfectly miserable. Poor old Callaghan, whomeans well, though he has a most puritanical dread of impropriety, isworn to a shadow. It rests with you whether this state of things is tocontinue or not. You and, so far as I can see at present, you alone,are in a position to arrange for the downfall of Simpkins. Is it or isit not your duty, your simple duty, to do what you can, even at thecost of some little temporary inconvenience to yourself?"

  "If I thought all that--" said the Major. "But I'm much too sleepy tothink."

  "You're not asked to think," said Meldon. "Whatever thinking has to bedone I'll do myself. You have to act, or rather in this case to permitme to act."

  "I expect you'll act, as you call it, whether I permit you or not."

  "Of course I will," said Meldon. "But I'd rather have your permission.I'd rather you didn't shatter the ideal I've always had of you as aduty-loving Englishman."

  "All right," said the Major wearily. "Do what you like, but forgoodness' sake go to bed and stop talking."

  "Good-night," said Meldon. "If you find yourself inclined to changeyour mind before morning, just murmur over to yourself, 'Englandexpects every man to do his duty.' That will stiffen your back."