The Mercy of the Lord Part 34

"'Wot's up?' I sings out to the station-master, with an oath.

"'E laughed. 'Two truck load caged monkeys, zoological specimens rate, attendant priests in charge, consigned to Mai Kali. We'll hitch 'em on behind in no time. Superintendent's orders.'

"Well, sir! it was no use swearin'; so they was 'itched up, and I went on full steam, givin' them Brahmins a bit o' a swing, wot with the 'eavy sand in front an' the cages behind. The junction was all lit up an' decorated for the Bigwig, flags a-flying an' red baize all along the platform. 'E was to dine there, and the refreshment room looked A 1--a reg'lar spread, I call it. An' there was the Superintendent, waitin' in 'is best uniform----" Craddock paused as if to emphasise further remarks. "'E was a real bone-silly man--there ain't no other word for 'im, sir--bone-silly down to the last drop o' marrow. I dunno if it was the sight o' 'im, or the drink I 'ad on board, but I forgot to choke 'er down in time, an' we went over the points at a rattlin'

pace.

"The sand, being 'eavy, took 'em steady, but the zoological consignment, being light, didn't. It ran off the rail, lurched into a shed, upset, and before you cud say 'knife' there was a matter of two 'undred or more o' the specimens let loose in that there junction."

He paused again and shook his head sorrowfully. "It ain't no use tryin'

to describe it, sir. All you got to do is say ''ell an' tommy' and leave it alone.

"'Craddock!' shrieks the Superintendent, as I stud laughin' fit to split, as I see limber-legs at their old games, 'make that brute give up my helmet or I'll--I'll----' Then 'e got speechless, save for bad words, sir. You never see such a huproar. Red baize, tore to strips, festooning the roof, 'G.o.d bless our Bigwig' flutterin' in bits like a paperchase down the platforms, an' the mail train due in 'arf an hour.

"'You--you brought 'em 'ere, you scoundrel!' shrieks the Superintendent, 'take 'em away again or I'll--I'll----' an' again he refrained even from good words, sir. But 'e was bone-silly. Not as anyone cud do anything; leastways, not till 'Oneyman step out of the lamp room in 'is pyjamas, lookin' more dead nor alive. But there was somethin' in his hair, sir, as made me feel as a man had arose in Israel, for all he was so small.

"'You leave it to me,' he says, confident like; then he turns to the bone-silly Superintendent as stood dumbfounded, staring at 'im as if 'e were Lazarus noo raised. 'There's five an' twenty minutes yet, sir,' he says, 'afore His Honner's train's doo. On _my_ honner as Josiah 'Oneyman, I'll 'ave 'em safe out by then--only I won't 'ave no one a-interfering--everyone's got to obey my horders, and mine honly.'

"The bone-silly one hadn't a word to say, there was somethin' so awful majestic about the little man in 'is pyjamas, pore chap.

"Lordy, sir! you should 'ave 'eard him next with they Suckti Brahmins as was rubbing their bruises an' calling on Mai Kali for a.s.sistance.

"'She ain't in it, sonnies, nor the chaps as you bamboozle, neither,'

he said, said he. 'It's you as 'ave to make a offerin' yourselves this time, so it'll make a 'ole in your _pockets_ as well as your _stummicks_, my boys. An' it's no use your saying you ain't got no rupees--your credit's good enough for that.' An' here he waved 'is 'and, sir, to the row o' sweetmeat-sellers' booths and stalls as was sot just outside the iron railings. You seen 'em, sir. You know 'ow they looks at night. Harf a dozen trays piled up full o' treacle stuff an' greese, with a hoil _b.u.t.ti_ flaring an' smoking on the top of a pile o' their beastly toffee an' dribbling through it to give the dead flies a-stickin' to it a flavour. Yes! you've seen the '_met-aiy-yen-shee-yen_'"--here he gave an excellent rendering of the sweetmeat sellers' cry--"an' so've I--an' 'ad to eat it, too, w'en I was 'ard put to it. Well! 'e got the lot in, bra.s.s platters an' all, an' then began the rummiest go you ever see. W'en I was a boy, sir, in quires an' places w'ere they sing, parson use ter make us run through the service so as to get the Amens right up to time--it's 'arder nor runnin' a mail train, though you wouldn't believe it, sir. Well! they Suckti Brahmans 'ad to do the 'ole caboodle, same as if ole Mother Kali was sitting like a spider with 'er eight red legs an' harms on the top of each sand-truck. For you see, sir, they was standin' fair an' square on the lines, engine's steam up, et cetera. It was a rare sight. The monkeys was fine an' pleased with the red baize an' the flags an' the motters, but the moment they 'eard them Brahmans begin to chant, they c.o.c.k their tails an' listen, an' the ole buck monkey 'e clomb crafty along the girders so's to be ready to drop down so soon's he could. But 'Oneyman 'ad 'is views, an' wasn't goin' to be give away prematoor; so 'e kep a Suckti gennoflexing by each platter o' toffee until every truck 'ad its altar. Then 'e clumb up to the engine, an' beckon me to foller.

"I was standin' with one fut on the step when he shouted to the Suckties, 'Hands off.' I give you my word, sir, it weren't 'arf a minute before them trucks was covered as black as flies with them monkeys, grabbing an' yelling an' searchin' out for _met-aiy-en-sher-een_ like all possessed, for they were main hungry, 'avin' bin shut up all the arternoon. So there was our chanst, an' I was just leapin' in to put on steam, w'en that bone-silly a.s.s of a Superintendent says, says 'e, 'You 'aven't got the baton.' An' sure 'nuff I 'adn't. For it was a single line, you see, sir, an' we 'ad to run a mile or two through a signal station afore branchin' off. Of course, I didn't ought to 'ave noticed 'is remark, but took the chance; but there it is! I was a bit on, an' I'd laughed fit to split my sides, let alone my 'ead. So I putt down my fut agin, an' made to go fetch it, when the engine she gave a screech an' started full speed. Whether 'Oneyman thought I was aboard, or whether he thought 'e 'ad no time to lose, I never knew, for after that 'twas no laughin' matter, I can tell you. But there wasn't much time, for as I run down the platform to 'urry up the baton, I see some o' the platters nigh empty already, an'

they monkeys looking as if they were makin' ready to 'oof it. So when the screech come I turn back; but I was too late. She 'ad ten mile an hour on her afore I lep upon the back buffer, seeing there wasn't no other way o' getting along. An' then, sir"--Craddock drew his hand over his mouth, thoughtfully--"what come next sobered me in a jiffy. Talk o'

the ride to Khiva! it wasn't in it to the ride I 'ad on the back buffer o' those sand trucks! Thirty, forty, fifty mile an hour, trundlin'

along a consignment of A 1 devils from the nethermost 'ell. It was 'arf fright with them, sir, an' 'arf fury. As we scud past the signal station, full speed, I see the _babu_ fall on 'is face, an' cry '_dohai! dohai!_' as if 'twere the Day o' Judgment.

"An' then, sir, I begun to think o' that blockin' o' trees an' creepers an' b.u.t.terflies, as was sure to crop up somewhere, closer or furder, and to wonder if 'Oneyman knew w'en to put on the brake; for 'e was only a stoker an' not one at that. Lordy, sir, we must a-bin a queer sight, rus.h.i.+n' through the moonlick night, with the engine flarin' fit to bust, a full cargo of devils from 'ell dancin' an' whoopin' an'

'owlin' like all possessed, an' Nathanial James Craddock astride the hoff buffer. I tell you, sir, if any one 'ad said 'whip be'ind,' I'd a-got down; but I didn't want to leave pore old 'Oneyman off my own bat.

"So there we were; but the little fireflies didn't seem to care. I see 'em from the buffer as we flew past, eddyin' up an' down, an' round an'

round, just twinklin' among the trees like the stars up aloft--just as unreasonable-like an' careless as if there wasn't nothin' to worry about in this world--and there ain't, sir, since all flesh is gra.s.s, as the man said to the vegetarian. And then we come to the beginning of the end o' the line, but there weren't no slackenin' down o' steam; so I prepare to jump----

"An' jump I did. When I come to myself the moonlick was as peaceful as the grave. The engine 'ad cooled down, an' there weren't no sign o'

life anywhere. Only a 'eap of wreckage. I found pore old 'Oneyman lying dead, chucked clean out o' the cab. 'E 'adn't no mark on 'im, an'

somehow it seemed to me as if 'e 'ad died natural afore we run slap bang into the blockin' o' trees. For 'e knew enuff about stokin', sir, to turn off steam. I wouldn't a-took 'im on if 'e 'adn't.

"But there weren't a sign o' them monkeys, sir; an' wot's more, there's never bin one seen in that there jungle since."

Here Craddock rose, yawned, and pa.s.sed over to the cranks and handles and valves. The next instant an ear-piercing whistle rang through the dust-laden air, seeming to set it a-quiver.

"That's to rouse old Meditations, sir," he said cheerfully; "but it won't do it. 'E's petrified to 'is place, an' I shall 'ave to lift 'im out o' the way, as per usual."

From afar I could see, like a speck upon the receding ribbon of rail, an immovable figure on the Permanent Way.

DRY GOODS

"Mr. Blooker, sir," said the head clerk severely, "no one whose chest measurement is under thirty-two inches has any right to beat time to 'Rule, Britannia,' even when it is played by a German band in the street."

A small man whose desk stood nearest the office window, against which a City fog lay like yellow cotton wool, blushed, apologised incoherently, and returned to fair general averages.

The other clerks t.i.ttered, since this was a recurring criticism. For, though Alexander Blooker's chest measurement made active patriotism impossible, the heart within it was full of that sentiment. This was unmistakable when he boomed forth solid songs of the past, such as the "Death of Nelson" and the "Soldier's Tear," in his big solid ba.s.s voice; the more modern ditties about "beggars" and "gurls" and "kids"

and "khaki" being, he a.s.sured his club, "unsuitable to his organ." And Alexander Blooker was very proud of his organ.

"_Never, never, never will be slaves_."

Quite unconsciously his dutiful pen punctuated each quaver and semi-quaver, though in his heart of hearts he knew that he himself had been a slave all his life. First to an old aunt who had lately died full of self-satisfaction because she left him fifty pounds out of the money she had saved from the earnings he had brought home to her all his working life; and secondly to the head clerk, Mr. Mossop. Such a kind, good----

"Blooker, please!" chanted the office boy, showing round the gla.s.s screen.

It was the voice of Fate. Wondering vaguely whether this unusual call to the innermost Holy of Holies, "Our Firm," presaged dismissal--possibly for punctuating patriotism--he went meekly.

And he returned as he went, to sit down solidly once more to fair general averages. The other clerks waited for a remark, but none came; so the pens sc.r.a.ped and sc.r.a.ped until time was up.

Then, when the office was empty, save for himself and Alexander, Mr.

Mossop, the head clerk, went over to the latter's desk.

"We can finish that for you, Mr. Blooker," he said, "you have much to do."

"Thank you, sir," came the solemn reply, "I am much obliged to you, sir, but I would rather complete it myself, sir, before going to----"

Then decorum gave way. "Mr. Mossop, sir," he continued wildly, "am I on my 'ed or on my 'eels? I can't believe it--and it is all your doing, sir. I feel sure 'Our Firm' wouldn't never have done it if you hadn't spoken for me, and--and--I don't know whether I am on my 'ed or my 'eels!"

As a rule Alexander Blooker struggled successfully with the accent of c.o.c.kaigne, but in times of stress, and especially when using certain set phrases, he adhered to it as if he felt it added forcefulness of expression.

There was a suspicion of a tear in his pale blue eye, and Mr. Mossop felt inclined to brace him up by telling him the truth; namely, that "Our Firm" contemplated in the near future closing the Distant Depot to the charge of which he had been appointed. Briefly, it did not pay: Germany had got at the markets in the way that Germany has, when compet.i.tion is old-fas.h.i.+oned. But Alexander Blooker's face came up from the ledger over which it had bent itself for a moment with an expression on it that startled Mr. Mossop out of contemptuous compa.s.sion.

"I am going to run this job on my own, sir," he began eagerly; "I'm going to work it on Imperial lines----"

"H'm--we are not at the debating club, Mr. Blooker," interrupted the head clerk; but Alexander was beyond recall; his voice took on the blatant tone of the public speaker.

"Shrinkage in trade follows shortage in piece goods, and our piece goods is short. Germany's ain't. I don't say that 'Our Firm' is as bad as most, but there's a cool quarter yard out of the forty for rubbage border and all that. Besides, mind you, some of 'em goes as far as three-quarters!--a _cool_-three-quarters!!--and why not? If you tike a hinch why not tike a h.e.l.l!"

This was apparently quite conclusive, for the head clerk hastily changed the subject to the necessary preparations. But two days could be allowed, as the Distant Depot lay up a river that was only navigable for six months in the year; and four of these were already overpast. It was rather a rush, but the present occupant of the post had unexpectedly accepted the agency of a liquor shop; and the half-yearly market must not find "Our Firm" without a representative. So the first mail--it was a journey of six or seven weeks--must be the one. If any money was wanted--"Thank you, sir," replied Alexander Blooker; "the fifty pounds of my own that my aunt left me will do for the present: by-and-by perhaps----"

He looked mysterious, but he said no more to anyone; unless he whispered something to the gla.s.s case ill.u.s.trating cotton manufactures in the Imperial Inst.i.tute, which had always had an especial fascination for him. Despite his hurry, he was looking at the peculiarly broad borders of a pile of piece goods and muttering under his breath, "If you tike a hinch you may as well tike a h.e.l.l," when a man of gold lace and b.u.t.tons found him, after closing time, and hustled him by corridors of Imperial pickle bottle into the Sahara of Exhibition Road.

Within two months he was--to use his own expression--"taking down the shutters" in a very different desert. For the "Distant Depot" lay at the Back o' Beyont. Whereabouts in the World-Circle matters nothing.

Briefly, it was one of those advancing tentacles of civilisation boasting the Mission-House, the Dry-Goods-Store or two and the Whisky-Shop, which carry between them civilisation to the aboriginal.

Beyond it lay desolation, except for a single telegraph wire which spanned the void towards the west, instead of following the tortuous curves of the river (now sinking into sandbanks), which after a long course south-eastward eventually found itself at the same goal--the sea-board. There was no town to speak of; only a cl.u.s.ter of leaf-huts, besides the Mission-House and Chapel, the two Stores and the Liquor-Shop. And these were so close cl.u.s.tered that to Alexander Blooker, when he rose to look out over his new world on the morning after his arrival, it seemed as if the bell which was being rung from the Chapel was a general invitation to pray, and buy, and drink.