Part 84 (2/2)
But somebody called his attention to the Jew, and he screwed his gla.s.s to his eye and cried, ”Father Storm, by Jove!”
The nickname was taken up by other people on the coach, and also by people on other coaches, and ”Father Storm!” was thrown at the poor scarecrow as a missile from twenty quarters at once. Glory's colour was rising to her ears, and Drake was humming a tune to cover her confusion.
But Betty was asking, ”Who was Father Storm, if you please?” and Lord Robert was saying, ”Bless my stars, this is something new, don't you know! Here's somebody who doesn't know Father Storm! Father Storm, my dear Elephant, is the prophet, the modern Jonah, who predicts that Nineveh--that is to say, London--is to be destroyed this very day!”
”He must be balmy!” said Betty, and the lady in blue went into fits of laughter.
”Yes,” said Lord Robert, ”and all because wicked men like ourselves insist on enjoying ourselves on a day like this with pretty people like you.”
”Well, he _is_ a cough-drop!” said Betty. The lady in blue asked what was ”balmy” and a ”cough-drop,” and Lord Robert said:
”Betty means that the good Father is crazy--silly--stupid--cracked in the head in short----”
But Glory could bear no more. It was an insult to John Storm to be sat upon in judgment by such a woman. With a fiery jet of temper she turned about and said, ”Pity there are not more heads cracked, then, if it would only let a little of the light of heaven into them.”
”Oh, if it's like that----” began Betty, looking round significantly, and Lord Robert said, ”It _is_ like that, dear Elephant, and if our charming hurricane will pardon me, I'm not surprised that the man has broken out as a Messiah, and if the authorities don't intervene----”
”Hold your tongue, Robert!” cried Drake. ”Listen, everybody!”
They were climbing on to the Downs and could hear the deep hum of the people on the course. ”My!” said Betty. ”Well!” said the lady in blue.
”It's like a beehive with the lid off,” said Glory.
As they pa.s.sed the railway station the people who had come by train poured into the road and the coach had to slow down. ”They must have come from the four winds of heaven,” said Glory.
”Wait, only wait!” said Drake.
Some minutes afterward everybody drew breath. They were on the top of the common and had a full view of the course. It was a vast sea of human beings stretched as far as the eye could reach--a black moving ocean without a glimpse of soil or gra.s.s. The race track itself was a river of people: the Grand Stand, tier on tier, was black from its lawns at the bottom to its sloping gallery on top; and the ”Hill” opposite was a rocky coast of carriages, booths, carts, and cl.u.s.tering crowds. Glory's eyes seemed to leap out of her head. ”It's a nation!” she said with panting breath. ”An empire!”
They were diving into these breaking, plas.h.i.+ng, plunging waters of human life with their mult.i.tudinous voices of laughter and speech, and Glory was looking at a dark figure in the hollow below which seemed to stand up above the rest, when Drake cried:
”Sit hard, everybody! We'll take the hill at a gallop.”
Then to the crack of the whip, the whoop of the driver, and the blast of the horn, the horses flew down like the wind. Betty screamed, Rosa groaned, and Glory laughed and looked up at Drake in her delight. When the coach drew up on the other side of the hollow, the bell was ringing at the Grand Stand as signal for another race, and the dark figure had disappeared.
III.
That morning, when John Storm went to take seven-o'clock celebration, the knocker-up with his long stick had not yet finished his rounds in the courts and alleys about the church, but the costers with their barrows and donkeys, their wives and their children, were making an early start for Epsom. There were many communicants, and it was eight o'clock before he returned to his rooms. By that time the postman had made his first delivery and there was a letter from the Prime Minister.
”Come to Downing Street as soon as this reaches you. I must see you immediately.”
He ate his breakfast of milk and brown bread, said ”Good-bye, Brother Andrew, I shall be back for evening service,” whistled to the dog, and set out into the streets. But a sort of superst.i.tious fear had taken hold of him, as if an event of supreme importance in his life was impending, and before answering his uncle's summons he made a round of the buildings in the vicinity which were devoted to the work of his mission. His first visit was to the school. The children had a.s.sembled, and they were being marshalled in order by the Sisters and prepared for their hymn and prayer.
”Good-morning, Father.”
”Good-morning, children.”
Many of them had presents for him--one a flower, another a biscuit, another a marble, and yet another an old Christmas card. ”G.o.d bless them, and protect them!” he thought, and he left the school with a full heart.
His last visit was to the men's shelter which he had established under the management of his former ”organ man,” Mr. Jupe. It was a bare place, a shed which had been a stable and was now floored and ceiled. Beds resembling the bunks in the foc's'le of a s.h.i.+p lined the walls. When these were full the lodgers lay on the ground. A blanket only was provided. The men slept in their clothes, but rolled up their coats for pillows. There was a stove where they might cook their food if they had money to buy any. A ha'p'orth of tea and sugar mixed, a ha'p'orth of bread, and a ha'p'orth of b.u.t.ter made a royal feast.
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