Part 16 (1/2)

He broke off, staring bitterly away from her, his knees drawn up, his chin resting on them.

”And you told your mother about it--and your father?” she said.

”Yes, every word, and more. Things I wouldn't tell you, because you're a girl, and I've still some respect for girls. Things that happened in Rio and Rosario--some of the women there, the rich women--Lord, they're the devil's own!” He reflected grimly. ”I told the Pater a few things--opened his eyes. He's a publisher--Sunday school prizes and that sort of thing. Stacks of money! No imagination. Most people have no imagination. They see things in a detached way. They see them, somehow, as if they're in print or going on on a stage. But not really happening. The Pater simply said I ought to be ashamed of myself--as if I'm not!”

He broke off and tried to light a cigarette with fingers that trembled.

Three, four matches he struck before he got it lighted and puffing. She sat silent, listening to the murmur of voices and the swis.h.i.+ng water.

”Why the devil I'm telling you this I can't imagine,” he said at last.

”Most girls would have yelled out for help before this.”

”I think, you know,” she said rather breathless, ”I think you're a great idiot! You _ask_ for things, don't you?”

”But what is there for a man to do out there? There's nothing I want to do except medicine, and that's past for ever now. There's nothing to do but get drunk. I've tried, often--got jobs, and all that. But there's no inducement--and I've told you how easy it is not to starve.”

”But it's so--so beastly! You might as well be dead--you're not happy.”

”That's exactly what I think. That's what I'm going to do. I got ten pounds out of the Mater. She's always ready to give me anything if it happens to be the beginning of the month and she's well off. The Pater solemnly presented me with three pounds--that's ten s.h.i.+llings a week for smokes for the six weeks of the trip. I'll buy bull's-eyes with it, I think. That'd please him. That makes thirteen pounds, and there's ten pounds waiting for me in Sydney. I'll have a d.a.m.ned good bust-up then, and then I'll finish the job for ever.”

”Oh, I do think you're mad--raving mad!” she cried, and could say nothing else.

”Of course it's by no means certain I'll have enough courage to kill myself. I rather doubt it! You see, they didn't breed me with courage.

They've given me porridge in my veins instead of blood! They press electric b.u.t.tons for their emotions and keep them down as long as is respectable! They didn't give me grit at all--they gave me convention and respectability. Everything I wanted to do they restrained because so many of the things I wanted to do seemed natural but were not respectable. And in the end they made a first-cla.s.s liar of me.” There was a long, terrible silence.

”To-night, for a bit, I'm stripped bare here,” he said in a low voice, ”letting you see me. To-morrow I'll be a nervous, stammering fool, hiding all I feel, sw.a.n.king like h.e.l.l about my people, myself and everyone I've ever seen, like I was doing to-day when you told me off so beautifully. To-morrow I'll be drunk, and I'll lie to you till all's blue. To-night I'm just honest.”

”Why is it that you're honest with me?” she asked him.

”Lord knows! I suppose it's because I'll disintegrate and go over the side in s.h.i.+vers if I can't get something off my chest. You don't seem disgusted with me--Lord, everyone else is! And I'm the loneliest devil on earth.”

”I'm glad you told me. Let's be friends, Louis--till we get to Sydney, anyway.”

”I never have friends. I lie to them, and they find me out. I borrow money from them and don't pay it back, and then I'm afraid to face them.

I make fools of them in public; I'm irritable with them.”

”I'm warned,” she said with a laugh. ”I'm not afraid of you.”

Suddenly he turned round. All the time he had been talking his back had been half turned to her. She saw the crimson end of the cigarette glowing. It was flung overboard. He groped for and found both her hands.

”Look here, this is the maddest thing I've ever done yet--but will you take it on, being friends with me?”

”I want to. I'm lonely, you know. I could have cried to-night, really.”

”But--look here. I'm begging, yes begging, this of you. When I lie to you, insult me, will you? You'll know. You've seen me honest to-night, but sometimes a thing gets hold of me and I lie like h.e.l.l! I'll tell you the most amazing, most circ.u.mstantial tales--just as you told me this afternoon--and you'll believe me. But I implore you, don't believe me!

Heaps of people have lent me money because they've believed what I've told them about my wife or my mother or my child dying. Lord, I'm a waster! But if I can find someone who'll be hard with me, I think I might make a stand. Look here, I promised the Mater, as this was my last week at home, and I haven't had a drink since Monday. That's four days to the good. If I promise you there's a faint chance I won't do it. Do you mind?”

”I'll watch you,” she said calmly. ”And I'll tell you if you tell me lies. But I don't believe you'll do any such thing!”