CHAPTER XVIII.
THE FRIENDS OF PROGRESS MEET.
The night next but one after this meditation saw a new order in theworld. A young lady dressed in an astrachan-edged jacket and with aface of diminished cheerfulness marched from Chelsea to Clapham alone,and Lewisham sat in the flickering electric light of the EducationLibrary staring blankly over a business-like pile of books at unseenthings.
The arrangement had not been effected without friction, theexplanation had proved difficult. Evidently she did not appreciate thefull seriousness of Lewisham's mediocre position in the list. "But youhave _passed_ all right," she said. Neither could she grasp theimportance of evening study. "Of course I don't know," she saidjudicially; "but I thought you were learning all day." She calculatedthe time consumed by their walk as half an hour, "just one half hour;"she forgot that he had to get to Chelsea and then to return to hislodgings. Her customary tenderness was veiled by an only too apparentresentment. First at him, and then when he protested, at Fate. "Isuppose it _has_ to be," she said. "Of course, it doesn't matter, Isuppose, if we _don't_ see each other quite so often," with a quiverof pale lips.
He had returned from the parting with an uneasy mind, and that eveninghad gone in the composition of a letter that was to make thingsclearer. But his scientific studies rendered his prose style "hard,"and things he could whisper he could not write. His justificationindeed did him no sort of justice. But her reception of it made herseem a very unreasonable person. He had some violent fluctuations. Attimes he was bitterly angry with her for her failure to see things ashe did. He would wander about the museum conducting imaginarydiscussions with her and making even scathing remarks. At other timeshe had to summon all his powers of acrid discipline and all hismemories of her resentful retorts, to keep himself from a headlongrush to Chelsea and unmanly capitulation.
And this new disposition of things endured for two weeks. It did nottake Miss Heydinger all that time to discover that the disaster of theexamination had wrought a change in Lewisham. She perceived thosenightly walks were over. It was speedily evident to her that he wasworking with a kind of dogged fury; he came early, he went late. Thewholesome freshness of his cheek paled. He was to be seen on each ofthe late nights amidst a pile of diagrams and text-books in one of theless draughty corners of the Educational Library, accumulating pilesof memoranda. And nightly in the Students' "club" he wrote a letteraddressed to a stationer's shop in Clapham, but that she did not see.For the most part these letters were brief, for Lewisham, SouthKensington fashion, prided himself upon not being "literary," and someof the more despatch-like wounded a heart perhaps too hungry fortender words.
He did not meet Miss Heydinger's renewed advances with invariablekindness. Yet something of the old relations were presentlyrestored. He would talk well to her for a time, and then snap like adry twig. But the loaning of books was resumed, the subtle process ofhis aesthetic education that Miss Heydinger had devised. "Here is abook I promised you," she said one day, and he tried to remember thepromise.
The book was a collection of Browning's Poems, and it contained"Sludge"; it also happened that it contained "The Statue and theBust"--that stimulating lecture on half-hearted constraints. "Sludge"did not interest Lewisham, it was not at all his idea of a medium, buthe read and re-read "The Statue and the Bust." It had the profoundesteffect upon him. He went to sleep--he used to read his literature inbed because it was warmer there, and over literature nowadays it didnot matter as it did with science if one dozed a little--with theselines stimulating his emotion:--
"So weeks grew months, years; gleam by gleam The glory dropped from their youth and love, And both perceived they had dreamed a dream."
By way of fruit it may be to such seed, he dreamed a dream thatnight. It concerned Ethel, and at last they were a-marrying. He drewher to his arms. He bent to kiss her. And suddenly he saw her lipswere shrivelled and her eyes were dull, saw the wrinkles seaming herface! She was old! She was intolerably old! He woke in a kind ofhorror and lay awake and very dismal until dawn, thinking of theirseparation and of her solitary walk through the muddy streets,thinking of his position, the leeway he had lost and the chances therewere against him in the battle of the world. He perceived thecolourless truth; the Career was improbable, and that Ethel should beadded to it was almost hopeless. Clearly the question was betweenthese two. Or should he vacillate and lose both? And then hiswretchedness gave place to that anger that comes of perpetuallythwarted desires....
It was on the day after this dream that he insulted Parkson sogrossly. He insulted Parkson after a meeting of the "Friends ofProgress" at Parkson's rooms.
No type of English student quite realises the noble ideal of plainliving and high thinking nowadays. Our admirable examination systemadmits of extremely little thinking at any level, high or low. But theKensington student's living is at any rate insufficient, and he makesoccasional signs of recognition towards the cosmic process.
One such sign was the periodic gathering of these "Friends ofProgress," an association begotten of Lewisham's paper onSocialism. It was understood that strenuous things were to be done tomake the world better, but so far no decisive action had been taken.
They met in Parkson's sitting-room, because Parkson was the only oneof the Friends opulent enough to have a sitting-room, he being aWhitworth Scholar and in receipt of one hundred pounds a year. TheFriends were of various ages, mostly very young. Several smoked andothers held pipes which they had discontinued smoking--but there wasnothing to drink, except coffee, because that was the extent of theirmeans. Dunkerley, an assistant master in a suburban school, andLewisham's former colleague at Whortley, attended these assembliesthrough the introduction of Lewisham. All the Friends wore red tiesexcept Bletherley, who wore an orange one to show that he was aware ofArt, and Dunkerley, who wore a black one with blue specks, becauseassistant masters in small private schools have to keep upappearances. And their simple procedure was that each talked as muchas the others would suffer.
Usually the self-proposed "Luther of Socialism"--ridiculousLewisham!--had a thesis or so to maintain, but this night he wasdepressed and inattentive. He sat with his legs over the arm of hischair by way of indicating the state of his mind. He had a packet ofAlgerian cigarettes (twenty for fivepence), and appeared chieflyconcerned to smoke them all before the evening was out. Bletherley wasgoing to discourse of "Woman under Socialism," and he brought a bigAmerican edition of Shelley's works and a volume of Tennyson with the"Princess," both bristling with paper tongues against his markedquotations. He was all for the abolition of "monopolies," and the_creche_ was to replace the family. He was unctuous when he was notpretty-pretty, and his views were evidently unpopular.
Parkson was a man from Lancashire, and a devout Quaker; his third andcompleting factor was Ruskin, with whose work and phraseology he wassaturated. He listened to Bletherley with a marked disapproval, andopened a vigorous defence of that ancient tradition of loyalty thatBletherley had called the monopolist institution of marriage. "Thepure and simple old theory--love and faithfulness," said Parkson,"suffices for me. If we are to smear our political movements withthis sort of stuff ..."
"Does it work?" interjected Lewisham, speaking for the first time.
"What work?"
"The pure and simple old theory. I know the theory. I believe in thetheory. Bletherley's Shelley-witted. But it's theory. You meet theinevitable girl. The theory says you may meet her anywhen. You meettoo young. You fall in love. You marry--in spite of obstacles. Lovelaughs at locksmiths. You have children. That's the theory. All verywell for a man whose father can leave him five hundred a year. But howdoes it work for a shopman?... An assistant master like Dunkerley? Or... Me?"
"In these cases one must exercise restraint," said Parkson. "Havefaith. A man that is worth having is worth waiting for."
"Worth growing old for?" said Lewisham.
"Chap ought to fight," said Dunkerley. "Don't see your difficulty,Lewisham. Struggle for existence
keen, no doubt, tremendous infact--still. In it--may as well struggle. Two--join forces--pool theluck. If I saw, a girl I fancied so that I wanted to, I'd marry herto-morrow. And my market value is seventy _non res_."
Lewisham looked round at him eagerly, suddenly interested. "_Would_you?" he said. Dunkerley's face was slightly flushed.
"Like a shot. Why not?"
"But how are you to live?"
"That comes after. If ..."
"I can't agree with you, Mr. Dunkerley," said Parkson. "I don't knowif you have read Sesame and Lilies, but there you have, set forth farmore fairly than any words of mine could do, an ideal of a woman'splace ..."
"All rot--Sesame and Lilies," interrupted Dunkerley. "Readbits. Couldn't stand it. Never _can_ stand Ruskin. Too manyprepositions. Tremendous English, no doubt, but not my style. Sort ofthing a wholesale grocer's daughter might read to get refined. _We_can't afford to get refined."
"But would you really marry a girl ...?" began Lewisham, with anunprecedented admiration for Dunkerley in his eyes.
"Why not?"
"On--?" Lewisham hesitated.
"Forty pounds a year _res_. Whack! Yes."
A silent youngster began to speak, cleared an accumulated huskinessfrom his throat and said, "Consider the girl."
"Why _marry_?" asked Bletherley, unregarded.
"You must admit you are asking a great thing when you want a girl ..."began Parkson.
"Not so. When a girl's chosen a man, and he chooses her, her place iswith him. What is the good of hankering? Mutual. Fight together."
"Good!" said Lewisham, suddenly emotional. "You talk like a man,Dunkerley. I'm hanged if you don't."
"The place of Woman," insisted Parkson, "is the Home. And if there isno home--! I hold that, if need be, a man should toil seven years--asJacob did for Rachel--ruling his passions, to make the home fittingand sweet for her ..."
"Get the hutch for the pet animal," said Dunkerley. "No. I mean tomarry a _woman_. Female sex always _has_ been in the struggle forexistence--no great damage so far--always will be. Tremendousidea--that struggle for existence. Only sensible theory you've gothold of, Lewisham. Woman who isn't fighting square side by side with aman--woman who's just kept and fed and petted is ..." He hesitated.
A lad with a spotted face and a bulldog pipe between his teethsupplied a Biblical word.
"That's shag," said Dunkerley, "I was going to say 'a harem of one'."
The youngster was puzzled for a moment. "I smoke Perique," he said.
"It will make you just as sick," said Dunkerley.
"Refinement's so beastly vulgar," was the belated answer of the smokerof Perique.
That was the interesting part of the evening to Lewisham. Parksonsuddenly rose, got down "Sesame and Lilies," and insisted upon readinga lengthy mellifluous extract that went like a garden roller over thedebate, and afterwards Bletherley became the centre of a wrangle thatleft him grossly insulted and in a minority of one. The institutionof marriage, so far as the South Kensington student is concerned, isin no immediate danger.
Parkson turned out with the rest of them at half-past ten, for awalk. The night was warm for February and the waxing moonbright. Parkson fixed himself upon Lewisham and Dunkerley, toLewisham's intense annoyance--for he had a few intimate things hecould have said to the man of Ideas that night. Dunkerley lived north,so that the three went up Exhibition Road to High Street,Kensington. There they parted from Dunkerley, and Lewisham and Parksonturned southward again for Lewisham's new lodging in Chelsea.
Parkson was one of those exponents of virtue for whom the discussionof sexual matters has an irresistible attraction. The meeting had lefthim eloquent. He had argued with Dunkerley to the verge of indelicacy,and now he poured out a vast and increasingly confidential flow oftalk upon Lewisham. Lewisham was distraught. He walked as fast as hecould. His sole object was to get rid of Parkson. Parkson's soleobject was to tell him interesting secrets, about himself and aCertain Person with a mind of extraordinary Purity of whom Lewishamhad heard before.
Ages passed.
Lewisham suddenly found himself being shown a photograph under alamp. It represented an unsymmetrical face singularly void ofexpression, the upper part of an "art" dress, and a fringe ofcurls. He perceived he was being given to understand that this was aParagon of Purity, and that she was the particular property ofParkson. Parkson was regarding him proudly, and apparently awaitinghis verdict.
Lewisham struggled with the truth. "It's an interesting face," hesaid.
"It is a face essentially beautiful," said Parkson quietly butfirmly. "Do you notice the eyes, Lewisham?"
"Oh yes," said Lewisham. "Yes. I see the eyes."
"They are ... innocent. They are the eyes of a little child."
"Yes. They look that sort of eye. Very nice, old man. I congratulateyou. Where does she live?"
"You never saw a face like that in London," said Parkson.
"_Never_," said Lewisham decisively.
"I would not show that to every one," said Parkson. "You can scarcelyjudge all that pure-hearted, wonderful girl is to me." He returned thephotograph solemnly to its envelope, regarding Lewisham with an air ofone who has performed the ceremony of blood-brotherhood. Then takingLewisham's arm affectionately--a thing Lewisham detested--he went onto a copious outpouring on Love--with illustrative anecdotes of theParagon. It was just sufficiently cognate to the matter of Lewisham'sthoughts to demand attention. Every now and then he had to answer, andhe felt an idiotic desire--albeit he clearly perceived its idiocy--toreciprocate confidences. The necessity of fleeing Parkson becameurgent--Lewisham's temper under these multitudinous stresses wasgoing.
"Every man needs a Lode Star," said Parkson--and Lewisham swore underhis breath.
Parkson's lodgings were now near at hand to the left, and it occurredto him this boredom would be soonest ended if he took Parkson home,Parkson consented mechanically, still discoursing.
"I have often seen you talking to Miss Heydinger," he said. "If youwill pardon my saying it ..."
"We are excellent friends," admitted Lewisham. "But here we are atyour diggings."
Parkson stared at his "diggings." "There's Heaps I want to talkabout. I'll come part of the way at any rate to Battersea. Your MissHeydinger, I was saying ..."
From that point onwards he made casual appeals to a supposedconfidence between Lewisham and Miss Heydinger, each of whichincreased Lewisham's exasperation. "It will not be long before youalso, Lewisham, will begin to know the infinite purification of a PureLove...." Then suddenly, with a vague idea of suppressing Parkson'sunendurable chatter, as one motive at least, Lewisham rushed into theconfidential.
"I know," he said. "You talk to me as though ... I've marked out mydestiny these three years." His confidential impulse died as herelieved it.
"You don't mean to say Miss Heydinger--?" asked Parkson.
"Oh, _damn_ Miss Heydinger!" said Lewisham, and suddenly, abruptly,uncivilly, he turned away from Parkson at the end of the street andbegan walking away southward, leaving Parkson in mid-sentence at thecrossing.
Parkson stared in astonishment at his receding back and ran after himto ask for the grounds of this sudden offence. Lewisham walked on fora space with Parkson trotting by his side. Then suddenly heturned. His face was quite white and he spoke in a tired voice.
"Parkson," he said, "you are a fool!... You have the face of a sheep,the manners of a buffalo, and the conversation of a bore, Pewrityindeed!... The girl whose photograph you showed me has eyes that don'tmatch. She looks as loathsome as one would naturally expect.... I'mnot joking now.... Go away!"
After that Lewisham went on his southward way alone. He did not gostraight to his room in Chelsea, but spent some hours in a street inBattersea, pacing to and fro in front of a possible house. His passionchanged from savageness to a tender longing. If only he could see herto-night! He knew his own mind now. To-morrow he was resolved _he_would fling work to the dogs and meet her. The things Dunkerley hadsaid had
filled his mind with wonderful novel thoughts. If only hecould see her now!
His wish was granted. At the corner of the street two figures passedhim; one of these, a tall man in glasses and a quasi-clerical hat,with coat collar turned up under his grey side-whiskers, he recognisedas Chaffery; the other he knew only too well. The pair passed himwithout seeing him, but for an instant the lamplight fell upon herface and showed it white and tired.
Lewisham stopped dead at the corner, staring in blank astonishmentafter these two figures as they receded into the haze under thelights. He was dumfounded. A clock struck slowly. It wasmidnight. Presently down the road came the slamming of their door.
Long after the echo died away he stood there. "She has been at a_seance_; she has broken her promise. She has been at a _seance_; shehas broken her promise," sang in perpetual reiteration through hisbrain.
And then came the interpretation. "She has done it because I have lefther. I might have told it from her letters. She has done it becauseshe thinks I am not in earnest, that my love-making was justboyishness ...
"I knew she would never understand."