Life's Handicap: Being Stories of Mine Own People

  AT THE END OF THE PASSAGE

  The sky is lead and our faces are red, And the gates of Hell are opened and riven, And the winds of Hell are loosened and driven, And the dust flies up in the face of Heaven, And the clouds come down in a fiery sheet, Heavy to raise and hard to be borne. And the soul of man is turned from his meat, Turned from the trifles for which he has striven Sick in his body, and heavy hearted, And his soul flies up like the dust in the sheet Breaks from his flesh and is gone and departed, As the blasts they blow on the cholera-horn. HIMALAYAN.

  Four men, each entitled to 'life, liberty, and the pursuit ofhappiness,' sat at a table playing whist. The thermometer marked--forthem--one hundred and one degrees of heat. The room was darkened till itwas only just possible to distinguish the pips of the cards and the verywhite faces of the players. A tattered, rotten punkah of whitewashedcalico was puddling the hot air and whining dolefully at each stroke.Outside lay gloom of a November day in London. There was neither sky,sun, nor horizon,--nothing but a brown purple haze of heat. It was asthough the earth were dying of apoplexy.

  From time to time clouds of tawny dust rose from the ground withoutwind or warning, flung themselves tablecloth-wise among the tops of theparched trees, and came down again. Then a whirling dust-devil wouldscutter across the plain for a couple of miles, break, and fall outward,though there was nothing to check its flight save a long low line ofpiled railway-sleepers white with the dust, a cluster of huts made ofmud, condemned rails, and canvas, and the one squat four-roomed bungalowthat belonged to the assistant engineer in charge of a section of theGaudhari State line then under construction.

  The four, stripped to the thinnest of sleeping-suits, played whistcrossly, with wranglings as to leads and returns. It was not the bestkind of whist, but they had taken some trouble to arrive at it. Mottramof the Indian Survey had ridden thirty and railed one hundred miles fromhis lonely post in the desert since the night before; Lowndes of theCivil Service, on special duty in the political department, had come asfar to escape for an instant the miserable intrigues of an impoverishednative State whose king alternately fawned and blustered for moremoney from the pitiful revenues contributed by hard-wrung peasants anddespairing camel-breeders; Spurstow, the doctor of the line, had lefta cholera-stricken camp of coolies to look after itself for forty-eighthours while he associated with white men once more. Hummil, theassistant engineer, was the host. He stood fast and received his friendsthus every Sunday if they could come in. When one of them failed toappear, he would send a telegram to his last address, in order that hemight know whether the defaulter were dead or alive. There are verymany places in the East where it is not good or kind to let youracquaintances drop out of sight even for one short week.

  The players were not conscious of any special regard for each other.They squabbled whenever they met; but they ardently desired to meet, asmen without water desire to drink. They were lonely folk who understoodthe dread meaning of loneliness. They were all under thirty years ofage,--which is too soon for any man to possess that knowledge.

  'Pilsener?' said Spurstow, after the second rubber, mopping hisforehead.

  'Beer's out, I'm sorry to say, and there's hardly enough soda-water forto-night,' said Hummil.

  'What filthy bad management!' Spurstow snarled.

  'Can't help it. I've written and wired; but the trains don't comethrough regularly yet. Last week the ice ran out,--as Lowndes knows.'

  'Glad I didn't come. I could ha' sent you some if I had known, though.Phew! it's too hot to go on playing bumblepuppy.' This with a savagescowl at Lowndes, who only laughed. He was a hardened offender.

  Mottram rose from the table and looked out of a chink in the shutters.

  'What a sweet day!' said he.

  The company yawned all together and betook themselves to an aimlessinvestigation of all Hummil's possessions,--guns, tattered novels,saddlery, spurs, and the like. They had fingered them a score of timesbefore, but there was really nothing else to do.

  'Got anything fresh?' said Lowndes.

  'Last week's Gazette of India, and a cutting from a home paper. Myfather sent it out. It's rather amusing.'

  'One of those vestrymen that call 'emselves M.P.'s again, is it?' saidSpurstow, who read his newspapers when he could get them.

  'Yes. Listen to this. It's to your address, Lowndes. The man was makinga speech to his constituents, and he piled it on. Here's a sample:"And I assert unhesitatingly that the Civil Service in India is thepreserve--the pet preserve--of the aristocracy of England. What does thedemocracy--what do the masses--get from that country, which we have stepby step fraudulently annexed? I answer, nothing whatever. It isfarmed with a single eye to their own interests by the scions of thearistocracy. They take good care to maintain their lavish scale ofincomes, to avoid or stifle any inquiries into the nature and conduct oftheir administration, while they themselves force the unhappy peasantto pay with the sweat of his brow for all the luxuries in which they arelapped."' Hummil waved the cutting above his head. ''Ear! 'ear!' saidhis audience.

  Then Lowndes, meditatively: 'I'd give--I'd give three months' pay tohave that gentleman spend one month with me and see how the free andindependent native prince works things. Old Timbersides'--this was hisflippant title for an honoured and decorated feudatory prince--'hasbeen wearing my life out this week past for money. By Jove, his latestperformance was to send me one of his women as a bribe!'

  'Good for you! Did you accept it?' said Mottram.

  'No. I rather wish I had, now. She was a pretty little person, andshe yarned away to me about the horrible destitution among the king'swomen-folk. The darlings haven't had any new clothes for nearly a month,and the old man wants to buy a new drag from Calcutta,--solid silverrailings and silver lamps, and trifles of that kind. I've tried to makehim understand that he has played the deuce with the revenues for thelast twenty years and must go slow. He can't see it.'

  'But he has the ancestral treasure-vaults to draw on. There must bethree millions at least in jewels and coin under his palace,' saidHummil.

  'Catch a native king disturbing the family treasure! The priests forbidit except as the last resort. Old Timbersides has added something like aquarter of a million to the deposit in his reign.'

  'Where the mischief does it all come from?' said Mottram.

  'The country. The state of the people is enough to make you sick. I'veknown the tax-men wait by a milch-camel till the foal was born and thenhurry off the mother for arrears. And what can I do? I can't get thecourt clerks to give me any accounts; I can't raise anything more thana fat smile from the commander-in-chief when I find out the troops arethree months in arrears; and old Timbersides begins to weep when I speakto him. He has taken to the King's Peg heavily,--liqueur brandy forwhisky, and Heidsieck for soda-water.'

  'That's what the Rao of Jubela took to. Even a native can't last long atthat,' said Spurstow. 'He'll go out.'

  'And a good thing, too. Then I suppose we'll have a council of regency,and a tutor for the young prince, and hand him back his kingdom with tenyears' accumulations.'

  'Whereupon that young prince, having been taught all the vices of theEnglish, will play ducks and drakes with the money and undo ten years'work in eighteen months. I've seen that business before,' said Spurstow.'I should tackle the king with a light hand, if I were you, Lowndes.They'll hate you quite enough under any circumstances.'

  'That's all very well. The man who looks on can talk about the lighthand; but you can't clean a pig-stye with a pen dipped in rose-water. Iknow my risks; but nothing has happened yet. My servant's an old Pathan,and he cooks for me. They are hardly likely to bribe him, and I don'taccept food from my true friends, as they call themselves. Oh, but it'sweary work! I'd sooner be with you, Spurstow. There's shooting near yourcamp.'

  'Would you? I don't think it. About fifteen deaths a day don't incite aman to shoot anything but himself. And the worst of it is that the poordevils look at you as though you ought to
save them. Lord knows, I'vetried everything. My last attempt was empirical, but it pulled an oldman through. He was brought to me apparently past hope, and I gavehim gin and Worcester sauce with cayenne. It cured him; but I don'trecommend it.'

  'How do the cases run generally?' said Hummil.

  'Very simply indeed. Chlorodyne, opium pill, chlorodyne, collapse,nitre, bricks to the feet, and then--the burning-ghat. The last seems tobe the only thing that stops the trouble. It's black cholera, you know.Poor devils! But, I will say, little Bunsee Lal, my apothecary, workslike a demon. I've recommended him for promotion if he comes through itall alive.'

  'And what are your chances, old man?' said Mottram.

  'Don't know; don't care much; but I've sent the letter in. What are youdoing with yourself generally?'

  'Sitting under a table in the tent and spitting on the sextant tokeep it cool,' said the man of the survey. 'Washing my eyes toavoid ophthalmia, which I shall certainly get, and trying to make asub-surveyor understand that an error of five degrees in an angle isn'tquite so small as it looks. I'm altogether alone, y' know, and shall betill the end of the hot weather.'

  'Hummil's the lucky man,' said Lowndes, flinging himself into a longchair. 'He has an actual roof--torn as to the ceiling-cloth, but stilla roof--over his head. He sees one train daily. He can get beer andsoda-water and ice 'em when God is good. He has books, pictures,---theywere torn from the Graphic,--'and the society of the excellentsub-contractor Jevins, besides the pleasure of receiving us weekly.'

  Hummil smiled grimly. 'Yes, I'm the lucky man, I suppose. Jevins isluckier.'

  'How? Not----'

  'Yes. Went out. Last Monday.'

  'By his own hand?' said Spurstow quickly, hinting the suspicion that wasin everybody's mind. There was no cholera near Hummil's section. Evenfever gives a man at least a week's grace, and sudden death generallyimplied self-slaughter.

  'I judge no man this weather,' said Hummil. 'He had a touch of the sun,I fancy; for last week, after you fellows had left, he came into theverandah and told me that he was going home to see his wife, in MarketStreet, Liverpool, that evening.

  'I got the apothecary in to look at him, and we tried to make him liedown. After an hour or two he rubbed his eyes and said he believed hehad had a fit,--hoped he hadn't said anything rude. Jevins had a greatidea of bettering himself socially. He was very like Chucks in hislanguage.'

  'Well?'

  'Then he went to his own bungalow and began cleaning a rifle. He toldthe servant that he was going to shoot buck in the morning. Naturallyhe fumbled with the trigger, and shot himself through thehead--accidentally. The apothecary sent in a report to my chief, andJevins is buried somewhere out there. I'd have wired to you, Spurstow,if you could have done anything.'

  'You're a queer chap,' said Mottram. 'If you'd killed the man yourselfyou couldn't have been more quiet about the business.'

  'Good Lord! what does it matter?' said Hummil calmly. 'I've got to doa lot of his overseeing work in addition to my own. I'm the only personthat suffers. Jevins is out of it,--by pure accident, of course, but outof it. The apothecary was going to write a long screed on suicide. Trusta babu to drivel when he gets the chance.'

  'Why didn't you let it go in as suicide?' said Lowndes.

  'No direct proof. A man hasn't many privileges in this country, but hemight at least be allowed to mishandle his own rifle. Besides, some dayI may need a man to smother up an accident to myself. Live and let live.Die and let die.'

  'You take a pill,' said Spurstow, who had been watching Hummil's whiteface narrowly. 'Take a pill, and don't be an ass. That sort of talk isskittles. Anyhow, suicide is shirking your work. If I were Job ten timesover, I should be so interested in what was going to happen next thatI'd stay on and watch.'

  'Ah! I've lost that curiosity,' said Hummil.

  'Liver out of order?' said Lowndes feelingly.

  'No. Can't sleep. That's worse.'

  'By Jove, it is!' said Mottram. 'I'm that way every now and then, andthe fit has to wear itself out. What do you take for it?'

  'Nothing. What's the use? I haven't had ten minutes' sleep since Fridaymorning.'

  'Poor chap! Spurstow, you ought to attend to this,' said Mottram. 'Nowyou mention it, your eyes are rather gummy and swollen.'

  Spurstow, still watching Hummil, laughed lightly. 'I'll patch him up,later on. Is it too hot, do you think, to go for a ride?'

  'Where to?' said Lowndes wearily. 'We shall have to go away at eight,and there'll be riding enough for us then. I hate a horse, when I haveto use him as a necessity. Oh, heavens! what is there to do?'

  'Begin whist again, at chick points ['a chick' is supposed to be eightshillings] and a gold mohur on the rub,' said Spurstow promptly.

  'Poker. A month's pay all round for the pool,--no limit,--andfifty-rupee raises. Somebody would be broken before we got up,' saidLowndes.

  'Can't say that it would give me any pleasure to break any man in thiscompany,' said Mottram. 'There isn't enough excitement in it, andit's foolish.' He crossed over to the worn and battered littlecamp-piano,--wreckage of a married household that had once held thebungalow,--and opened the case.

  'It's used up long ago,' said Hummil. 'The servants have picked it topieces.'

  The piano was indeed hopelessly out of order, but Mottram managed tobring the rebellious notes into a sort of agreement, and there rose fromthe ragged keyboard something that might once have been the ghost of apopular music-hall song. The men in the long chairs turned with evidentinterest as Mottram banged the more lustily.

  'That's good!' said Lowndes. 'By Jove! the last time I heard that songwas in '79, or thereabouts, just before I came out.'

  'Ah!' said Spurstow with pride,' I was home in '80.' And he mentioned asong of the streets popular at that date.

  Mottram executed it roughly. Lowndes criticised and volunteeredemendations. Mottram dashed into another ditty, not of the music-hallcharacter, and made as if to rise.

  'Sit down,' said Hummil. 'I didn't know that you had any music in yourcomposition. Go on playing until you can't think of anything more. I'llhave that piano tuned up before you come again. Play something festive.'

  Very simple indeed were the tunes to which Mottram's art and thelimitations of the piano could give effect, but the men listened withpleasure, and in the pauses talked all together of what they had seen orheard when they were last at home. A dense dust-storm sprung up outside,and swept roaring over the house, enveloping it in the choking darknessof midnight, but Mottram continued unheeding, and the crazy tinklereached the ears of the listeners above the flapping of the tatteredceiling-cloth.

  In the silence after the storm he glided from the more directly personalsongs of Scotland, half humming them as he played, into the EveningHymn.

  'Sunday,' said he, nodding his head.

  'Go on. Don't apologise for it,' said Spurstow.

  Hummil laughed long and riotously. 'Play it, by all means. You're fullof surprises to-day. I didn't know you had such a gift of finishedsarcasm. How does that thing go?'

  Mottram took up the tune.

  'Too slow by half. You miss the note of gratitude,' said Hummil. 'Itought to go to the "Grasshopper's Polka,"--this way.' And he chanted,prestissimo,--

  'Glory to thee, my God, this night. For all the blessings of the light.

  That shows we really feel our blessings. How does it go on?--

  'If in the night I sleepless lie, My soul with sacred thoughts supply;May no ill dreams disturb my rest.'--

  Quicker, Mottram!--

  'Or powers of darkness me molest!'

  'Bah! what an old hypocrite you are!'

  'Don't be an ass,' said Lowndes. 'You are at full liberty to make fun ofanything else you like, but leave that hymn alone. It's associated in mymind with the most sacred recollections----'

  'Summer evenings in the country,--stained-glass window,--light goingout, and you and she jamming your heads together over one hymn-book,'said Mottram.

 
'Yes, and a fat old cockchafer hitting you in the eye when you walkedhome. Smell of hay, and a moon as big as a bandbox sitting on the top ofa haycock; bats,--roses,--milk and midges,' said Lowndes.

  'Also mothers. I can just recollect my mother singing me to sleep withthat when I was a little chap,' said Spurstow.

  The darkness had fallen on the room. They could hear Hummil squirming inhis chair.

  'Consequently,' said he testily, 'you sing it when you are seven fathomdeep in Hell! It's an insult to the intelligence of the Deity to pretendwe're anything but tortured rebels.'

  'Take TWO pills,' said Spurstow; 'that's tortured liver.'

  'The usually placid Hummil is in a vile bad temper. I'm sorry for hiscoolies to-morrow,' said Lowndes, as the servants brought in the lightsand prepared the table for dinner.

  As they were settling into their places about the miserable goat-chops,and the smoked tapioca pudding, Spurstow took occasion to whisper toMottram, 'Well done, David!'

  'Look after Saul, then,' was the reply.

  'What are you two whispering about?' said Hummil suspiciously.

  'Only saying that you are a damned poor host. This fowl can't be cut,'returned Spurstow with a sweet smile. 'Call this a dinner?'

  'I can't help it. You don't expect a banquet, do you?'

  Throughout that meal Hummil contrived laboriously to insult directlyand pointedly all his guests in succession, and at each insult Spurstowkicked the aggrieved persons under the table; but he dared not exchangea glance of intelligence with either of them. Hummil's face was whiteand pinched, while his eyes were unnaturally large. No man dreamed fora moment of resenting his savage personalities, but as soon as the mealwas over they made haste to get away. 'Don't go. You're just gettingamusing, you fellows. I hope I haven't said anything that annoyed you.You're such touchy devils.' Then, changing the note into one of almostabject entreaty, Hummil added, 'I say, you surely aren't going?'

  'In the language of the blessed Jorrocks, where I dines I sleeps,' saidSpurstow. 'I want to have a look at your coolies to-morrow, if you don'tmind. You can give me a place to lie down in, I suppose?'

  The others pleaded the urgency of their several duties next day, and,saddling up, departed together, Hummil begging them to come next Sunday.As they jogged off, Lowndes unbosomed himself to Mottram--

  '... And I never felt so like kicking a man at his own table in my life.He said I cheated at whist, and reminded me I was in debt! 'Told you youwere as good as a liar to your face! You aren't half indignant enoughover it.'

  'Not I,' said Mottram. 'Poor devil! Did you ever know old Hummy behavelike that before or within a hundred miles of it?'

  'That's no excuse. Spurstow was hacking my shin all the time, so I kepta hand on myself. Else I should have--'

  'No, you wouldn't. You'd have done as Hummy did about Jevins; judge noman this weather. By Jove! the buckle of my bridle is hot in my hand!Trot out a bit, and 'ware rat-holes.'

  Ten minutes' trotting jerked out of Lowndes one very sage remark when hepulled up, sweating from every pore--

  ''Good thing Spurstow's with him to-night.'

  'Ye-es. Good man, Spurstow. Our roads turn here. See you again nextSunday, if the sun doesn't bowl me over.'

  'S'pose so, unless old Timbersides' finance minister manages to dresssome of my food. Good-night, and--God bless you!'

  'What's wrong now?'

  'Oh, nothing.' Lowndes gathered up his whip, and, as he flickedMottram's mare on the flank, added, 'You're not a bad littlechap,--that's all.' And the mare bolted half a mile across the sand, onthe word.

  In the assistant engineer's bungalow Spurstow and Hummil smoked the pipeof silence together, each narrowly watching the other. The capacity of abachelor's establishment is as elastic as its arrangements are simple. Aservant cleared away the dining-room table, brought in a couple of rudenative bedsteads made of tape strung on a light wood frame, flung asquare of cool Calcutta matting over each, set them side by side, pinnedtwo towels to the punkah so that their fringes should just sweep clearof the sleepers' nose and mouth, and announced that the couches wereready.

  The men flung themselves down, ordering the punkah-coolies by all thepowers of Hell to pull. Every door and window was shut, for the outsideair was that of an oven. The atmosphere within was only 104 degrees,as the thermometer bore witness, and heavy with the foul smell ofbadly-trimmed kerosene lamps; and this stench, combined with that ofnative tobacco, baked brick, and dried earth, sends the heart of manya strong man down to his boots, for it is the smell of the Great IndianEmpire when she turns herself for six months into a house of torment.Spurstow packed his pillows craftily so that he reclined rather thanlay, his head at a safe elevation above his feet. It is not goodto sleep on a low pillow in the hot weather if you happen to be ofthick-necked build, for you may pass with lively snores and gugglingsfrom natural sleep into the deep slumber of heat-apoplexy.

  'Pack your pillows,' said the doctor sharply, as he saw Hummil preparingto lie down at full length.

  The night-light was trimmed; the shadow of the punkah wavered across theroom, and the 'flick' of the punkah-towel and the soft whine of therope through the wall-hole followed it. Then the punkah flagged, almostceased. The sweat poured from Spurstow's brow. Should he go out andharangue the coolie? It started forward again with a savage jerk, anda pin came out of the towels. When this was replaced, a tomtom in thecoolie-lines began to beat with the steady throb of a swollen arteryinside some brain-fevered skull. Spurstow turned on his side and sworegently. There was no movement on Hummil's part. The man had composedhimself as rigidly as a corpse, his hands clinched at his sides. Therespiration was too hurried for any suspicion of sleep. Spurstow lookedat the set face. The jaws were clinched, and there was a pucker roundthe quivering eyelids.

  'He's holding himself as tightly as ever he can,' thought Spurstow.'What in the world is the matter with him?--Hummil!'

  'Yes,' in a thick constrained voice.

  'Can't you get to sleep?'

  'No.'

  'Head hot? 'Throat feeling bulgy? or how?'

  'Neither, thanks. I don't sleep much, you know.'

  'Feel pretty bad?'

  'Pretty bad, thanks. There is a tomtom outside, isn't there? I thoughtit was my head at first.... Oh, Spurstow, for pity's sake give mesomething that will put me asleep,--sound asleep,--if it's only for sixhours!' He sprang up, trembling from head to foot. 'I haven't been ableto sleep naturally for days, and I can't stand it!--I can't stand it!'

  'Poor old chap!'

  'That's no use. Give me something to make me sleep. I tell you I'mnearly mad. I don't know what I say half my time. For three weeks I'vehad to think and spell out every word that has come through my lipsbefore I dared say it. Isn't that enough to drive a man mad? I can't seethings correctly now, and I've lost my sense of touch. My skin aches--myskin aches! Make me sleep. Oh, Spurstow, for the love of God make mesleep sound. It isn't enough merely to let me dream. Let me sleep!'

  'All right, old man, all right. Go slow; you aren't half as bad as youthink.'

  The flood-gates of reserve once broken, Hummil was clinging to him likea frightened child. 'You're pinching my arm to pieces.'

  'I'll break your neck if you don't do something for me. No, I didn'tmean that. Don't be angry, old fellow.' He wiped the sweat off himselfas he fought to regain composure. 'I'm a bit restless and off my oats,and perhaps you could recommend some sort of sleeping mixture,--bromideof potassium.'

  'Bromide of skittles! Why didn't you tell me this before? Let go of myarm, and I'll see if there's anything in my cigarette-case to suit yourcomplaint.' Spurstow hunted among his day-clothes, turned up the lamp,opened a little silver cigarette-case, and advanced on the expectantHummil with the daintiest of fairy squirts.

  'The last appeal of civilisation,' said he, 'and a thing I hate to use.Hold out your arm. Well, your sleeplessness hasn't ruined yourmuscle; and what a thick hide it is! Might as well inject a buffalosubcutaneously. Now in a few min
utes the morphia will begin working. Liedown and wait.'

  A smile of unalloyed and idiotic delight began to creep over Hummil'sface. 'I think,' he whispered,--'I think I'm going off now. Gad! it'spositively heavenly! Spurstow, you must give me that case to keep;you--' The voice ceased as the head fell back.

  'Not for a good deal,' said Spurstow to the unconscious form. 'And now,my friend, sleeplessness of your kind being very apt to relax the moralfibre in little matters of life and death, I'll just take the liberty ofspiking your guns.'

  He paddled into Hummil's saddle-room in his bare feet and uncased atwelve-bore rifle, an express, and a revolver. Of the first he unscrewedthe nipples and hid them in the bottom of a saddlery-case; of the secondhe abstracted the lever, kicking it behind a big wardrobe. The third hemerely opened, and knocked the doll-head bolt of the grip up with theheel of a riding-boot.

  'That's settled,' he said, as he shook the sweat off his hands. 'Theselittle precautions will at least give you time to turn. You have toomuch sympathy with gun-room accidents.'

  And as he rose from his knees, the thick muffled voice of Hummil criedin the doorway, 'You fool!'

  Such tones they use who speak in the lucid intervals of delirium totheir friends a little before they die.

  Spurstow started, dropping the pistol. Hummil stood in the doorway,rocking with helpless laughter.

  'That was awf'ly good of you, I'm sure,' he said, very slowly, feelingfor his words. 'I don't intend to go out by my own hand at present. Isay, Spurstow, that stuff won't work. What shall I do? What shall I do?'And panic terror stood in his eyes.

  'Lie down and give it a chance. Lie down at once.'

  'I daren't. It will only take me half-way again, and I shan't be able toget away this time. Do you know it was all I could do to come out justnow? Generally I am as quick as lightning; but you had clogged my feet.I was nearly caught.'

  'Oh yes, I understand. Go and lie down.'

  'No, it isn't delirium; but it was an awfully mean trick to play on me.Do you know I might have died?'

  As a sponge rubs a slate clean, so some power unknown to Spurstow hadwiped out of Hummil's face all that stamped it for the face of a man,and he stood at the doorway in the expression of his lost innocence. Hehad slept back into terrified childhood.

  'Is he going to die on the spot?' thought Spurstow. Then, aloud, 'Allright, my son. Come back to bed, and tell me all about it. You couldn'tsleep; but what was all the rest of the nonsense?'

  'A place,--a place down there,' said Hummil, with simple sincerity. Thedrug was acting on him by waves, and he was flung from the fear of astrong man to the fright of a child as his nerves gathered sense or weredulled.

  'Good God! I've been afraid of it for months past, Spurstow. It hasmade every night hell to me; and yet I'm not conscious of having doneanything wrong.'

  'Be still, and I'll give you another dose. We'll stop your nightmares,you unutterable idiot!'

  'Yes, but you must give me so much that I can't get away. You must makeme quite sleepy,--not just a little sleepy. It's so hard to run then.'

  'I know it; I know it. I've felt it myself. The symptoms are exactly asyou describe.'

  'Oh, don't laugh at me, confound you! Before this awful sleeplessnesscame to me I've tried to rest on my elbow and put a spur in the bed tosting me when I fell back. Look!'

  'By Jove! the man has been rowelled like a horse! Ridden by thenightmare with a vengeance! And we all thought him sensible enough.Heaven send us understanding! You like to talk, don't you?'

  'Yes, sometimes. Not when I'm frightened. THEN I want to run. Don'tyou?'

  'Always. Before I give you your second dose try to tell me exactly whatyour trouble is.'

  Hummil spoke in broken whispers for nearly ten minutes, whilst Spurstowlooked into the pupils of his eyes and passed his hand before them onceor twice.

  At the end of the narrative the silver cigarette-case was produced,and the last words that Hummil said as he fell back for the second timewere, 'Put me quite to sleep; for if I'm caught I die,--I die!'

  'Yes, yes; we all do that sooner or later,--thank Heaven who has set aterm to our miseries,' said Spurstow, settling the cushions under thehead. 'It occurs to me that unless I drink something I shall go outbefore my time. I've stopped sweating, and--I wear a seventeen-inchcollar.' He brewed himself scalding hot tea, which is an excellentremedy against heat-apoplexy if you take three or four cups of it intime. Then he watched the sleeper.

  'A blind face that cries and can't wipe its eyes, a blind face thatchases him down corridors! H'm! Decidedly, Hummil ought to go on leaveas soon as possible; and, sane or otherwise, he undoubtedly did rowelhimself most cruelly. Well, Heaven send us understanding!'

  At mid-day Hummil rose, with an evil taste in his mouth, but anunclouded eye and a joyful heart.

  'I was pretty bad last night, wasn't I?' said he.

  'I have seen healthier men. You must have had a touch of the sun. Lookhere: if I write you a swingeing medical certificate, will you apply forleave on the spot?'

  'No.'

  'Why not? You want it.'

  'Yes, but I can hold on till the weather's a little cooler.'

  'Why should you, if you can get relieved on the spot?'

  'Burkett is the only man who could be sent; and he's a born fool.'

  'Oh, never mind about the line. You aren't so important as all that.Wire for leave, if necessary.'

  Hummil looked very uncomfortable.

  'I can hold on till the Rains,' he said evasively.

  'You can't. Wire to headquarters for Burkett.'

  'I won't. If you want to know why, particularly, Burkett is married,and his wife's just had a kid, and she's up at Simla, in the cool, andBurkett has a very nice billet that takes him into Simla from Saturdayto Monday. That little woman isn't at all well. If Burkett wastransferred she'd try to follow him. If she left the baby behind she'dfret herself to death. If she came,--and Burkett's one of those selfishlittle beasts who are always talking about a wife's place being with herhusband,--she'd die. It's murder to bring a woman here just now. Burketthasn't the physique of a rat. If he came here he'd go out; and I knowshe hasn't any money, and I'm pretty sure she'd go out too. I'm saltedin a sort of way, and I'm not married. Wait till the Rains, and thenBurkett can get thin down here. It'll do him heaps of good.'

  'Do you mean to say that you intend to face--what you have faced, tillthe Rains break?'

  'Oh, it won't be so bad, now you've shown me a way out of it. I canalways wire to you. Besides, now I've once got into the way of sleeping,it'll be all right. Anyhow, I shan't put in for leave. That's the longand the short of it.'

  'My great Scott! I thought all that sort of thing was dead and donewith.'

  'Bosh! You'd do the same yourself. I feel a new man, thanks to thatcigarette-case. You're going over to camp now, aren't you?'

  'Yes; but I'll try to look you up every other day, if I can.'

  'I'm not bad enough for that. I don't want you to bother. Give thecoolies gin and ketchup.'

  'Then you feel all right?'

  'Fit to fight for my life, but not to stand out in the sun talking toyou. Go along, old man, and bless you!'

  Hummil turned on his heel to face the echoing desolation of hisbungalow, and the first thing he saw standing in the verandah was thefigure of himself. He had met a similar apparition once before, when hewas suffering from overwork and the strain of the hot weather.

  'This is bad,--already,' he said, rubbing his eyes. 'If the thing slidesaway from me all in one piece, like a ghost, I shall know it is only myeyes and stomach that are out of order. If it walks--my head is going.'

  He approached the figure, which naturally kept at an unvarying distancefrom him, as is the use of all spectres that are born of overwork. Itslid through the house and dissolved into swimming specks within theeyeball as soon as it reached the burning light of the garden. Hummilwent about his business till even. When he came in to dinner he foundhimself sitting at the
table. The vision rose and walked out hastily.Except that it cast no shadow it was in all respects real.

  No living man knows what that week held for Hummil. An increase of theepidemic kept Spurstow in camp among the coolies, and all he could dowas to telegraph to Mottram, bidding him go to the bungalow and sleepthere. But Mottram was forty miles away from the nearest telegraph, andknew nothing of anything save the needs of the survey till he met, earlyon Sunday morning, Lowndes and Spurstow heading towards Hummil's for theweekly gathering.

  'Hope the poor chap's in a better temper,' said the former, swinginghimself off his horse at the door. 'I suppose he isn't up yet.'

  'I'll just have a look at him,' said the doctor. 'If he's asleep there'sno need to wake him.'

  And an instant later, by the tone of Spurstow's voice calling upon themto enter, the men knew what had happened. There was no need to wake him.

  The punkah was still being pulled over the bed, but Hummil had departedthis life at least three hours.

  The body lay on its back, hands clinched by the side, as Spurstow hadseen it lying seven nights previously. In the staring eyes was writtenterror beyond the expression of any pen.

  Mottram, who had entered behind Lowndes, bent over the dead and touchedthe forehead lightly with his lips. 'Oh, you lucky, lucky devil!' hewhispered.

  But Lowndes had seen the eyes, and withdrew shuddering to the other sideof the room.

  'Poor chap! poor old chap! And the last time I met him I was angry.Spurstow, we should have watched him. Has he--?'

  Deftly Spurstow continued his investigations, ending by a search roundthe room.

  'No, he hasn't,' he snapped. 'There's no trace of anything. Call theservants.'

  They came, eight or ten of them, whispering and peering over eachother's shoulders.

  'When did your Sahib go to bed?' said Spurstow.

  'At eleven or ten, we think,' said Hummil's personal servant.

  'He was well then? But how should you know?'

  'He was not ill, as far as our comprehension extended. But he had sleptvery little for three nights. This I know, because I saw him walkingmuch, and specially in the heart of the night.'

  As Spurstow was arranging the sheet, a big straight-necked hunting-spurtumbled on the ground. The doctor groaned. The personal servant peepedat the body.

  'What do you think, Chuma?' said Spurstow, catching the look on the darkface.

  'Heaven-born, in my poor opinion, this that was my master has descendedinto the Dark Places, and there has been caught because he was not ableto escape with sufficient speed. We have the spur for evidence that hefought with Fear. Thus have I seen men of my race do with thorns whena spell was laid upon them to overtake them in their sleeping hours andthey dared not sleep.'

  'Chuma, you're a mud-head. Go out and prepare seals to be set on theSahib's property.'

  'God has made the Heaven-born. God has made me. Who are we, to inquireinto the dispensations of God? I will bid the other servants hold aloofwhile you are reckoning the tale of the Sahib's property. They are allthieves, and would steal.'

  'As far as I can make out, he died from--oh, anything; stoppage of theheart's action, heat-apoplexy, or some other visitation,' said Spurstowto his companions. 'We must make an inventory of his effects, and soon.'

  'He was scared to death,' insisted Lowndes. 'Look at those eyes! Forpity's sake don't let him be buried with them open!'

  'Whatever it was, he's clear of all the trouble now,' said Mottramsoftly.

  Spurstow was peering into the open eyes.

  'Come here,' said he. 'Can you see anything there?'

  'I can't face it!' whimpered Lowndes. 'Cover up the face! Is there anyfear on earth that can turn a man into that likeness? It's ghastly. Oh,Spurstow, cover it up!'

  'No fear--on earth,' said Spurstow. Mottram leaned over his shoulder andlooked intently.

  'I see nothing except some gray blurs in the pupil. There can be nothingthere, you know.'

  'Even so. Well, let's think. It'll take half a day to knock up any sortof coffin; and he must have died at midnight. Lowndes, old man, go outand tell the coolies to break ground next to Jevins's grave. Mottram,go round the house with Chuma and see that the seals are put on things.Send a couple of men to me here, and I'll arrange.'

  The strong-armed servants when they returned to their own kind told astrange story of the doctor Sahib vainly trying to call their masterback to life by magic arts,--to wit, the holding of a little greenbox that clicked to each of the dead man's eyes, and of a bewilderedmuttering on the part of the doctor Sahib, who took the little green boxaway with him.

  The resonant hammering of a coffin-lid is no pleasant thing to hear, butthose who have experience maintain that much more terrible is the softswish of the bed-linen, the reeving and unreeving of the bed-tapes,when he who has fallen by the roadside is apparelled for burial, sinkinggradually as the tapes are tied over, till the swaddled shape touchesthe floor and there is no protest against the indignity of hastydisposal.

  At the last moment Lowndes was seized with scruples of conscience.'Ought you to read the service,--from beginning to end?' said he toSpurstow.

  'I intend to. You're my senior as a civilian. You can take it if youlike.'

  'I didn't mean that for a moment. I only thought if we could get achaplain from somewhere,--I'm willing to ride anywhere,--and give poorHummil a better chance. That's all.'

  'Bosh!' said Spurstow, as he framed his lips to the tremendous wordsthat stand at the head of the burial service.

  After breakfast they smoked a pipe in silence to the memory of the dead.Then Spurstow said absently--

  ''Tisn't in medical science.'

  'What?'

  'Things in a dead man's eye.'

  'For goodness' sake leave that horror alone!' said Lowndes. 'I've seena native die of pure fright when a tiger chivied him. I know what killedHummil.'

  'The deuce you do! I'm going to try to see.' And the doctor retreatedinto the bath-room with a Kodak camera. After a few minutes there wasthe sound of something being hammered to pieces, and he emerged, verywhite indeed.

  'Have you got a picture?' said Mottram. 'What does the thing look like?'

  'It was impossible, of course. You needn't look, Mottram. I've torn upthe films. There was nothing there. It was impossible.'

  'That,' said Lowndes, very distinctly, watching the shaking handstriving to relight the pipe, 'is a damned lie.'

  Mottram laughed uneasily. 'Spurstow's right,' he said. 'We're all insuch a state now that we'd believe anything. For pity's sake let's tryto be rational.'

  There was no further speech for a long time. The hot wind whistledwithout, and the dry trees sobbed. Presently the daily train, winkingbrass, burnished steel, and spouting steam, pulled up panting in theintense glare. 'We'd better go on on that,' said Spurstow. 'Go back towork. I've written my certificate. We can't do any more good here, andwork'll keep our wits together. Come on.'

  No one moved. It is not pleasant to face railway journeys at mid-dayin June. Spurstow gathered up his hat and whip, and, turning in thedoorway, said--

  'There may be Heaven,--there must be Hell. Meantime, there is our lifehere. We-ell?'

  Neither Mottram nor Lowndes had any answer to the question.