No More Learning

"

"Going to make a mistake," went on Mrs. Mallowe, composedly. "It is
impossible to start a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more to the
point. "

"Perhaps, but why? It seems so easy. "

"Just what makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there in
Simla? "

"Myself and yourself," said Mrs. Hauksbee, without a moment's
hesitation.

"Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how many
clever men? "

"Oh--er--hundreds," said Mrs. Hauksbee, vaguely.

"What a fatal blunder! Not one. They are all bespoke of the Government.
Take my husband, for instance. Jack was a clever man, though I say so
who shouldn't. Government has eaten him up. All his ideas and powers of
conversation--he really used to be a good talker, even to his wife,
in the old days--are taken from him by this--this kitchen-sink of a
Government. That's the case with every man up here who is at work. I
don't suppose a Russian convict under the knout is able to amuse the
rest of his gang; and all our men-folk here are gilded convicts. "

"But there are scores--"

"I know what you're going to say. Scores of idle men up on leave. I
admit it, but they are all of two objectionable sets, The Civilian who'd
be delightful if he had the military man's knowledge of the world and
style, and the military man who'd be adorable if lie had the Civilian's
culture. "

"Detestable word! Have Civilians Culchaw? I never studied the breed
deeply. "

"Don't make fun of Jack's service. Yes. They're like the teapots in the
Lakka Bazar--good material but not polished. They can't help themselves,
poor dears. A Civilian only begins to be tolerable after he has knocked
about the world for fifteen years. "

"And a military man? "

"When he has had the same amount of service. The young of both species
are horrible. You would have scores of them in your salon. "

"I would not! " said Mrs. Hauksbee, fiercely. "I would tell the bearer to
darwaza band them. I'd put their own colonels and commissioners at the
door to turn them away. I'd give them to the Topsham girl to play with. "

"The Topsham girl would be grateful for the gift. But to go back to the
salon. Allowing that you had gathered all your men and women together,
what would you do with them? Make them talk? They would all with one
accord begin to flirt. Your salon would become a glorified Peliti's--a
'Scandal Point' by lamplight. "

"There's a certain amount of wisdom in that view. "

"There's all the wisdom in the world in it. Surely, twelve Simla seasons
ought to have taught you that you can't focus anything in India; and
a salon, to be any good at all, must be permanent. In two seasons your
roomful would be scattered all over Asia. We are only little bits of
dirt on the hillsides--here one day and blown down the khud the next.
We have lost the art of talking--at least our men have. We have no
cohesion"--

"George Eliot in the flesh," interpolated Mrs. Hauksbee, wickedly.

"And collectively, my dear scoffer, we, men and women alike, have no
influence.

"Come into the veranda and look at the Mall! "

The two looked down on the now rapidly filling road, for all Simla was
abroad to steal a stroll between a shower and a fog.

"How do you propose to fix that river? Look! There's The Mussuck--head
of goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he does eat
like a costermonger. There's Colonel Blone, and General Grucher, and Sir
Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr. Jellalatty. All Heads of
Departments, and all powerful. "

"And all my fervent admirers," said Mrs. Hauksbee, piously. "Sir Henry
Haughton raves about me. But go on. "

"One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they're just
a mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your salon
won't weld the Departments together and make you mistress of India,
dear. And these creatures won't talk administrative 'shop' in a
crowd--your salon--because they are so afraid of the men in the lower
ranks overhearing it. They have forgotten what of Literature and Art
they ever knew, and the women"--

"Can't talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of
their last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning. "

"You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the
subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views
admirably, if you respected the religious prejudices of the country and
provided plenty of kala juggahs. "

"Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a
salon! But who made you so awfully clever? "

"Perhaps I've tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I have
preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion thereof"--

"You needn't go on. 'Is Vanity. ' Polly, I thank you. These vermin--"
Mrs. Hauksbee waved her hand from the veranda to two men in the crowd
below who had raised their hats to her--"these vermin shall not rejoice
in a new Scandal Point or an extra Peliti's. I will abandon the notion
of a salon. It did seem so tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must
do something. "

"Why? Are not Abana and Pharphar"--

"Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself! I want to, of course. I'm
tired of everything and everybody, from a moonlight picnic at Seepee to
the blandishments of The Mussuck. "

"Yes--that comes, too, sooner or later, Have you nerve enough to make
your bow yet? "

Mrs. Hauksbee's mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. "I think I
see myself doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall: 'Mrs. Hauksbee!
Positively her last appearance on any stage! This is to give notice! ' No
more dances; no more rides; no more luncheons; no more theatricals with
supper to follow; no more sparring with one's dearest, dearest friend;
no more fencing with an inconvenient man who hasn't wit enough to clothe
what he's pleased to call his sentiments in passable speech; no more
parading of The Mussuck while Mrs. Tarkass calls all round Simla,
spreading horrible stories about me? No more of anything that is
thoroughly wearying, abominable and detestable, but, all the same, makes
life worth the having. Yes! I see it all! Don't interrupt, Polly,
I'm inspired. A mauve and white striped 'cloud' round my excellent
shoulders, a seat in the fifth row of the Gaiety, and both horses sold.
Delightful vision! A comfortable armchair, situated in three different
draughts, at every ballroom; and nice, large, sensible shoes for all
the couples to stumble over as they go into the veranda! Then at
supper. Can't you imagine the scene? The greedy mob gone away. Reluctant
subaltern, pink all over like a newly-powdered baby--they really ought
to tan subalterns before they are exported--Polly--sent back by the
hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the room, tugging at
a glove two sizes too large for him--I hate a man who wears gloves like
overcoats--and trying to look as if he'd thought of it from the first.
'May I ah--have the pleasure 'f takin' you 'nt' supper? ' Then I get up
with a hungry smile. Just like this. "

"Lucy, how can you be so absurd? "

"And sweep out on his arm. So! After supper I shall go away early, you
know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will look for
my 'rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always with that mauve
and white 'cloud' over my head, while the wet soaks into my dear, old,
venerable feet and Tom swears and shouts for the mem-sahib's gharri.
Then home to bed at half-past eleven! Truly excellent life helped out
by the visits of the Padri, just fresh from burying somebody down
below there. " She pointed through the pines, toward the Cemetery, and
continued with vigorous dramatic gesture--"Listen! I see it all down,
down even to the stays! Such stays! Six-eight a pair, Polly, with red
flannel--or list is it? --that they put into the tops of those fearful
things. I can draw you a picture of them. "

"Lucy, for Heaven's sake, don't go waving your arms about in that
idiotic manner! Recollect, every one can see you from the Mall. "

"Let them see! They'll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. Look!
There's The Mussuck. How badly he rides. There! "

She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite
grace.

"Now," she continued, "he'll be chaffed about that at the Club in the
delicate manner those brutes of men affect, and the Hawley Boy will tell
me all about it--softening the details for fear of shocking me. That boy
is too good to live, Polly. I've serious thoughts of recommending him to
throw up his Commission and go into the Church. In his present frame of
mind he would obey me. Happy, happy child. "

"Never again," said Mrs. Mallowe, with an affectation of indignation,
"shall you tiffin here! 'Lucindy, your behavior is scand'lus. '"

"All your fault," retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, "for suggesting such a thing
as my abdication. No! Jamais--nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, frivol,
talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate captives of any
woman I choose until I d-r-r-rop or a better woman than I puts me to
shame before all Simla--and it's dust and ashes in my mouth while I'm
doing it! "

She swept into the drawing-room, Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm
round her waist.

"I'm not! " said Mrs. Hauksbee, defiantly, rummaging for her
handkerchief. "I've been dining out the last ten nights, and rehearsing
in the afternoon. You'd be tired yourself. It's only because I'm tired. "

Mrs. Mallowe did not offer Mrs. Hauksbee any pity or ask her to lie
down, but gave her another cup of tea, and went on with the talk.

"I've been through that too, dear," she said.

"I remember," said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. "In '84
wasn't it? You went out a great deal less next season. "

Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinxlike fashion.

"I became an Influence," said she.

"Good gracious, child, you didn't join the Theosophists and kiss
Buddha's big toe, did you? I tried to get into their set once, but they
cast me out for a skeptic--without a chance of improving my poor little
mind, too. "

"No, I didn't Theosophilander. Jack says"--

"Never mind Jack. What a husband says is known before. What did you do? "

"I made a lasting impression. "

"So have I--for four months. But that didn't console me in the least. I
hated the man. Will you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and tell me
what you mean? "

Mrs. Mallowe told.

* * * * * *

"And--you--mean--to--say that it is absolutely Platonic on both sides? "

"Absolutely, or I should never have taken it up.
"

"And his last promotion was due to you? "

Mrs. Mallowe nodded.

"And you warned him against the Topsham girl? "

Another nod.

"And told him of Sir Dugald Delane's private memo about him? "

A third nod.

"Why? "

"What a question to ask a woman! Because it amused me at first. I am
proud of my property now. If I live he shall continue to be successful.
Yes, I will put him upon the straight road to Knighthood, and everything
else that a man values. The rest depends upon himself. "

"Polly, you are a most extraordinary woman. "

"Not in the least. I'm concentrated, that's all. You diffuse yourself,
dear; and though all Simla knows your skill in managing a team"--

"Can't you choose a prettier word? "

"Team, of half a dozen, from The Mussuck to the Hawley Boy, you gain
nothing by it. Not even amusement. "

"And you? "

"Try my recipe. Take a man, not a boy, mind, but an almost mature,
unattached man, and be this guide, philosopher, and friend. You'll find
it the most interesting occupation that you ever embarked on. It can be
done--you needn't look like that--because I've done it. "

"There's an element of risk about it that makes the notion attractive.
I'll get such a man and say to him, 'Now, understand that there must be
no flirtation. Do exactly what I tell you, profit by my instruction and
counsels, and all will yet be well,' as Toole says. Is that the idea? "

"More or less," said Mrs. Mallowe with an unfathomable smile. "But be
sure he understands that there must be no flirtation. "


II

Dribble-dribble-trickle-trickle
What a lot of raw dust!
My dollie's had an accident
And out came all the sawdust! --Nursery Rhyme.

So Mrs. Hauksbee, in "The Foundry" which overlooks Simla Mall, sat at
the feet of Mrs. Mallowe and gathered wisdom. The end of the Conference
was the Great Idea upon which Mrs. Hauksbee so plumed herself.

"I warn you," said Mrs. Mallowe, beginning to repent of her suggestion,
"that the matter is not half so easy as it looks. Any woman--even the
Topsham girl--can catch a man, but very, very few know how to manage him
when caught. "

"My child," was the answer, "I've been a female St. Simon Stylites
looking down upon men for these--these years past. Ask The Mussuck
whether I can manage them. "

Mrs. Hauksbee departed humming, "I'll go to him and say to him in manner
most ironical. " Mrs. Mallowe laughed to herself. Then she grew suddenly
sober. "I wonder whether I've done well in advising that amusement?
Lucy's a clever woman, but a thought too careless. "

A week later, the two met at a Monday Pop. "Well? " said Mrs. Mallowe.

"I've caught him! " said Mrs. Hauksbee; her eyes were dancing with
merriment.

"Who is it, mad woman? I'm sorry I ever spoke to you about it. "

"Look between the pillars. In the third row; fourth from the end. You
can see his face now. Look! "

"Otis Yeere! Of all the improbable and impossible people! I don't
believe you. "

"Hsh! Wait till Mrs. Tarkass begins murdering Milton Wellings; and I'll
tell you all about it. S-s-ss! That woman's voice always reminds me of
an Underground train coming into Earl's Court with the brakes on. Now
listen. It is really Otis Yeere. "

"So I see, but does it follow that he is your property? "

"He is! By right of trove. I found him, lonely and unbefriended, the
very next night after our talk, at the Dugald Delane's burra-khana. I
liked his eyes, and I talked to him. Next day he called. Next day we
went for a ride together, and today he's tied to my 'rickshaw-wheels
hand and foot. You'll see when the concert's over. He doesn't know I'm
here yet. "

"Thank goodness you haven't chosen a boy. What are you going to do with
him, assuming that you've got him? "

"Assuming, indeed! Does a woman--do I--ever make a mistake in that sort
of thing? First"--Mrs. Hauksbee ticked off the items ostentatiously on
her little gloved fingers--"First, my dear, I shall dress him properly.
At present his raiment is a disgrace, and he wears a dress shirt like
a crumpled sheet of the 'Pioneer'. Secondly, after I have made him
presentable, I shall form his manners--his morals are above reproach. "

"You seem to have discovered a great deal about him considering the
shortness of your acquaintance. "

"Surely you ought to know that the first proof a man gives of his
interest in a woman is by talking to her about his own sweet self.
If the woman listens without yawning, he begins to like her. If she
flatters the animal's vanity, he ends by adoring her. "

"In some cases. "

"Never mind the exceptions. I know which one you are thinking of.
Thirdly, and lastly, after he is polished and made pretty, I shall, as
you said, be his guide, philosopher and friend, and he shall become a
success--as great a success as your friend. I always wondered how
that man got on. Did The Mussuck come to you with the Civil List and,
dropping on one knee--no, two knees, a' la Gibbon--hand it to you and
say, 'Adorable angel, choose your friend's appointment'? "

"Lucy, your long experiences of the Military Department have demoralized
you. One doesn't do that sort of thing on the Civil Side. "

"No disrespect meant to Jack's Service, my dear. I only asked for
information. Give me three months, and see what changes I shall work in
my prey. "

"Go your own way since you must. But I'm sorry that I was weak enough to
suggest the amusement. "

"'I am all discretion, and may be trusted to an in-finite extent,'"
quoted Mrs. Hauksbee from The Fallen Angel; and the conversation ceased
with Mrs. Tarkass's last, long-drawn war-whoop.

Her bitterest enemies--and she had many--could hardly accuse Mrs.
Hauksbee of wasting her time. Otis Yeere was one of those wandering
"dumb" characters, foredoomed through life to be nobody's property. Ten
years in Her Majesty's Bengal Civil Service, spent, for the most part,
in undesirable Districts, had given him little to be proud of, and
nothing to bring confidence. Old enough to have lost the first
fine careless rapture that showers on the immature 'Stunt imaginary
Commissionerships and Stars, and sends him into the collar with coltish
earnestness and abandon; too young to be yet able to look back upon the
progress he had made, and thank Providence that under the conditions of
the day he had come even so far, he stood upon the "dead-centre" of his
career. And when a man stands still, he feels the slightest impulse from
without. Fortune had ruled that Otis Yeere should be, for the first part
of his service, one of the rank and file who are ground up in the wheels
of the Administration; losing heart and soul, and mind and strength,
in the process. Until steam replaces manual power in the working of the
Empire, there must always be this percentage--must always be the men
who are used up, expended, in the mere mechanical routine. For these
promotion is far off and the mill-grind of every day very near and
instant. The Secretariats know them only by name; they are not the
picked men of the Districts with the Divisions and Collectorates
awaiting them. They are simply the rank and file--the food for
fever--sharing with the ryot and the plough-bullock the honor of being
the plinth on which the State rests. The older ones have lost their
aspirations; the younger are putting theirs aside with a sigh. Both
learn to endure patiently until the end of the day. Twelve years in the
rank and file, men say, will sap the hearts of the bravest and dull the
wits of the most keen.

Out of this life Otis Yeere had fled for a few months, drifting, for the
sake of a little masculine society, into Simla. When his leave was over
he would return to his swampy, sour-green, undermanned district,
the native Assistant, the native Doctor, the native Magistrate, the
steaming, sweltering Station, the ill-kempt City, and the undisguised
insolence of the Municipality that babbled away the lives of men. Life
was cheap, however. The soil spawned humanity, as it bred frogs in
the Rains, and the gap of the sickness of one season was filled to
overflowing by the fecundity of the next. Otis was unfeignedly thankful
to lay down his work for a little while and escape from the seething,
whining, weakly hive, impotent to help itself, but strong in its power
to cripple, thwart, and annoy the weary-eyed man who, by official irony,
was said to be "in charge" of it.

* * * * *

"I knew there were women-dowdies in Bengal. They come up here sometimes.
But I didn't know that there were men-dowdies, too. "

Then, for the first time, it occurred to Otis Yeere that his clothes
were rather ancestral in appearance. It will be seen from the above that
his friendship with Mrs Hauksbee had made great strides.

As that lady truthfully says, a man is never so happy as when he is
talking about himself. From Otis Yeere's lips Mrs Hauksbee, before long,
learned everything that she wished to know about the subject of her
experiment; learned what manner of life he had led in what she vaguely
called "those awful cholera districts"; learned too, but this knowledge
came later, what manner of life he had purposed to lead and what dreams
he had dreamed in the year of grace '77, before the reality had knocked
the heart out of him. Very pleasant are the shady bridle-paths round
Prospect Hill for the telling of such confidences.

"Not yet," said Mrs. Hauksbee to Mrs. Mallowe. "Not yet. I must wait
until the man is properly dressed, at least. Great Heavens, is it
possible that he doesn't know what an honor it is to be taken up by Me! "

Mrs. Hauksbee did not reckon false modesty as one of her failings.

"Always with Mrs. Hauksbee! " murmured Mrs. Mallowe, with her sweetest
smile, to Otis. "Oh you men, you men! Here are our Punjabis growling
because you've monopolized the nicest woman in Simla. They'll tear you
to pieces on the Mall, some day, Mr. Yeere. "

Mrs. Mallowe rattled down-hill, having satisfied herself, by a glance
through the fringe of her sunshade, of the effect of her words.

The shot went home. Of a surety Otis Yeere was somebody in this
bewildering whirl of Simla--had monopolized the nicest woman in it and
the Punjabis were growling. The notion justified a mild glow of vanity.
He had never looked upon his acquaintance with Mrs. Hauksbee as a matter
for general interest.

The knowledge of envy was a pleasant feeling to the man of no account.
It was intensified later in the day when a luncher at the Club said,
spitefully, "Well, for a debilitated Ditcher, Yeere, you are going it.
Hasn't any kind friend told you that she's the most dangerous woman in
Simla? "

Yeere chuckled and passed out. When, oh when, would his new clothes be
ready? He descended into the Mall to inquire; and Mrs. Hauksbee,
coming over the Church Ridge in her 'rickshaw, looked down upon him
approvingly. "He's learning to carry himself as if he were a man,
instead of a piece of furniture, and"--she screwed up her eyes to see
the better through the sunlight--"he is a man when he holds himself like
that. Oh blessed Conceit, what should we be without you? "

With the new clothes came a new stock of self-confidence. Otis Yeere
discovered that he could enter a room without breaking into a gentle
perspiration--could cross one, even to talk to Mrs. Hauksbee, as though
rooms were meant to be crossed. He was for the first time in nine years
proud of himself, and contented with his life, satisfied with his new
clothes, and rejoicing in the friendship of Mrs. Hauksbee.

"Conceit is what the poor fellow wants," she said in confidence to Mrs.
Mallowe. "I believe they must use Civilians to plough the fields with in
Lower Bengal. You see I have to begin from the very beginning--haven't
I? But you'll admit, won't you, dear, that he is immensely improved
since I took him in hand. Only give me a little more time and he won't
know himself. "

Indeed, Yeere was rapidly beginning to forget what he had been. One of
his own rank and file put the matter brutally when he asked Yeere, in
reference to nothing, "And who has been making you a Member of Council,
lately? You carry the side of half a dozen of 'em. "

"I--I'm awf'ly sorry. I didn't mean it, you know," said Yeere,
apologetically.

"There'll be no holding you," continued the old stager, grimly. "Climb
down, Otis--climb down, and get all that beastly affectation knocked out
of you with fever! Three thousand a month wouldn't support it. "

Yeere repeated the incident to Mrs. Hauksbee. He had come to look upon
her as his Mother Confessor.

"And you apologized! " she said. "Oh, shame! I hate a man who apologizes.
Never apologize for what your friend called 'side. ' Never! It's a man's
business to be insolent and overbearing until he meets with a stronger.