No More Learning

Careless, and touched in the temper? " said the
Nilghai. "It isn't worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the
fool with a woman. "

"Isn't that bad enough? "

"No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for
a while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the
staircase: one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you
had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle. "

"No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned
fellow. "

"He'll get that knocked out of him in time. He must learn that he can't
storm up and down the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick brush.
You're fond of him? "

"I'd take any punishment that's in store for him if I could; but the
worst of it is, no man can save his brother. "

"No, and the worser of it is, there is no discharge in this war. Dick
must learn his lesson like the rest of us. Talking of war, there'll be
trouble in the Balkans in the spring. "

"That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag Dick out there
when it comes off? "

Dick entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him.

"Not good enough," he said shortly. "I'm too comf'y where I am. "

"Surely you aren't taking all the stuff in the papers seriously? " said
the Nilghai. "Your vogue will be ended in less than six months,--the
public will know your touch and go on to something new,--and where will
you be then? "

"Here, in England. "

"When you might be doing decent work among us out there? Nonsense! I
shall go, the Keneu will be there, Torp will be there, Cassavetti will
be there, and the whole lot of us will be there, and we shall have as
much as ever we can do, with unlimited fighting and the chance for you
of seeing things that would make the reputation of three Verestchagins. "

"Um! " said Dick, pulling at his pipe.

"You prefer to stay here and imagine that all the world is gaping at
your pictures? Just think how full an average man's life is of his own
pursuits and pleasures. When twenty thousand of him find time to look
up between mouthfuls and grunt something about something they aren't
the least interested in, the net result is called fame, reputation, or
notoriety, according to the taste and fancy of the speller my lord. "

"I know that as well as you do. Give me credit for a little gumption. "

"Be hanged if I do! "

"Be hanged, then; you probably will be,--for a spy, by excited Turks.
Heigh-ho! I'm weary, dead weary, and virtue has gone out of me. " Dick
dropped into a chair, and was fast asleep in a minute.

"That's a bad sign," said the Nilghai, in an undertone.

Torpenhow picked the pipe from the waistcoat where it was beginning to
burn, and put a pillow behind the head. "We can't help; we can't help,"
he said. "It's a good ugly sort of old cocoanut, and I'm fond of it.
There's the scar of the wipe he got when he was cut over in the square. "

"Shouldn't wonder if that has made him a trifle mad. "

"I should. He's a most businesslike madman. "

Then Dick began to snore furiously.

"Oh, here, no affection can stand this sort of thing. Wake up, Dick, and
go and sleep somewhere else, if you intend to make a noise about it. "

"When a cat has been out on the tiles all night," said the Nilghai, in
his beard, "I notice that she usually sleeps all day. This is natural
history. "

Dick staggered away rubbing his eyes and yawning. In the night-watches
he was overtaken with an idea, so simple and so luminous that he
wondered he had never conceived it before. It was full of craft. He
would seek Maisie on a week-day,--would suggest an excursion, and would
take her by train to Fort Keeling, over the very ground that they two
had trodden together ten years ago.

"As a general rule," he explained to his chin-lathered reflection in the
morning, "it isn't safe to cross an old trail twice. Things remind one
of things, and a cold wind gets up, and you feel sad; but this is an
exception to every rule that ever was. I'll go to Maisie at once. "

Fortunately, the red-haired girl was out shopping when he arrived, and
Maisie in a paint-spattered blouse was warring with her canvas. She was
not pleased to see him; for week-day visits were a stretch of the bond;
and it needed all his courage to explain his errand.

"I know you've been working too hard," he concluded, with an air of
authority. "If you do that, you'll break down. You had much better
come. "

"Where? " said Maisie, wearily. She had been standing before her easel
too long, and was very tired.

"Anywhere you please. We'll take a train tomorrow and see where it
stops. We'll have lunch somewhere, and I'll bring you back in the
evening. "

"If there's a good working light tomorrow, I lose a day. " Maisie
balanced the heavy white chestnut palette irresolutely.

Dick bit back an oath that was hurrying to his lips. He had not yet
learned patience with the maiden to whom her work was all in all.

"You'll lose ever so many more, dear, if you use every hour of working
light. Overwork's only murderous idleness. Don't be unreasonable. I'll
call for you tomorrow after breakfast early. "

"But surely you are going to ask----"

"No, I am not. I want you and nobody else. Besides, she hates me as much
as I hate her. She won't care to come. Tomorrow, then; and pray that we
get sunshine. "

Dick went away delighted, and by consequence did no work whatever.

He strangled a wild desire to order a special train, but bought a great
gray kangaroo cloak lined with glossy black marten, and then retired
into himself to consider things.

"I'm going out for the day tomorrow with Dick," said Maisie to the
red-haired girl when the latter returned, tired, from marketing in the
Edgware road.

"He deserves it. I shall have the studio floor thoroughly scrubbed while
you're away. It's very dirty. "

Maisie had enjoyed no sort of holiday for months and looked forward to
the little excitement, but not without misgivings.

"There's nobody nicer than Dick when he talks sensibly," she thought,
"but I'm sure he'll be silly and worry me, and I'm sure I can't tell him
anything he'd like to hear. If he'd only be sensible, I should like him
so much better. "

Dick's eyes were full of joy when he made his appearance next morning
and saw Maisie, gray-ulstered and black-velvet-hatted, standing in the
hallway. Palaces of marble, and not sordid imitation of grained wood,
were surely the fittest background for such a divinity. The red-haired
girl drew her into the studio for a moment and kissed her hurriedly.

Maisie's eyebrows climbed to the top of her forehead; she was altogether
unused to these demonstrations. "Mind my hat," she said, hurrying away,
and ran down the steps to Dick waiting by the hansom.

"Are you quite warm enough! Are you sure you wouldn't like some more
breakfast? Put the cloak over your knees. "

"I'm quite comf'y, thanks. Where are we going, Dick? Oh, do stop singing
like that. People will think we're mad. "

"Let 'em think,--if the exertion doesn't kill them. They don't know who
we are, and I'm sure I don't care who they are. My faith, Maisie, you're
looking lovely! "

Maisie stared directly in front of her and did not reply. The wind of a
keen clear winter morning had put colour into her cheeks. Overhead,
the creamy-yellow smoke-clouds were thinning away one by one against a
pale-blue sky, and the improvident sparrows broke off from water-spout
committees and cab-rank cabals to clamour of the coming of spring.

"It will be lovely weather in the country," said Dick.

"But where are we going? "

"Wait and see. "

The stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought tickets. For less than half the
fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by the
waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man to the
booking-office than to elbow one's own way through the crowd. Dick put
her into a Pullman,--solely on account of the warmth there; and she
regarded the extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train moved
out into the country.

"I wish I knew where we are going," she repeated for the twentieth time.

The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of the
run, and Maisie was delighted.

"Oh, Dick, you villain! "

"Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven't been
here since the old times, have you? "

"No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was
ever there. "

"Not quite. Look out a minute. There's the windmill above the
potato-fields; they haven't built villas there yet; d'you remember when
I shut you up in it? "

"Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you. "

"She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was
burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a
trusting nature in those days. "

They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with
many reminiscences. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie's
cheek, very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear
skin. He congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the
evening would bring him a great reward.

When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new
eyes. First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs.
Jennett.

"Suppose she should come out now, what would you do? " said Dick, with
mock terror.

"I should make a face. "

"Show, then," said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood.

Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and
Dick laughed.

"'This is disgraceful,'" said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. Jennett's tone.
"'Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and epistle
for the next three Sundays. After all I've taught you, too, and three
helps every Sunday at dinner! Dick's always leading you into mischief.
If you aren't a gentleman, Dick, you might at least. . . '"

The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been
used.

"'Try to behave like one,'" said Dick, promptly. "Quite right. Now we'll
get some lunch and go on to Fort Keeling,--unless you'd rather drive
there? "

"We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all
is! "

They turned in the direction of the sea through unaltered streets,
and the influence of old things lay upon them. Presently they passed
a confectioner's shop much considered in the days when their joint
pocket-money amounted to a shilling a week.

"Dick, have you any pennies? " said Maisie, half to herself.

"Only three; and if you think you're going to have two of 'em to buy
peppermints with, you're wrong. She says peppermints aren't ladylike. "

Again they laughed, and again the colour came into Maisie's cheeks as
the blood boiled through Dick's heart. After a large lunch they went
down to the beach and to Fort Keeling across the waste, wind-bitten land
that no builder had thought it worth his while to defile. The winter
breeze came in from the sea and sang about their ears.

"Maisie," said Dick, "your nose is getting a crude Prussian blue at the
tip. I'll race you as far as you please for as much as you please. "

She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh set off, swiftly as the
ulster allowed, till she was out of breath.

"We used to run miles," she panted. "It's absurd that we can't run now. "

"Old age, dear. This it is to get fat and sleek in town. When I wished
to pull your hair you generally ran for three miles, shrieking at the
top of your voice. I ought to know, because those shrieks of yours were
meant to call up Mrs. Jennett with a cane and----"

"Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in my life. "

"No, of course you never did. Good heavens! look at the sea. "

"Why, it's the same as ever! " said Maisie.

Torpenhow had gathered from Mr. Beeton that Dick, properly dressed and
shaved, had left the house at half-past eight in the morning with a
travelling-rug over his arm. The Nilghai rolled in at mid-day for chess
and polite conversation.

"It's worse than anything I imagined," said Torpenhow.

"Oh, the everlasting Dick, I suppose! You fuss over him like a hen with
one chick. Let him run riot if he thinks it'll amuse him. You can whip a
young pup off feather, but you can't whip a young man. "

"It isn't a woman. It's one woman; and it's a girl. "

"Where's your proof? "

"He got up and went out at eight this morning,--got up in the middle of
the night, by Jove! a thing he never does except when he's on service.
Even then, remember, we had to kick him out of his blankets before the
fight began at El-Maghrib. It's disgusting. "

"It looks odd; but maybe he's decided to buy a horse at last. He might
get up for that, mightn't he? "

"Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He'd have told us if there was a horse in
the wind. It's a girl. "

"Don't be certain. Perhaps it's only a married woman. "

"Dick has some sense of humour, if you haven't. Who gets up in the gray
dawn to call on another man's wife? It's a girl. "

"Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him that there's somebody else in
the world besides himself. "

"She'll spoil his hand. She'll waste his time, and she'll marry him, and
ruin his work for ever. He'll be a respectable married man before we can
stop him, and--he'll ever go on the long trail again. "

"All quite possible, but the earth won't spin the other way when that
happens. . . . No! ho! I'd give something to see Dick 'go wooing with
the boys. ' Don't worry about it. These things be with Allah, and we can
only look on. Get the chessmen. "

The red-haired girl was lying down in her own room, staring at the
ceiling. The footsteps of people on the pavement sounded, as they grew
indistinct in the distance, like a many-times-repeated kiss that was
all one long kiss. Her hands were by her side, and they opened and shut
savagely from time to time.

The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of the studio knocked at her
door: "Beg y' pardon, miss, but in cleanin' of a floor there's two,
not to say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an' mottled, an'
disinfectink. Now, jist before I took my pail into the passage I though
it would be pre'aps jest as well if I was to come up 'ere an' ask you
what sort of soap you was wishful that I should use on them boards. The
yaller soap, miss----"

There was nothing in the speech to have caused the paroxysm of fury
that drove the red-haired girl into the middle of the room, almost
shouting--"Do you suppose I care what you use? Any kind will do! --any
kind! "

The woman fled, and the red-haired girl looked at her own reflection in
the glass for an instant and covered her face with her hands. It was as
though she had shouted some shameless secret aloud.



CHAPTER VII

Roses red and roses white
Plucked I for my love's delight.

She would none of all my posies,--
Bade me gather her blue roses.

Half the world I wandered through,
Seeking where such flowers grew;
Half the world unto my quest
Answered but with laugh and jest.

It may be beyond the grave
She shall find what she would have.

Mine was but an idle quest,--
Roses white and red are best!
----Blue Roses

Indeed the sea had not changed. Its waters were low on the mud-banks,
and the Marazion Bell-buoy clanked and swung in the tide-way. On the
white beach-sand dried stumps of sea-poppy shivered and chattered.

"I don't see the old breakwater," said Maisie, under her breath.

"Let's be thankful that we have as much as we have. I don't believe
they've mounted a single new gun on the fort since we were here. Come
and look. "

They came to the glacis of Fort Keeling, and sat down in a nook
sheltered from the wind under the tarred throat of a forty-pounder
cannon.

"Now, if Ammoma were only here! " said Maisie.

For a long time both were silent. Then Dick took Maisie's hand and
called her by her name.

She shook her head and looked out to sea.

"Maisie, darling, doesn't it make any difference? "

"No! " between clenched teeth. "I'd--I'd tell you if it did; but it
doesn't. Oh, Dick, please be sensible. "

"Don't you think that it ever will? "

"No, I'm sure it won't. "

"Why? "

Maisie rested her chin on her hand, and, still regarding the sea, spoke
hurriedly--"I know what you want perfectly well, but I can't give it to
you, Dick. It isn't my fault; indeed, it isn't. If I felt that I
could care for any one----But I don't feel that I care. I simply don't
understand what the feeling means. "

"Is that true, dear? "

"You've been very good to me, Dickie; and the only way I can pay you
back is by speaking the truth. I daren't tell a fib. I despise myself
quite enough as it is. "

"What in the world for? "

"Because--because I take everything that you give me and I give you
nothing in return. It's mean and selfish of me, and whenever I think of
it it worries me. "

"Understand once for all, then, that I can manage my own affairs, and if
I choose to do anything you aren't to blame. You haven't a single thing
to reproach yourself with, darling. "

"Yes, I have, and talking only makes it worse. "

"Then don't talk about it. "

"How can I help myself? If you find me alone for a minute you are always
talking about it; and when you aren't you look it. You don't know how I
despise myself sometimes. "

"Great goodness! " said Dick, nearly jumping to his feet. "Speak the
truth now, Maisie, if you never speak it again! Do I--does this worrying
bore you? "

"No. It does not. "

"You'd tell me if it did? "

"I should let you know, I think. "

"Thank you. The other thing is fatal. But you must learn to forgive
a man when he's in love. He's always a nuisance. You must have known
that? "

Maisie did not consider the last question worth answering, and Dick was
forced to repeat it.

"There were other men, of course. They always worried just when I was in
the middle of my work, and wanted me to listen to them. "

"Did you listen? "

"At first; and they couldn't understand why I didn't care. And they used
to praise my pictures; and I thought they meant it. I used to be proud
of the praise, and tell Kami, and--I shall never forget--once Kami
laughed at me. "

"You don't like being laughed at, Maisie, do you? "

"I hate it. I never laugh at other people unless--unless they do
bad work. Dick, tell me honestly what you think of my pictures
generally,--of everything of mine that you've seen. "

"'Honest, honest, and honest over! '" quoted Dick from a catchword of
long ago. "Tell me what Kami always says. "

Maisie hesitated. "He--he says that there is feeling in them. "

"How dare you tell me a fib like that? Remember, I was under Kami for
two years. I know exactly what he says. "

"It isn't a fib. "

"It's worse; it's a half-truth. Kami says, when he puts his head on one
side,--so, 'Il y a du sentiment, mais il n'y a pas de parti pris. '" He
rolled the r threateningly, as Kami used to do.

"Yes, that is what he says; and I'm beginning to think that he is
right. "

"Certainly he is. " Dick admitted that two people in the world could do
and say no wrong. Kami was the man.

"And now you say the same thing. It's so disheartening. "

"I'm sorry, but you asked me to speak the truth. Besides, I love you
too much to pretend about your work. It's strong, it's patient
sometimes,--not always,--and sometimes there's power in it, but there's
no special reason why it should be done at all. At least, that's how it
strikes me. "

"There's no special reason why anything in the world should ever be
done. You know that as well as I do. I only want success. "

"You're going the wrong way to get it, then. Hasn't Kami ever told you
so? "

"Don't quote Kami to me. I want to know what you think. My work's bad,
to begin with. "

"I didn't say that, and I don't think it. "

"It's amateurish, then. "

"That it most certainly is not. You're a work-woman, darling, to your
boot-heels, and I respect you for that. "

"You don't laugh at me behind my back? "

"No, dear. You see, you are more to me than any one else. Put this cloak
thing round you, or you'll get chilled. "

Maisie wrapped herself in the soft marten skins, turning the gray
kangaroo fur to the outside. "This is delicious," she said, rubbing her
chin thoughtfully along the fur.

"Well? Why am I wrong in trying to get a little success? "

"Just because you try. Don't you understand, darling? Good work has
nothing to do with--doesn't belong to--the person who does it. It's put
into him or her from outside. "

"But how does that affect----"

"Wait a minute. All we can do is to learn how to do our work, to be
masters of our materials instead of servants, and never to be afraid of
anything. "

"I understand that. "

"Everything else comes from outside ourselves. Very good. If we sit down
quietly to work out notions that are sent to us, we may or we may not
do something that isn't bad. A great deal depends on being master of the
bricks and mortar of the trade. But the instant we begin to think
about success and the effect of our work--to play with one eye on the
gallery--we lose power and touch and everything else. At least that's
how I have found it. Instead of being quiet and giving every power
you possess to your work, you're fretting over something which you can
neither help no hinder by a minute. See? "

"It's so easy for you to talk in that way. People like what you do.
Don't you ever think about the gallery? "

"Much too often; but I'm always punished for it by loss of power. It's
as simple as the Rule of Three. If we make light of our work by using
it for our own ends, our work will make light of us, and, as we're the
weaker, we shall suffer. "

"I don't treat my work lightly. You know that it's everything to me. "

"Of course; but, whether you realise it or not, you give two strokes
for yourself to one for your work. It isn't your fault, darling. I do
exactly the same thing, and know that I'm doing it. Most of the French
schools, and all the schools here, drive the students to work for their
own credit, and for the sake of their pride. I was told that all
the world was interested in my work, and everybody at Kami's talked
turpentine, and I honestly believed that the world needed elevating and
influencing, and all manner of impertinences, by my brushes. By Jove, I
actually believed that! When my little head was bursting with a notion
that I couldn't handle because I hadn't sufficient knowledge of my
craft, I used to run about wondering at my own magnificence and getting
ready to astonish the world. "

"But surely one can do that sometimes? "

"Very seldom with malice aforethought, darling. And when it's done it's
such a tiny thing, and the world's so big, and all but a millionth part
of it doesn't care. Maisie, come with me and I'll show you something of
the size of the world. One can no more avoid working than eating,--that
goes on by itself,--but try to see what you are working for. I know such
little heavens that I could take you to,--islands tucked away under the
Line. You sight them after weeks of crashing through water as black as
black marble because it's so deep, and you sit in the fore-chains
day after day and see the sun rise almost afraid because the sea's so
lonely. "

"Who is afraid? --you, or the sun? "

"The sun, of course. And there are noises under the sea, and sounds
overhead in a clear sky. Then you find your island alive with hot moist
orchids that make mouths at you and can do everything except talk.
There's a waterfall in it three hundred feet high, just like a sliver of
green jade laced with silver; and millions of wild bees live up in the
rocks; and you can hear the fat cocoanuts falling from the palms; and
you order an ivory-white servant to sling you a long yellow hammock with
tassels on it like ripe maize, and you put up your feet and hear the
bees hum and the water fall till you go to sleep. "

"Can one work there? "

"Certainly. One must do something always. You hang your canvas up in a
palm tree and let the parrots criticise. When the scuffle you heave a
ripe custard-apple at them, and it bursts in a lather of cream. There
are hundreds of places. Come and see them. "

"I don't quite like that place. It sounds lazy. Tell me another. "

"What do you think of a big, red, dead city built of red sandstone,
with raw green aloes growing between the stones, lying out neglected on
honey-coloured sands?