A Galahad of the Creeks; The Widow Lamport

"The Scripture also says, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged,'" replied Galbraith. Elder Bullin lifted his eyes in smug satisfaction to the ceiling.

"I," he said, somewhat irrelevantly, "am sure of my salvation; are you of yours? Do you know where your footsteps lead you? Mine lead me to the golden gates."

At that moment the desire to say that he was walking blindly, and needed light more than any there, swept over Galbraith. He controlled himself with an effort, however, and sat still, leaning lightly on the table with his elbow.

"And furthermore," went on the elder, "the misguided youth has so far lost his respect for age that he has addressed me for forgiveness in poetry, and mocked me before my face." He laid the offending verses on the table as he spoke. "This is his writing," he said; "those who wish may read it."

Mr. Bunny stretched forth his hand and handed the paper to the pastor. Galbraith read it with an amusement he could not conceal.

"I think, elder," he said, "this was not meant for you."

Bullin fairly gurgled with rage. "I will read it aloud," he said, "and let the council judge." The paper trembled in his hand as he spoke, and it was with a voice quivering with anger that he read the unfortunate Sarkies's production.

Almost as the first verse was begun, however, a smile appeared on the faces of the members in assembly, and as the elder went on they burst out into uncontrollable mirth.

Bullin dashed the paper on the table, and made as if he were about to leave the meeting. "I will depart," said he; "the devil has possessed you that you laugh at the mockery to my gray hairs."

He had reached the door before restraining hands seized him, and he was brought back with many apologies.

Notwithstanding their amusement, the council were resolved to make an example of Sarkies. Galbraith, however, made an effort in his defence. He hoped, he said, to bring the erring youth back to better ways. But notwithstanding all his persuasions, he was outvoted in this instance, even Bunny taking the elder's side, and the expulsion of Sarkies was decided on.

Bullin was not inclined to let the grass grow under his feet. The formal letter was then and there written, signed by all the members, and handed to the clerk for despatch.

It was now deemed advisable to bring the sitting to a close, and this was done with the same formal ceremony of prayer which opened it.

The members now dispersed, the elder showing his gratitude for Bunny's support by insisting on driving him home.

CHAPTER IX

AT THE DIVAN EXCHANGE

When the news that Sarkies was cast out of the bosom of the church reached the family, there was at first consternation and despair. But pride came to their rescue. "I don't care," said Jimmy; and the mother and the aunt, tossing their heads, echoed his sentiments. Mrs. Sarkies returned a small box full of woolwork, the shop of the Dorcas Society, with a stinging note to Mrs. Bunny, in which she accused that innocent woman of having conspired to bring about the annoyance to which they were subjected. Mrs. Sarkies was convinced that it was solely through Mrs. Bunny's desire to have charge of the work of the Dorcas Society that all this had happened.

The next Sunday the whole Sarkies family drove slowly past the tabernacle in a hired phaeton just as the congregation were coming out after service, and cut every member dead. It was glorious. They came back to their midday meal feeling a calm satisfaction at having revenged a great wrong.

There was much discussion as to whether the family should join the congregation of the established church, or take the bolder step of going over to Rome-the latter for preference, as it would fairly spite their enemies. The question, however, was for the present left in abeyance, and until it was settled they decided not to go to any church at all. Mr. Sarkies himself felt a load lifted from his mind at this decision. He determined not to let his love affair rest, and, notwithstanding every precaution, managed to obtain an interview with Lizzie, by the simple process of clambering up the trunk of a cocoanut palm which leaned against the high wall surrounding the elder's garden. Mr. Sarkies climbed up sufficiently high to overlook the wall, and Lizzie stood on the ground below him. The glass-covered wall was, however, between them. The position was not dignified, nor was it exactly comfortable, and Mr. Sarkies dreaded the general publicity of the whole scene. Still, however, he came to a satisfactory understanding with Lizzie. When she finally turned and vanished amid the trees, her white dress flitting through the open spaces in a ghostly manner, Sarkies came down with a sigh of relief, and, arranging his somewhat disordered dress, walked slowly toward a cab-stand. Hailing a buggy, and jingling some coin in his pocket, he jumped in and drove rapidly toward the Fort. He had mentally determined to celebrate his success by having an evening at the Divan Exchange, a saloon kept by an enterprising American, who concocted wondrous drinks, where the billiard-table was good, and the ice-creams marvellous. There was quite a crowd of cabs collected at the door, and the place was full when Sarkies entered it. Over the bar was a huge transparency representing the face of a clock, with the legend "No Tick Here" inscribed in large capitals on its face-a motto often full of sore disappointment to the customers. Immediately below this stood Colonel William P. Tamblyn, the proprietor, watching the practised hand of his tapsters as they poured forth monkeys, dogs' noses, eye openers, maiden's blushes, and other drinks whose name is legion. From the rooms above came the click of billiard balls, and the monotonous call of the marker-"Fiftee-fiftee-two-good game, sar!" Little marble-topped tables were scattered about, and from a daïs in the corner half a dozen musicians regaled the company with a choice selection of airs, from the "Blue Danube" to "Yankee Doodle." The music was almost drowned in the buzz of voices. All nationalities except China were represented here. Colonel Tamblyn announced that he drew the line there, and a flaring poster both outside and inside announced that "Chinamen and Soldiers in uniform are not admitted."

Sarkies obtained a suitable drink; he chose that pink compound of rum, mint, crushed ice, and peach brandy which rejoices in the name of maiden's blush, and bore it away with him to the billiard-room upstairs. The tables were full, and Sarkies, making himself comfortable on a bench, waited for his turn to come.

Beside him sat a neat-looking man, clean-shaven, with red hair and small black bead eyes. His blue coat with brass anchor buttons explained his calling. His ducks were spotlessly white, and the pipe-clay on his canvas shoes evidently just dry.

"May I trouble you for a light?" said the man.

"Certainly;" and Sarkies handed him a small plated box containing wax vestas.

The stranger lit a cheroot, and, returning the box, inquired, "Come here often?"

"Ya'as-sometimes," and Sarkies took a pull at his drink.

"This is about the first time I've been here; my ship has only just come in. Pleasant place this." And the stranger watched the end of his cheroot keenly to see that it was burning properly.

"Have a game after this?" asked Sarkies, and the stranger agreed.

They were able to get a table, and a small bet was made on the game, which Sarkies, much to his delight, won. The stranger paid up, and as he did so he remarked:

"You play a very good game-may I ask your name?"

"Oh, Sarkies-I'm in Apcoon Brothers."

"The great shipping agents-delighted to meet you-allow me to present my card to you," and Mr. Sarkies's new acquaintance drew a card from a new leather case and handed it to him.

Sarkies regretted within himself that he had not brought a card-case with him, and determined in future never to be without one. He bowed politely over the outstretched hand of his companion, and took the card between his fingers; as he glanced at it an expression of surprise came over his face.

"Captain S. Lamport, Merchant Marine," he said aloud. "This is strange."

A shadow passed over his companion's face.

"I don't see anything strange in my name," he said a little sternly.

Sarkies looked at him; there was an ugly scowl on his face, and the Armenian felt a little alarmed. "Not that, captain," he said; "only I know a person named Lamport-and she is-I mean she is a widow, and is going to be married."

The stranger's brow cleared. "Let us sit down for a bit," he said. "I am much interested-and, sir, may I ask are you the happy man?"

"Oh, no-the padre of our-I mean the Methodist church-a Mr. Galbraith."

"Um! I see," mused Captain Lamport; "lots of money-eh!"

"I expect so." And then with a knowing smile Sarkies added, "The padre has the church funds, y'know."

"He! he!" laughed the captain, and poked Sarkies in the ribs; "sly dog-you're a deep one, you are."

Mr. Sarkies, much flattered by the compliment, proposed a drink, and the captain assented. In answer to his host's request to "name the poison," the captain suggested monkeys, and the monkeys were brought. Then there was more billiards and more betting, then a little rest and more monkeys, then monkeys, billiards, and betting combined, and finally Mr. Sarkies knew no more.

When he awoke again the stars were shining palely above him, and there was a faint flush in the east. His hands were resting on something damp on each side of him; he looked, and realized that he was on the open plain in front of the Fort. Instinctively he felt for his watch chain. It was gone. Mr. Sarkies rose to his feet, and the horizon swam before him. He placed his hand to his burning head, and staggered rather than walked toward the road. A late cab passed. Into this he entered and drove home.

CHAPTER X

EXIT MANUEL

During the last few days there had been great changes in the interior of the manse. The worn-out matting was renewed, and the squatter spider expelled from the corner where he had long revelled in security. The tumble-down sofa was condemned, and a comfortable lounge took its place. Everywhere there was a look of freshness. All day long there was the sound of hammering and cleaning up. Halsa and Mrs. Bunny personally superintended the reformation. Galbraith was willing enough to help, but he had no "hands," and was therefore relegated to his study. But with Manuel it was different. For the first time in his life Manuel realized what work was, and he was profoundly convinced that he and true labour would never agree. It was not enough that he had been called upon to clean and scrub, to hew wood and draw water, but insult was added to injury by Mrs. Bunny inquiring into the arrangements of the menage.

"Two bags of sugar a month!" said that excellent woman, holding up her hands in despair; "why, if it were all used, the man must be a lollipop shop inside."

"Who keeps the keys?" asked Halsa. She was halfway up a ladder, a small hammer in her hand. Manuel stood at the foot of the ladder holding it firmly with one hand, so that it should not slip, while with the other he held out at arm's length a plate full of tin tacks. The position was strained and unpleasant. "Who keeps the keys? Oh!" she shrieked, "how sharp those nails are!" and she drew back her fingers smartly and began to examine their tips. To one of them a tack was clinging. Halsa hastily descended, and Mrs. Bunny removed the offending tack. It left a small blue mark on the finger tip. In the meanwhile Manuel remained silent. He had no intention of replying to the question, and his yellow eyes glistened with pleasure at the little accident, which had apparently called away attention from an embarrassing inquiry. But Manuel was mistaken, for when Halsa had examined the mark for a moment, and was satisfied that it was only a prick, she returned again to the charge and repeated her question.

"I keep keys," replied Manuel sulkily.

"I told you so, Halsa," said Mrs. Bunny, waving a damp duster in the air. Mrs. Bunny had not mentioned the fact, but it was a little weakness of hers to refer to former prophecies after a thing had happened.

"Never mind," Halsa said, "you couldn't expect John to look after these things." There was a sense of proprietorship in her tone that was delightful to Galbraith, who had come in to see how things were going on, and had been an unobserved witness of the scene. Halsa was looking very pretty. Her arms were bare up to the elbows, and there was a bright flush on her cheeks. The brown hair, usually neatly braided, had become a little disarranged, and curled in an unruly manner over her forehead. Mrs. Bunny suddenly remembered that there was something to do in the study, and Manuel, ever watchful for an opportunity to escape, laid down the plate of tacks and vanished noiselessly. Galbraith glanced round him, and then his arm stole forth. Halsa avoided the caress by stepping back, and asked him how he thought the room looked.

"I never thought it could look so well," he replied, and he spoke truly. The magic of feminine hands had changed the cheerless-looking room into a bright, cosy chamber. It was not that the things were valuable; fifty pounds might have covered the cost of everything, except the American harmonium, which stood where the fireplace ought to have been. All the effect lay in the nameless power of arrangement which only a woman possesses-a touch here-a touch there-and the thing is done.

"I am glad you like it," said Halsa, as she stepped nearer to Galbraith. "See how I've hurt my finger;" and she held the wounded member up for inspection.

John took the small hand in his, and looked at the blue mark on her finger tip. It was hardly perceptible. The shadow of a smile flickered across his face as he kissed the little fingers tenderly, and then, drawing Halsa closer to him, kissed her once more on the lips-she nothing resisting now.

Mrs. Bunny's discreet cough in the next room warned them of her impending return, and when the good lady came in Halsa had once more mounted the ladder. When she had finished her work she came down, and they all took a final survey of their labour, and were pleased by it. Then Manuel was recalled from the back of the house, where he was employed in solacing his feelings with a native cigarette, and cursing his existence in the patois of Goa.

A few orders were given to him with regard to clearing up some débris, and then the party, including Galbraith, went into the hall, where the ladies put on their hats, and, escorted by the pastor, returned home. The whole home party of the Bunnys, except Eddy, were to dine at the manse that night with Galbraith, and he was nervously anxious about the success of the entertainment.

Manuel watched them as they went down the road. He shook his fist after the retreating figures.

"Oh, yes!" he said, "Manuel this and Manuel that-Manuel light fire-light lamps-clean house-make fuss-class dinner-Sancta Maria! what Manuel not do! – Iyoo!" He crossed himself fervently, and went on-"Missus come-missus want keep keys-Manuel not a dog-Jesu!" he exclaimed, "there is that accursed goat among the new flowers." He hastened out of the door, drove the milch goat to the back of the house, and fastened her up securely.

Then, coming back, he conscientiously carried out the final instructions given him-picking up the litter of cotton and tags of hangings which lay on the floor, and when this was over made his way to the kitchen, where he exercised all his skill in superintending the preparation of a "fuss-class dinner."

Two things were a matter of regret to him: one that he was not sufficiently skilled to write out a menu card, but this he hoped to arrange with the assistance of Pedro Pinto's son, who attended the school attached to the monastery of St. Vincent de Paul; the other was that there were to be no wines, for both host and guests were teetotallers, and the drinking of wine or spirits in any form, unless medicinally prescribed, was regarded as a deadly sin.

Galbraith came out of his study a little before dinner-time to see how things were. Manuel was not there, and it seemed as if some unseen hand had set the table, had arranged that oddly pretty pattern of leaves on the snowy table-cloth, and placed that bouquet of fresh fuchsias beside the plate where Halsa was to sit.

Galbraith himself looked years younger. He glanced about him with a satisfied air, and then going back into his study, waited impatiently for the sound of wheels to tell him that his guests had come. Punctual to the moment Mr. Bunny's brownberry came up. Galbraith stepped up to the door of the carriage, and helped out Mrs. Bunny and Halsa, the latter giving his hand a little squeeze. Mr. Bunny emerged last of all, a pile of wraps on his arm, and, after directing the coachman to return at precisely ten o'clock, followed his wife and Halsa Lamport into the house. They all assembled in the cosy little parlour, and in a few minutes Manuel came in. He whispered something to Galbraith, and then slipped out again. He had conveyed thus mysteriously the announcement that dinner was ready. They all went in without any ceremony; the ladies first, the men behind. Grace was, of course, said, but Galbraith took care that it should not be unnecessarily long. The dinner was excellent, and full justice was done to the meal. Manuel attempted to make up for the want of a written menu, that picaroon boy of Pinto's not having come to write it as arranged, by calling out the names of the dishes.

"Krab cutlit, sar," he said, as he thrust the delicacy before Mr. Bunny. "Prong curry, madam-berry good," and he held the dish for Mrs. Bunny. Galbraith, however, interfered, much to Manuel's disappointment. He made up, however, for this by the air with which he filled the tumblers with water-the grand butler serving Louis Quatorze could not have done it with a better manner. At last it was all over; Mr. Bunny ate his last walnut, and washed it with a better manner. At last it was all and played patience; then there was a little talking, and precisely at ten the carriage came. Mr. Bunny could not be induced to stay a moment later. There was much hand-shaking, and a kiss for Halsa, soberly given in the Bunnys' presence by Galbraith, and received by the widow with becoming modesty. When they had gone Galbraith lit a pipe, and, opening an old volume of Ingram, set himself out for an hour's read. He was interrupted by a cough, and, looking up, saw Manuel in front of him.

Manuel shifted a clean white napkin from one hand to another, and asked, "Dinner good, sar-yyerything praper?"

"Yes, indeed, Manuel; I am very much pleased with you."

"Thank you, sar," and Manuel bowed; "but, sar, I come for leave."

"Leave, Manuel? – do you mean to say you want to go?"

"Yessar-missus come, and yverything spile-missus keep keys-missus take account-missus measure out sugar-tea-work too much. My mother also dead in Goa, and I want leave."

Galbraith looked at him. "But I will increase your pay."

"No, sar; all pay same like to Manuel when in service, but when missus come-I no stay. My mother berry ill."

Galbraith smiled. "I thought your mother was dead," he said; "but it does not matter, you can go."

Manuel bowed again, and retired.

CHAPTER XI

THE HAPPY PAIR

The combined news that Sarkies was expelled from the fold and that their pastor was, almost at once, to marry the pretty widow, became the property of the congregation the day after the meeting. In family conclaves Sarkies was regarded as doomed to eternal perdition, and heads were gravely shaken over Galbraith's choice. Still, he commanded their respect, and his influence was strong-so strong that Elder Bullin found he was unable to get supporters to move a resolution condemning the pastor's choice, and calling upon him to give up the care of his flock. Mr. Bullin urged that this was vitally necessary for the well-being of the community, but the severity of his action against Sarkies frightened some, Mr. Bunny's influence prevailed over others, and the general liking for Galbraith was so great that his flock began in a few days to extend a portion of their regard for him to his intended wife. The elder therefore failed, but his voice did not remain unheard both in public and in private. This, however, unconsciously helped to assist Galbraith's cause, as the elder was more feared than loved, and the people he was dealing with wanted real courage of purpose. Even if their objections had taken head, the agitation would have been confined to private whisperings and perhaps a solemnly worded letter to the Bombay Bouncer.

At length the day came for the marriage, and the ceremony was performed in the tabernacle by the pastor of another congregation, an out-station resident, who came in specially for the purpose. The elder refused to attend, and forbade his daughters going; but this was a sight not to be missed, and both Lizzie and Laura were there. It is some consolation to know that their father did not discover this. With the exception of Mr. Bullin, however, every member of the congregation was present. Even Mr. Sarkies waited patiently at the chapel entrance, and as he stood he saw a neatly-dressed man step out of a hired buggy and pass into the church. When the bride came Sarkies slipped into the church unobserved and witnessed the whole ceremony. He was able also to recognise in the neatly-dressed man the affable stranger of the Divan Exchange. The bride, however, claimed his attention, and his friend was forgotten as he looked at her. Very pretty looked Halsa in her dark-gray dress, with hat to match, and when the words were spoken which made her John Galbraith's wife, the whole party adjourned to Mr. Bunny's, all but Sarkies the outcast and the neat-looking stranger, who passed him unobserved, and, getting into his buggy, drove away rapidly. At Mr. Bunny's all was very gay. As a special occasion glasses of ginger wine were served round with the cake, and the bride's health drunk amid much applause. With hearts warmed by the cordial, these emotional people felt that Halsa Galbraith was now one of them, and they one and all shook hands with her heartily. As the time approached for the happy couple to depart on their short honeymoon, order was called, and the guests, having arranged themselves soberly, listened to an exhortation from the Rev. Samuel Boase, the clergyman who officiated at the marriage. The worthy man discoursed at some length on the holiness of the institution, and it was only the sound of carriage wheels, as they grated away from the portico, that aroused him to the fact that the newly-wedded pair had slipped away unobserved. Hastily concluding his speech, the reverend gentleman included his amen in a rush for the bag of rice, and, seizing a handful, attempted to pursue the carriage, followed by all the guests. They were too late, however, and all came in hot, breathless, and a little disappointed. Eddy Bunny alone was satisfied. Armed with an old shoe, he had concealed himself in the shrubbery, and as the carriage drove by he aimed this at Galbraith with a precision acquired by long practice with the catapult. It was some little time before the victim recovered from the shock, and when he did the carriage was well on its way toward the railway station.

The honeymoon lasted barely a fortnight, for two reasons, one being that the Rev. Samuel Boase was unable to take Galbraith's work for more than that period, and the other the important factor of expense. Back they came, then, from a short trip to the hills near Bombay. It was the first real holiday Galbraith had ever enjoyed. The long day's dream under the trees, the gathering of ferns in some secluded glen, the rest, and, above all, the dear companionship he had, combined to make it very sweet. Galbraith told his wife of the mental struggle he was perpetually undergoing, and received much help from her clear common sense and healthful sympathy. She in her turn gave him no half-confidence, but told him honestly the story of her life. She touched as lightly as possible on her former husband's ill-treatment of her, on his cruelty and neglect, for the man was dead. She told him how, two years back, the Mahi sailed from Cochin for the Mauritius, and from that time was heard of no more, until a solitary survivor came back with a dreadful tale of the sea. He told how the ship had been scuttled, how all the boats were rendered useless except one, into which the captain and two others escaped. Clinging to a spar himself, he had seen a great green wave swamp the boat, and then for him came three days of hideous agony, and at last rescue. Of the death of her husband no doubt ever crossed Halsa's mind. She had seen the newspaper reports of the inquiry into the disaster, and had interviewed the rescued man. She opened a school at Cochin, and was enabled to keep her head above water with this, and with the proceeds of flower-painting, in which she had some proficiency. Then came a fortunate legacy of some four hundred pounds, and she consulted Mr. Bunny, a cousin of her husband, on business matters connected with this. The Bunnys had repeatedly asked her before to make her home with them, and they renewed this invitation now in so kind a manner that Halsa accepted. It was an invitation to stay until she could obtain some suitable employment; but a year passed-"And you found the employment," said Galbraith; "you have to take care of me now." And Halsa smiled at him from under her dark eye-lashes in reply.