The Wish House and Other Stories (59 page)

I
N
the Lodge of Instruction attached to ‘Faith and Works No. 5837 E.G.,’ which has already been described, Saturday afternoon was appointed for the weekly clean-up, when all visiting Brethren were welcome to help under the direction of the Lodge Officer of the day: their reward was light refreshment and the meeting of companions.

This particular afternoon – in the autumn of ‘20 – Brother Burges, P.M., was on duty and, finding a strong shift present, took advantage of it to strip and dust all hangings and curtains, to go over every inch of the Pavement – which was stone, not floorcloth – by hand; and to polish the Columns, Jewels, Working outfit and organ. I was given to clean some Officers’ Jewels – beautiful bits of old Georgian silver-work humanized by generations of elbow-grease – and retired to the organ-loft; for the floor was like the quarterdeck of a battleship on the eve of a ball. Half a dozen brethren had already made the Pavement as glassy as the aisle of Greenwich Chapel; the brazen chapiters winked like pure gold at the flashing Marks on the Chairs; and a morose one-legged brother was attending to the Emblems of Mortality with, I think, rouge.

‘They ought,’ he volunteered to Brother Burges as we passed, ‘to be betwixt the colour of ripe apricots an’ a half-smoked meerschaum. That’s how we kept ’em in my Mother-Lodge – a treat to look at.’

‘I’ve never seen spit-and-polish to touch this,’ I said.

‘Wait till you see the organ,’ Brother Burges replied. ‘You could shave in it when they’ve done. Brother Anthony’s in charge up there – the taxi-owner you met here last month. I don’t think you’ve come across Brother Humberstall, have you?’

‘I don’t remember—‘ I began.

‘You wouldn’t have forgotten him if you had. He’s a hairdresser now, somewhere at the back of Ebury Street. Was Garrison Artillery. Blown up twice.’

‘Does he show it?’ I asked at the foot of the organ-loft stairs.

‘No-o. Not much more than Lazarus did, I expect.’ Brother Burges fled off to set someone else to a job.

Brother Anthony, small, dark, and hump-backed, was hissing groom-fashion while he treated the rich acacia-wood panels of the Lodge organ with some sacred, secret composition of his own. Under his guidance Humberstall, an enormous, flat-faced man, carrying the shoulders, ribs, and loins of the old Mark ‘14 Royal Garrison Artillery, and the eyes of a bewildered retriever, rubbed the stuff in. I sat down to my task on the organ-bench, whose purple velvet cushion was being vacuum-cleaned on the floor below.

‘Now,’ said Anthony, after five minutes’ vigorous work on the part of Humberstall.
‘Now
we’re gettin’ somethin’ worth lookin’ at! Take it easy, an’ go on with what you was tellin’ me about that Macklin man.’

‘I – I ’adn’t anything against ‘im,’ said Humberstall, ‘excep’ he’d been a toff by birth; but that never showed till he was bosko absoluto. Mere bein’ drunk on’y made a common ‘ound of ‘im. But when bosko, it all came out. Otherwise, he showed me my duties as mess-waiter very well on the ‘ole.’

‘Yes, yes. But what in ‘ell made you go
back
to your Circus? The Board gave you down-an’-out fair enough, you said, after the dump went up at Eatables?’

‘Board or no Board, I ’adn’t the nerve to stay at ‘ome – not with Mother chuckin’ ‘erself round all three rooms like a rabbit every time the Gothas tried to get Victoria; an’ sister writin’ me aunts four pages about it next day. Not for
me
, thank you! till the war was over. So I slid out with a draft – they wasn’t particular in ‘17, so long as the tally was correct-and I joined up again with our Circus somewhere at the back of Lar Pug Noy, I think it was.’ Humberstall paused for some seconds and his brow wrinkled. ‘Then I-I went sick or somethin’ or other, they told me; but I know
when
I reported for duty, our battery sergeant-major says that I wasn’t expected back, an’ – an’, one thing leadin’ to another – to cut a long story short – I went up before our major – Major – I shall forget my own name next – Major—‘

‘Never mind,’ Anthony interrupted. ‘Go on! It’ll come back in talk!’

“Alf a mo’. ’twas on the tip o’ my tongue then.’

Humberstall dropped the polishing-cloth and knitted his brows again in most profound thought. Anthony turned to me and suddenly launched into a sprightly tale of his taxi’s collision with a Marble Arch refuge on a greasy day after a three-yard skid.

‘Much damage?’ I asked.

‘Oh no! Ev’ry bolt an’ screw an’ nut on the chassis strained;
but
nothing carried away, you understand me, an’ not a scratch on the body. You’d never ‘ave guessed a thing wrong till you took ’erin hand. It
was
a wop too: ‘ead-on – like this!’ And he slapped his tactful little forehead to show what a knock it had been.

‘Did your major dish you up much?’ he went on over his shoulder to Humberstall, who came out of his abstraction with a slow heave.

‘We-ell! He told me I wasn’t expected back either; an’ he said ’e couldn’t ‘ang up the Ole Circus till I’d rejoined; an’ he said that my ten-inch Skoda which I’d been Number Three of, before the dump went up at Eatables, had ’erfull crowd. But, ’e said, as soon as a casualty occurred he’d remember me. “Meantime,” says he, “I particularly want you for actin’ mess-waiter.”

“‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” I says perfectly respectful; “but I didn’t exactly come back for
that
, sir.”

“‘Beggin’
your
pardon, ‘Umberstall,” says ‘e, “but I ‘appen to command the Circus! Now, you’re a sharp-witted man,” he says; “an’ what we’ve suffered from fool-waiters in mess ‘as been somethin’ cruel. You’ll take on, from now – under instruction to Macklin ‘ere.” So this man, Macklin, that I was tellin’ you about, showed me my duties…‘Ammick! I’ve got it! ‘Ammick was our major, an’ Mosse was captain!’ Humberstall celebrated his recapture of the name by labouring at the organ-panel on his knee.

‘Look out! You’ll smash it,’ Anthony protested.

‘Sorry! Mother’s often told me I didn’t know my strength. Now, here’s a curious thing. This major of ours – it’s all comin’ back to me – was a high-up divorce-court lawyer; an’ Mosse, our captain, was number one o’ Mosse’s Private Detective Agency. You’ve heard of it? Wives watched while you wait, an’ so on. Well, these two ‘ad been registerin’ together, so to speak, in the Civil Line for years on end, but hadn’t ever met till the war. Consequently, at mess their talk was mostly about famous cases they’d been mixed up in. ‘Ammick told the law-courts’ end o’ the business, an’ all what had been left out of the pleadin’s; an’ Mosse ‘ad the actual facts concernin’ the errin’ parties – in hotels an’ so on. I’ve heard better talk in our mess than ever before or since. It comes o’ the Gunners bein’ a scientific corps.’

‘That be damned!’ said Anthony. ‘If anythin’ ‘appens to ‘ em they’ve got it all down in a book. There’s no book when your lorry dies on you in the ‘Oly Land.
That’s
brains.’

‘Well,
then,’
Humberstall continued, ‘come on this secret society
business that I started teilin’ you about. When those two – ‘ Ammick an’ Mosse – ‘ad finished about their matrimonial relations – and, mind you, they weren’t radishes – they seldom or ever repeated – they’d begin, as often as not, on this Secret Society woman I was tellin’ you of – this Jane. She was the only woman I ever ’eard ’em say a good word for. ‘Cordin’ to them Jane was a nonesuch. I didn’t know then she was a Society. Fact is, I only ‘ung out ‘arf an ear in their direction at first, on account of bein’ under instruction for mess-duty to this Macklin man. What drew
my
attention to her was a new lieutenant joinin’ up. We called ’im “Gander” on account of his profeel, which was the identical bird. ‘E’d been a nactuary – workin’ out ow long civilians ‘ad to live. Neither ‘Ammick nor Mosse wasted words on ’im at mess. They went on talking as usual, an’ in due time,
as
usual, they got back to Jane. Gander cocks one of his big chilblainy ears an’ cracks his cold finger-joints. “By God! Jane?” says ‘e. “Yes, Jane,” says ‘Ammick pretty short an’ senior. “Praise ‘Eaven!” says Gander. “It was ‘Bubbly’ where I’ve come from down the line.” (Some damn revue or other, I expect.) Well, neither ‘Ammick nor Mosse was easy-mouthed, or for that matter mealy-mouthed; but no sooner ‘ad Gander passed that remark than they both shook ‘ands with the young squirt across the table an’ called for the port back again. It
was
a password, all right! Then they went at it about Jane – all three, regardless of rank. That made me listen. Presently, I ’eard ‘Ammick say—‘

“Arf a mo’,’ Anthony cut in. ‘But what was
you
doin’ in mess?’

‘Me an’ Macklin was refixin’ the sandbag screens to the dug-out passage in case o’ gas. We never knew when we’d cop it in the ‘Eavies, don’t you see? But we knew we ‘ad been looked for for some time, an’ it might come any minute. But, as I was sayin’, ‘Ammick says what a pity ’twas Jane ‘ad died barren. “I deny that,” says Mosse. “I maintain she was fruitful in the ‘ighest sense o’ the word.” an’ Mosse knew about such things, too. “I’m inclined to agree with ‘Ammick,” says young Gander. “Any’ow, she’s left no direct an’ lawful prog’ny.” I remember every word they said, on account o’ what ‘appened subsequently. I ’adn’t noticed Macklin much, or I’d ha’ seen he was bosko absoluto. Then
‘e
cut in, leanin’ over a packin’-case with a face on ’im like a dead mackerel in the dark. “Pa-hardon me, gents,” Macklin says, “but this
is
a matter on which I
do
‘appen to be moderately well-informed. She
did
leave lawful issue in the shape o’ one son; and ‘is name was ‘Enery James.”

‘“By what sire? Prove it,” says Gander, before ‘is senior officers could get in a word.

“‘I will,” says Macklin, surgin’ on ‘is two thumbs.
An’
, mark you, none of ’em spoke! I forget whom he said was the sire of this ‘Enery James-man; but ’e delivered ’em a lecture on this Jane-woman for more than a quarter of an hour. I know the exact time, because my old Skoda was on duty at ten-minute intervals reachin’ after some Jerry formin’-up area; and her blast always put out the dug-out candles. I relit ’em once, an’ again at the end. In conclusion, this Macklin fell flat forward on ‘is face, which was how ’e generally wound up ‘is notion of a perfect day. Bosko absoluto!

‘“Take ’im away,” says ‘Ammick to me. ‘“E’s sufferin’ from shell-shock.”

‘To cut a long story short,
that
was what first put the notion into my ‘ead. Wouldn’t it you? Even ‘ad Macklin been a ‘igh-up mason—‘

‘Wasn’t ‘e, then?’ said Anthony, a little puzzled.

“E’d never gone beyond the Blue Degrees, ’e told me. Any’ow, ‘e’d lectured ‘is superior officers up an’ down; ‘e’d as good as called ’em fools most o’ the time, in ‘is toff’s voice. I ’eard ’im an’ I saw ‘im. an’ all he got was – me told off to put ’im to bed! And all on account o’ Jane! Would
you
have let a thing like that get past you? Nor me, either! Next mornin’, when his stummick was settled, I was at him full-cry to find out ‘ow it was worked. Toff or no toff, ’e knew his end of a bargain. First, ’e wasn’t takin’ any. He said I wasn’t fit to be initiated into the Society of the Janeites. That only meant five bob more – fifteen up to date.

‘“Make it one Bradbury,” ’e says. “It’s dirt-cheap. You saw me ‘old the Circus in the ‘ollow of me ‘and?”

‘No denyin’ it. I
‘ad.
So, for one pound, he communicated me the Password of the First Degree, which was
Tilniz an’ trap-doors.

“‘I know what a trap-door is,” I says to ‘im, “but what in ‘ell’s
Tilniz?”

‘“You obey orders,” ’e says, “an’ next time I ask you what you’re thinkin’ about you’ll answer,
‘Tilniz an’ trap-doors,’
in a smart and soldierly manner. I’ll spring that question at me own time. All you’ve got to do is to be distinck.”

‘We settled all this while we was skinnin’ spuds for dinner at the back o’ the rear-truck under our camouflage-screens. Gawd ‘ow that glue-paint did stink! Otherwise, ‘twasn’t so bad, with the sun comin’ through our pantomime-leaves, an’ the wind marcelling the grasses in the cutting. Well, one thing leading to another, nothin’ further ‘appened in this direction till the afternoon. We ‘ad a high standard o’ livin’ in mess – an’ in the group, for that matter. I was takin’ away Mosse’s lunch – dinner ’e would never call it – an’ Mosse
was fillin’ his cigarette-case previous to the afternoon’s duty. Macklin, in the passage, comin’ in as if ’e didn’t know Mosse was there, slings ‘is question at me, an’ I give the countersign in a low but quite distinck voice, makin’ as if I ’adn’t seen Mosse. Mosse looked at me through and through, with his cigarette-case in his ‘and. Then ’e jerks out ‘arf a dozen – best Turkish – on the table an’ exits. I pinched ’em an’ divvied with Macklin.

‘“You see ‘ow it works,” says Macklin. “Could you ‘ave invested a Bradbury to better advantage?”

‘“So far, no,” I says. “Otherwise, though, if they start provin’ an’ tryin’ me, I’m a dead bird. There must be a lot more to this Janeite game.”

‘“Eaps an’ ‘eaps,” he says. “But to show you the sort of ’eart I ‘ave, I’ll communicate you all the ‘Igher Degrees among the Janeites, includin’ the Charges, for another Bradbury; but you’ll ‘ave to work, Dobbin.’”

‘Pretty free with your Bradburys, wasn’t you?’ Anthony grunted disapprovingly.

‘What odds? Ac-tually, Gander told us, we couldn’t expect to av’rage more than six weeks longer apiece, an’, any’ow, I never regretted it. But make no mistake—the preparation was somethin’ cruel. In the first place, I come under Macklin for direct instruction
re
Jane.’

‘Oh! Jane
was
real, then?’ Anthony glanced for an instant at me as he put the question. ‘I couldn’t quite make that out.’

‘Real!’ Humberstall’s voice rose almost to a treble. ‘Jane? Why, she was a little old maid ‘oo’d written ‘alf a dozen books about a hundred years ago. ‘Twasn’t as if there was anythin’
to
’em, either. I know. I had to read ’em. They weren’t adventurous, not smutty, nor what you’d call even interestin’ – all about girls o’ seventeen (they begun young then, I tell you), not certain ‘oom they’d like to marry; an’ their dances an’ card-parties an’ picnics, and their young blokes goin’ off to London on ‘orseback for ’air-cuts an’ shaves. It took a full day in those days, if you went to a proper barber. They wore wigs, too, when they was chemists or clergymen. All that interested me on account o’ me profession, an’ cuttin’ the men’s ’air every fortnight. Macklin used to chip me about bein’ an ’airdresser. ’E
could
pass remarks, too!’