Part 12

He stretched himself stiffly in her arms, and, pointing with a trembling finger to a certain spot, gasped, “Oh, Mummy! look, look, _look_!” and with the last word, which was a shriek of horror, he fell into violent convulsions.

But look as we might, we could see nothing, save the bare matting and the bare wall. What frightful object had made itself visible to these innocent children has never been discovered to the present day.

Little Guy, in spite of superhuman efforts to save him, died of brain fever, unintelligible to the last; the only words we could distinguish among his ravings were, “Look, look, look! Oh, Mummy! look, look, look!” and as for Baba, whatever was seen by her is locked within her lips, for she remains dumb to the present day.

The ayah had nothing to disclose; she could only beat her head upon the ground and scream, and declare that she had just left the children for a moment to speak to the milkman.

But other servants confessed that the ayah had been gossiping in the cook-house for more than half an hour. The sole living creature that had been with the children when “It” had appeared to them, was Guy’s little pet monkey, which was subsequently found under the table quite dead.

At first I was afraid that after the shock of Guy’s death poor Netta would lose her reason. Of course they all came to us, that same dreadful afternoon, leaving the birthday feast already spread, the bran pie in the verandah, the music on the piano; never had there been such a hasty flight, such a domestic earthquake. We endeavoured to keep the mysterious tragedy to ourselves. Little Guy had brain fever; surely it was natural that relations should be together in their trouble, and I declared that I, being a noted nurse, had bodily carried off the child, who was followed by the whole family.

People talked of “A stroke of the sun,” but I believe something of the truth filtered into the Bazaar--where all things are known. Shortly after little Guy’s death Netta took Baba home, declaring she would never, never return to India, and Tom applied for and obtained a transfer to another station. He sold off the household furniture, the pretty knick-knacks, the pictures, all that had gone to make Netta’s house so attractive, for she could not endure to look on them again. They had been in _that_ house. As for the Red Bungalow, it is once more closed, and silent. The squirrels and hoo-poos share the garden, the stables are given over to scorpions, the house to white ants. On application to John Mahomed, anyone desirous of becoming a tenant will certainly find that it is still to be had for a mere song!

X

THE SCARECROW

Edgar Lovett, Esq., B.A., Collector of Munser, lounged in a long chair in his verandah, enjoying an excellent cheroot; and as he had but recently despatched a satisfactory day’s work and a fairly satisfactory meal, the condition of his mind was serene.

Lovett was a clever, hard-working civilian--to whom the adjective “rising” had been applied; he was thirty years of age, heir to a nice property--and unmarried.

In a fair-haired, grave-eyed style the collector was not ill-looking, strong to hold his own with mankind in club, cricket-field, or cutcherry; but in the society of ladies, he--so to speak--went to pieces, and became pathetically anxious to please--nervous, sensitive, and shy.

The years he had spent in an out-of-the-way district had ill-prepared him for his present position, where, advanced to a large station, he found himself within the circuit of those rays which beat upon an important official, and the object of benevolent interest to ladies both young and old.

Lovett was not alone on the present occasion; the slight lad who was strutting up and down the verandah, with his hands in his pockets, and a cheroot in his mouth, was his youngest brother, Bobbie, midshipman on H.M.S. _Bobadil_, then on the East Indian station, who had obtained two days’ leave ashore, and had run down from Bombay to pay his relation a visit.

Bobby was “a pretty boy” with a pair of mischievous, long-lashed eyes, a fresh complexion, and a crop of curly chestnut hair; he was also a youth with a bold, enterprising character, and a peculiarly active mind.

“I say, old man,” he exclaimed, suddenly accosting his elder, “you seem to have done yourself pretty well in this berth! A 1 bungalow--furnished and fitted out first-class, with sofas, cushions, and lampshades--there is even a tea-cosy, and a piano!”

“The last tenant was married,” explained Lovett, “and I took over everything, just as it stood, down to the matting.”

“Then you have a capital cook, a fine trapper, two polo ponies, lots of shooting in the district, not a debt or care in the world--I wish I were in your shoes.”

“By Jove! sometimes I wish you _were_!” was the unexpected rejoinder.

“What do you mean? I thought your luck was dead in when you got this move--an awfully good thing.”

“In some ways--too much of a good thing.”

“Pray explain this dark saying!”

“Too many women.”

Bobby burst into a shout of laughter, and then exclaimed, “I say, you must be hard up for something to grumble at.”

“Well, I’m bothered out of my life--and sometimes I think I’ll have to marry one of the lot, to keep the others off.”

“Come now, Ted! you are not so attractive as all that! One would suppose you were a pot of honey. I say, you’re chaffing!” and the younger Lovett sat down cross-legged on a chair, rested his elbows on the back, and stared at his brother with round, twinkling eyes.

“Chaffing, no! This station is overrun with ladies. The good old days when a white woman was a _rara avis_ departed sixty years ago. Even within the last ten, matters have gone from bad to worse--in the way of imported spins. People then had out their relations--now they open their arms to all the world, and take in lodgers--I mean paying guests! Guests, whose one idea is that the great Indian Empire is merely run in order to afford facilities for flirtation and matrimony: and it is not the girls themselves who are the plague--it is the chaperones, and mothers, and aunts.--Oh, bring it up!” he added in Hindustani, as a smart peon, with a brass badge on his belt, salaamed at the foot of the steps, letter in hand.

This letter Lovett tore open, cast his eyes over it, and called out “Salaam,” and the messenger, with another profound salutation, resumed his shoes, and clattered out of sight.

“Now here is a sample,” said Lovett, holding out the “chit” to Bobby, who made a long arm for it, and presently read aloud:

“MY DEAR MR. LOVETT,

“Mother desires me to write and remind you that you dine with us to-morrow--this time _no excuse_ will avail you. I am sorry to say I have again given my tiresome pony a sore back; will you lend me ‘Pinkatee’?--my saddle fits her as if it were made for her. I will send over the syce at three o’clock this afternoon. Do not trouble to answer, but say ‘Salaam’ if you are going to be a _dear_. I do hope I shall see you at the polo.

“Ever yours most sincerely,

“TOTTY A. TOMPKINS.”

“I shouldn’t call you a dear, but an ass!” announced Bobby, crumpling up the note. “Why do you lend the animal?”

“Because it is less trouble in the long run----”

“But riding a man’s pony is almost the same as announcing that you are ‘walking out.’”

“They all ride my ponies--so there is safety in a multitude!”

“And who are the multitude?”

“Well, there are Colonel and Mrs. Tompkins--they have two daughters, a niece, and a paying guest. The opium wallah has three daughters; Mrs. Briton, wife of the civil engineer, harbours two friends; the Padre’s wife has two nieces; and the wife of the Major is expecting a relation.”

“Hullo, what’s all this hubbub inside?” enquired Bobby, as the sound of many subdued voices, a scuffling and moving of furniture, came from within.

“Wait and you will see,” replied his brother calmly.

In a moment the chick over the drawing-room door was pushed aside, and two bare-legged coolies came grunting forth backwards; then a portion of the piano--finally the whole instrument--emerged; it was carried by six men, who subsequently bore it away out of the compound, headed by a majestic butler in a gigantic turban.

“I have seen,” declared Bobby, “and now await information.”

“The piano has been borrowed by Mrs. Briton--she is having a musical At Home.”

“How often do you lend it?”

“Well, you see, as I don’t play or use it myself--like a popular novel, it is almost always ‘out.’”

“I say,” exclaimed Bobby, “here is someone coming--I’m off,” and without further hesitation he bolted into the bungalow, and, from behind the chick, beheld two ladies drive up in a high dogcart. They remained talking to the unhappy collector for fully twenty minutes, whilst he stood before them, bare-headed, courteous, resigned.

“You’re bringing it all on yourself!” commented the listener, when they departed. “You are ten times too agreeable. I heard you agreeing to give a picnic, and offering the loan of your ice machine. If they came and _lived_ here I would not pity you--you encourage them!”

“How can a man be rude to women in his own house, you young savage, and how can he refuse things that are asked for point-blank?”

“They wanted you to invite them in--_twice_ they told you they had had no tea.”

“I could not well offer them hospitality, when you were lurking behind the chick--could I? Here comes another chit! From Mrs. Trotter. Can I spare them my dirzee for a week?--and will I go over and dine quietly, and bring my brother?--So they have found _you_ out!”

“Well, I’m not on! this is the only evening we have--I’m off to-morrow; and if the lady comes round to fetch you by force, I shall make you fast with the punkah rope.”

* * * * *

“I now grasp the whole question,” announced young Lovett sententiously, as he and his brother dined together, “you are afraid of your life of all these good ladies; a small station where there were only three or four Europeans has ruined your nerve--and here you say ‘yes’ to everything. You cannot say ‘no.’ All the women know it, and think you so good-natured, so amiable, so--charming--such an acquisition; they told me so, on the club verandah; they nearly mobbed me! Of course you are the most eligible man in Munser, and you will never leave it a bachelor--alive! What would you give these kind Mammas to leave you in peace?”

“Anything! even to the half of my pay!”

“Give me a new sporting rifle, and I’ll do it.”

“Bobby, don’t be an ass!”

“No, bar all chaff--I don’t mean murder!--but if you will order me an express, I will guarantee to relieve you of every single invitation, and to rid you of ladies’ society for ever and a day; they won’t come near you!”

“You speak as if you were a species of insecticide.”

“I shall prove as efficient as the best Keating’s--and deliver you from this plague of women.”

“When?”

“Ah, that depends!--you must leave me to do it in my own good time, and my own good way--but it shall be _done_. I’ll never forget how Mrs. Tompkins bore down on you to-night like an old three-decker, and boarded you with grappling irons, and how the little fair girl came, and cut you out--to Badminton--from under her heavy guns; and Mrs. Briton assured me that she takes a motherly interest in you, and that her niece Julia thinks you too fascinating for words. Of course you are too civil by half.”

“No--in that lies my sole safety. I do my best to be civil to them all--I make no dangerous distinctions, but it is killing work!--like keeping half a dozen balls in the air.”

* * * * *

Miss Dacre, the sister of Mrs. Lawrence (wife of a Major in the Buffers), arrived at Munser early in the season. She was a graceful, dark-eyed girl, endowed with an unusual share of vivacity and charm, who gravely assured her sister that she had not travelled to the East in order to be wooed and wed, and that any attempt to find her a husband would be fruitless, if not disastrous.

“Everyone seems to think that when a girl goes to India she puts herself up in the marriage market!” she declared. “Well, my dear, there is a reserve on _me_!”

Ida Dacre was fully as quick as Bobby Lovett in grasping the position of the collector, and she (privately) made great fun of the little tin god and his worshippers, and held herself aloof from him, in a manner so remarkable that his interest was awakened. “Here, at least,” he said to himself, “is one girl who pointedly avoids me--snubs me--when we do meet, and plainly cannot endure the sight of me! I wonder what I have done, or left undone?”

Miss Dacre had expected the much-sought-after gentleman to be abominably conceited, egotistical and spoiled, but one day, when they were both sheltering in a “tope” from a shower, she was agreeably surprised to discover that his opinion of himself was of the humblest--that he had been at school--and in the same house--with her pet brother, and that he really was not at all bad! She suffered him to ride back with her to the cantonment, and at an early date permitted her sister to invite him to dinner. Miss Dacre was a pretty girl, and an accomplished musician, but she had a mischievous sense of humour and a witty tongue. She teased the little tin god; she flouted him, and repelled him with her jeers, whilst her merry, mocking eyes held him fast. Edgar Lovett became her slave--he was desperately in love, but dared not declare his sentiments, the lady being so perplexingly reserved. Oh, if he only had one ray of hope he would have spoken--but his goddess gave no sign. She rode with him, and quarrelled, and danced, and laughed, and mocked, and argued--and drove the poor fellow distracted.

He had frequently, but vainly, invited Miss Dacre and her sister to come to tea in his bungalow, and to inspect and borrow his books. He promised them a tempting exhibition of all his latest publications: after long demur, a date was positively fixed. Unfortunately, just before this happy event, Lovett was obliged to leave the cantonment for two days’ official duty in the district. His business accomplished, he returned to Munser in a fever of anxiety. His train was behind time, and he was desperately afraid that he would arrive too late to receive his honoured and important guests.

Outside the station Lovett looked in vain for his smart dogcart and fast stepper--instead of which he found one of his own peons awaiting him, with a dusty old gharry.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, in imperious Hindustani, “where is the cart?”

“Light of the World,” replied the man, “by your favour, the Missy Sahib hath taken it.”

“Missy--what Miss Sahib?”

“The Missy who has been at your honour’s house this two days.”

Lovett sprang into the gharry shouting the word “Chullo!” and was soon swept out of the station, in a cloud of dust.

Ten minutes’ galloping brought him to where his own trim yet dignified bungalow stood, in a large compound, within a few yards of the principal highroad; and throwing a rupee to the driver, he dashed up the steps, and flung into the drawing-room. No, they had not arrived--the house was empty. It was after six o’clock, and here the bearer appeared--grave-eyed, and with a troubled mien.

“Did two ladies come for tea?” inquired Lovett.

“No, Huzoor, but one lady been here two days; breakfast, tiffin, and dinner.”

“_What?_”

“Yes, she telling me she is the Sahib’s--cousin--same like sister--and come from England.”

“There must be some mistake,” muttered Lovett, staring at the scattered cushions, the crumpled newspapers, and stumps of cigarettes which littered his usually neat verandah.

“Here, the Missy now coming!” announced the bearer, and he indicated with a tragic finger the dogcart, spanking down the road, in which sat a slim, upright, female form, wearing a jaunty sailor-hat and a gay pink frock. The dogcart rattled into the compound, and up to the steps, and an absolutely strange girl called out to the bewildered Lovett:

“Hullo, so there you are! So glad to see you at last!”

She threw the reins to the syce, jumped down, and was presently shaking the collector’s limp, reluctant hand.

“Now come inside,” she said, taking him by the arm, and lifting the chick, “and I’ll tell you _all_ about it--I daresay you are a little bit surprised?”

Lovett, dumbfounded, stood speechless, for the moment mentally stunned, staring into the smiling face and bold, saucy eyes of his companion.

A thick curly fringe of yellow hair peeped out beneath the sailor-hat; her dress, though merely cotton, was elaborately trimmed, and frilled; round her neck was a huge lace ruffle.

Her manner was but too assured--and she was apparently quite sane.

“You have heard of the Dales, your cousins?” she resumed.

He nodded.

“Well, they are my cousins _too_. I came out to stay with friends--not far from here--and they have measles, and could not take me in. So I cast about what to do, and thought of _you_, Teddy Lovett. Everyone knows how good-natured you are, and such a ladies’ man--and so here I am, taking you by storm! By the way, can I have a whisky and soda?”

“Certainly. Boy, _peg loa_!”

The bearer promptly entered, and the refreshment was presented to the lady, who swallowed half a tumblerful at a gulp.

“Of course,” she resumed with a smirk, “if I were at home I could not billet myself on you like this. But in India, I believe, there are no silly conventions; the Dales said you were an awfully good sort, and----”

“And of course,” broke in Lovett, “I am glad to have it in my power to oblige any friend of theirs----”

“Cousin,” corrected the lady.

“But India is not at all so unconventional as you suppose, Miss--er----”

“Ruby Scarlett,” she supplemented quickly.

“And so, Miss Scarlett, I will find quarters elsewhere, and leave you the house to yourself--until your friends think it possible to receive you. If you want anything you will hear of me at the Dâk Bungalow--and meanwhile pray make yourself quite at home.”

“Thanks, awfully--you are really too dear and kind for words! By rights, I should go to the Dâk Bungalow, but I’m a little afraid of the fowl! I don’t know why, but one always hears that one should give a Dâk Bungalow fowl a wide berth. I suppose they are savage?”

“If you will excuse me, I will go and make some arrangements,” rejoined Lovett, in a chilly voice, totally ignoring her question; and with a bow he turned to depart. As he reached the door, his ears were saluted by a shrill whistle. He looked quickly round, and beheld Miss Ruby Scarlett, minus hat and wig--and, grinning above her white ruffle, the impudent face of his brother Bobby!

“Took a jolly good rise out of you, didn’t I?” he cried.

“Yes,” with an air of relief; “but what in heaven’s name is the meaning of this dressing-up, and tom-foolery?”

“Sit down there and have a cheroot, and pull yourself together, old man, and you shall hear. I declare you look--completely shattered!”

“Enough to shatter anyone!” pointing to his brother’s costume. “What does it all mean? I’m no good at dumb crambo, or charades.”

“It means, dear brother, that I am here as your ‘scarecrow.’ My office is to keep the birds off--in other words, the ladies, and I have succeeded to a miracle!”

“Good Lord, Bobby, what _have_ you been up to?” demanded Lovett, in genuine alarm.

“Well, listen to my little tale”; crossing his legs, and proceeding with an air of easy narration. “I have earned that rifle nobly--as you shall hear.”

“Go on,” said his brother huskily, “tell me the worst--and get it over.”

“The worst?” echoed Bobby. “There is no worst! It’s the best joke I’ve ever known, bar none--a screaming farce.

“We are great at theatricals on the _Bobadil_, quite a floating Haymarket. We had been playing a piece called ‘Topsy-Turvy’ in which I had a star part, first leading lady, and I yearned to show myself to you--and take you in. So when we got to Bombay this cruise, I put in for a week ashore, collected a box of properties, borrowed the bearer of a chum in the Yacht Club, and persuaded him to bring along his old wife as my ayah. Then we all took the train for Munser. I made up in the carriage--started a man in flannels, stepped out a giddy girl in frills and curls! I declare when the bearer came to the door, and saw me, he nearly had a fit! Well, I drove straight up here and I was awfully sold not to find you; but I sent them all flying about, and ordered tea in the verandah. Presently I went out, and spread myself there, in a sort of blazing scarlet tea-gown--a thing you could see a mile off! It had the desired effect--it fetched the station! They rode, and biked, and drove by--all staring, in the rudest and most shameless manner. I kissed my hand to one of the men--he looked like the Padre; another was for coming in--but I waved him off!”

Lovett’s half-stifled groan was unheeded, and possibly unheard.

“The funniest thing was a landau, packed full of women--an excited old lady and some girls. They went by at a trot, then turned, and came back at a walk; finally, and lastly, a crawl. I believe they found it impossible to realise _me_! The old girl put up a big double eyeglass and fixed me with an expression of such ferocity, that in self-defence I snatched a saucer, stuck it in my eye, and gazed back with such killing effect that she collapsed--completely repulsed--and shouted to the coachman, ‘Full steam ahead!’ leaving me with the honours of war! Then, yesterday, I put on my own togs, and went for a ride in the morning, and called in at the club. There were a few men there, discussing the figure in the collector’s verandah. They were inclined to have it that it was stuffed! Of course this point of view was fatal to my scheme. So yesterday evening I turned out in the dogcart in a flaring hat and frock, and spanked about the station, and down to the polo, and up to the cricket-field--not much sign of a stuffed figure there. Several people accosted me, but I only replied in French. Thanks to our nurse I speak it like a native. I smoked a cigarette, and dashed recklessly about the cantonment--and have, I flatter myself, given them something to talk about. This afternoon I was feeling rather dull, and was lying on a lounge, reading and half-asleep, and wondering when you would appear, when the bearer entered, and whispered that two Mem Sahibs were in the drawing-room--come to tea! I pulled myself together, and peeped through a hole in the purdah. There was the Major’s wife, and another lady, a tall, dark girl, with a ripping figure, cruising about the room as if the place belonged to her! She was examining your little family gods, photos, pet ink-bottle, books, and your last new photo just arrived----”

“Well?” demanded his brother breathlessly.

“Well, I ordered in tea, and hurried off to my bower to titivate--as here I was at close quarters, you see, and had to be careful! I settled on my wig and hat, lace tie, and bead chains; I powdered my nose, and put a good bit of colour on my cheeks--for it was now going to be war to the knife! These women had boldly boarded the ship, and I was determined to scuttle their craft.”

“Oh, Bobby, you idiot! you have ruined me!”

“Not a bit of it. Be calm, and listen. When I pranced into the room the two ladies stared as if I were some wild beast. ‘_So_ pleased to see you,’ I said; ‘_so_ sweet and good of you to call on me! I’ve been feeling a bit chippy all by my little lone.’

“‘We did not know we were to have this pleasure,’ said the dark girl, breathing hard, and white as a sheet--very angry, I could see. ‘Mr. Lovett invited us over to tea this afternoon and to see his books.’

“‘His books!’ I rejoined. ‘What an imposter! His only books are woman’s looks!’

“‘Indeed,’ she snapped. ‘Nevertheless, I notice a good many volumes here,’ and she pointed to the shelves that line this room.