Rudyard - Actions and Reactions, by Rudyard Kipling

My friend, if cause doth wrest thee,
Ere folly hath much oppressed thee,
Far from acquaintance kest thee
Where country may digest thee...
Thank God that so hath blessed thee,
And sit down, Robin, and rest thee.
THOMAS TUSSER.

It came without warning, at the very hour his hand was outstretched tocrumple the Holz and Gunsberg Combine. The New York doctors called itoverwork, and he lay in a darkened room, one ankle crossed above theother, tongue pressed into palate, wondering whether the next brain-surgeof prickly fires would drive his soul from all anchorages. At last theygave judgment. With care he might in two years return to the arena, butfor the present he must go across the water and do no work whatever. Heaccepted the terms. It was capitulation; but the Combine that had shiveredbeneath his knife gave him all the honours of war: Gunsberg himself, fullof condolences, came to the steamer and filled the Chapins suite ofcabins with overwhelming flower-works.

Smilax, said George Chapin when he saw them. Fitz is right. Imdead; only I dont see why he left out the In Memoriam on theribbons!

Nonsense! his wife answered, and poured him his tincture. Youll beback before you can think.

He looked at himself in the mirror, surprised that his face had notbeen branded by the hells of the past three months. The noise of the decksworried him, and he lay down, his tongue only a little pressed against hispalate.

An hour later he said: Sophie, I feel sorry about taking you away fromeverything like this. II suppose were the two loneliest people on Godsearth to-night.

Said Sophie his wife, and kissed him: Isnt it something to you thatwere going together?

They drifted about Europe for monthssometimes alone, sometimes withchance met gipsies of their own land. From the North Cape to the BlueGrotto at Capri they wandered, because the next steamer headed that way,or because some one had set them on the road. The doctors had warnedSophie that Chapin was not to take interest even in other mens interests;but a familiar sensation at the back of the neck after one hours keentalk with a Nauheimed railway magnate saved her any trouble. He nearlywept.

And Im over thirty, he cried. With all I meant to do!

Lets call it a honeymoon, said Sophie. D you know, in all the sixyears weve been married, youve never told me what you meant to do withyour life?

With my life? Whats the use? Its finished now. Sophie looked upquickly from the Bay of Naples. As far as my business goes, I shall haveto live on my rents like that architect at San Moritz.

Youll get better if you dont worry; and even if it rakes time, thereare worse things thanHow much have you?

Between four and five million. But it isnt the money. You know itisnt. Its the principle. How could you respect me? You never did, thefirst year after we married, till I went to work like the others. Ourtradition and upbringing are against it. We cant accept thoseideals.

Well, I suppose I married you for some sort of ideal, she answered,and they returned to their forty-third hotel.

In England they missed the alien tongues of Continental streets thatreminded them of their own polyglot cities. In England all men spoke onetongue, speciously like American to the ear, but on cross-examinationunintelligible.

Ah, but you have not seen England, said a lady with iron-grey hair.They had met her in Vienna, Bayreuth, and Florence, and were grateful tofind her again at Claridges, for she commanded situations, and knew whereprescriptions are most carefully made up. You ought to take an interestin the home of our ancestors as I do.

Ive tried for a week, Mrs. Shonts, said Sophie, but I never get anyfurther than tipping German waiters.

These men are not the true type, Mrs. Shouts went on. I know whereyou should go.

Chapin pricked up his ears, anxious to run anywhere from the streets onwhich quick men, something of his kidney, did the business denied tohim.

We hear and we obey, Mrs. Shonts, said Sophie, feeling his unrest ashe drank the loathed British tea.

Mrs. Shonts smiled, and took them in hand. She wrote widely andtelegraphed far on their behalf till, armed with her letter ofintroduction, she drove them into that wilderness which is reached from anash-barrel of a station called Charing Cross. They were to go toRockettsthe farm of one Cloke, in the southern countieswhere, sheassured them, they would meet the genuine England of folklore andsong.

Rocketts they found after some hours, four miles from a station, and,so far as they could, judge in the bumpy darkness, twice as many from aroad. Trees, kine, and the outlines of barns showed shadowy about themwhen they alighted, and Mr. and Mrs. Cloke, at the open door of a deepstone-floored kitchen, made them shyly welcome. They lay in an atticbeneath a wavy whitewashed ceiling, and, because it rained, a wood firewas made in an iron basket on a brick hearth, and they fell asleep to thechirping of mice and the whimper of flames.

When they woke it was a fair day, full of the noises, of birds, thesmell of box lavender, and fried bacon, mixed with an elemental smell theyhad never met before.

This, said Sophie, nearly pushing out the thin casement in an attemptto see round the corner, iswhat did the hack-cabman say to the railwayporter about my trunkquite on the top?

No; a little bit of all right. I feel farther away from anywherethan Ive ever felt in my life. We must find out where the telegraphoffice is.

Who cares? said Sophie, wandering about, hairbrush in hand, to admirethe illustrated weekly pictures pasted on door and cupboard.

But there was no rest for the alien soul till he had made sure of thetelegraph office. He asked the Clokes daughter, laying breakfast, whileSophie plunged her face in the lavender bush outside the low window.

Go to the stile a-top o the Barn field, said Mary, and look acrossPardons to the next spire. Its directly under. You cant miss itnot ifyou keep to the footpath. My sisters the telegraphist there. But yourein the three-mile radius, sir. The boy delivers telegrams directly to thisdoor from Pardons village.

One has to take a good deal on trust in this country, hemurmured.

Sophie looked at the close turf, scarred only with last nights wheels,at two ruts which wound round a rickyard, and at the circle of stillorchard about the half-timbered house.