South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) by Norman Douglas (novels for students TXT) 📕

Eruptions Now And Then Come To An End Quite Irrespective Of The Wind--A

Contingency Which Had Not Been Foreseen In The Acute Young

Scandinavian's Computations.

"That Comes," They Said,  "Of Studying The Higher Mathematics. . . ."

For Their Miraculous Deliverance From A Shower Of Volcanic Ashes The

Islanders Gave All Credit,  As Might Have Been Expected,  To Their Patron

Saint. And This Proves How Inadequately Causes And Effects Are

Understood,  Here On Earth. For The Priests,  The Most Intelligent

Section Of The Populace,  Knew Perfectly Well That But For The Orders Of

The Parroco No Procession Could Have Taken Place. The Saint Would Have

Remained Locked Up In His Musty Shrine,  Without The Faintest Chance Of

Performing A Miracle Of Any Kind. They Argued,  Consequently,  That Saint

Dodekanus Got The Credit For What Was Really The Parroco's Notion. And

Torquemada,  Thinking Over The Day's Proceedings,  Was Driven To Confess

That He Was Indebted For The Suggestion To The Fertile Brain Of The

Nicaraguan Representative; In Other Words That He,  The Parroco,  Was

Praised For What Was Really The Commissioner's Idea. And It Is Evident

That If Mr. Parker's Lady Had Not Died From The Effects Of A

Mosquito-Sting,  That Gentleman Would Never Have Been In Such A Complex

Funk As To Suggest A Procession To The Worthy Priest.

Thus It Came About That The Commissioner,  The Parish Priest,  And The

Patron Saint Got The Credit For What Was Really An Insect's Work.

Which Shows How A Mosquito Can Cure An Eruption.

Everybody Was Drunk That Night In Honour Of The Saint's Bounty,  Though

Miss Wilberforce Reached The Climax Of Her Activities At The Early Hour

Of 4 P.M.--During The Torchlight Procession.

An Uproar Had Been Generated At The Club; Chairs Were Broken,  Bottles

Smashed,  And Sporting Prints Kicked About--All On Account Of A Comical

But Rather Scurrilous Speech Contrasting Europe With Australasia By A

New-Comer,  A Member Of The New Zealand House Of Representatives,  Who

Limped Home Not Long Afterwards With A Damaged Shinbone And Black Eye.

The More Violent Parties Had Been Ejected During That Incident,  Or

Carried To Their Lodgings. Only About Half The Usual Number Was

Left--All Moderates,  So Far As Drinking Was Concerned,  But All More Or

Less Screwed That Day As Befitted The Occasion. There Was The

Card-Table Group,  Where Mr. Muhlen,  With Heightened Colour In His

Cheeks,  Was Losing Money In So Brilliant A Fashion That Everyone Swore

He Must Be On The Verge Of Coming Into A Legacy Or Making Some Coup

With A Rich Woman. In Another Room The So-Called Bawdy Section,

Presided Over By The Dubious Mr. Hopkins,  Were Discussing Topics Not

Adapted To Polite Ears. The Artistic Group,  Sadly Thinned By The

Ejection Of Four Of Its More Imaginative And Virile Members Who Had

Distinguished Themselves In The Fray,  Now Consisted Solely Of Two

Youngsters,  A Black-And-White Man And A Literary Critic; They Sat In A

Corner By Themselves,  Talking About Colour-Values In Maudlin Strains.

The Ordinary Club-Group Had,  As Usual,  Installed Themselves In The Most

Comfortable Chairs On The Balcony. They Were Boozing Steadily,  Like

Gentlemen,  And Having No End Of Fun With The Poor Little Norwegian

Professor And His Miscalculations. One Of Them--A Venerable Toper Of

Anacreontic Youthfulness Known As Charlie Who Turned Up On Nepenthe At

Odd Intervals And Whom The Oldest Inhabitant Of The Place Had Never

Seen Otherwise Than In A State Of Benevolent Fuddle--Was Saying To Him:

"Instead Of Filling Yourself Up With Whisky In That Disgusting Fashion,

My Friend,  You Ought To Travel. Then You Wouldn't Make Such An

Exhibition Of Yourself As You Did This Afternoon Over Those Ashes. Talk

About Volcanoes! Ever Seen The Lake Of Pitch In Trinidad? Queer Place,

Trinidad. You Never Know Where You Are. Though I Can't Say I Saw Much

Of It Myself. I Was Asleep Most Of The Time,  Gentlemen,  And Often

Tight. Mostly Both. All Angles And Things,  As You Sail Along. To Get An

Idea Of That Place,  You Must Take A Banana,  For Instance,  And Cut It In

Half,  And Cut That In Half Again,  And That Half In Half Again--The

Banana,  Mind You,  Must Always Remain The Same Size--Or Suppose You Keep

Peeling A Potato,  And Peeling,  And Peeling--Well,  Mr. Professor,  What

Are You Laughing At Now?"

"I Was Thinking What An Interesting Map One Could Draw Of Trinidad If

It's Like That."

"Interesting? That's Not The Word. It's Hell. I Wouldn't Care To Take

On That Job,  Not Even To Oblige My Poor Old Mother Who Died Fifty Years

Ago. Ever Been To Trinidad,  Mr. Richards? Or You,  Mr. White? Or

Anybody? What,  Has Nobody Been To Trinidad? You Ought To Travel More,

Gentlemen. How About You,  Mr. Samuel?"

"Never Further West Than The Marble Arch. But A Friend Of Mine Kept A

Ranch Somewhere Down There. One Day He Shot A Skunk. Yes,  Mr. White,  A

Skunk."

"A Skunk? I'm Blowed. What On Earth Ever For Did He Do That? What Did

He Want With A Skunk? I Thought They Were Protected By Law To Keep Down

Rattlesnakes. That's So,  Isn't It,  Charlie?"

"Snakes. You Should See Them In Trinidad. Snakes. Great Scot! It's A

Queer Place,  Is Trinidad. All Angles And Things--"

"I Don't Think One Can Talk About A Place Being All Angles And Things,

Unless--"

"Tell Me,  Charlie,  What Did The Fellow On The Ranch Want To Do With

That Rattlesnake?"

"Couldn't Say,  My Son. Maybe He Thought Of Sending It To His Mother. Or

Perhaps He Didn't Want The Skunk To Get Hold Of Its Tail: See?"

"I See."

"They're Very Sensitive About Their Tails. As Ticklish As Any Young

Girl,  I'm Told."

"As Bad As All That,  Are They?"

"I Don't Think One Can Talk About Angles When Describing An Island Or

Even A Continent,  Except In A Figurative And Flowery Fashion. As A

Teacher Of Geometry,  It Is My Business To Dwell Among Angles; And The

Thirty-Five Boys In My Class Will Bear Witness To The Fact That My

Relations With Angles,  Great And Small,  Are Above Reproach. I Admit

That There Are Angles Everywhere,  And That A Man Who Really Likes Their

Company Will Stumble Against Them In The Most Unexpected Places. But

They Are Sometimes Hard To See,  Unless One Deliberately Looks For Them.

I Think Charlie Must Have Been Looking For Them In Trinidad."

"I Said Angles And Things,  And I Always Stick To What I Say. And

Things. You Will Be Good Enough,  Mr. Professor,  To Draw Your Map

Accordingly."

"Gentlemen! I Rise To A Point Of Order. Our Indian Friend Here Is

Greatly Annoyed. He Has Been Accused Of Wearing Stays. At His Urgent

Request I Have Convinced Myself,  By Personal Inspection,  That He Wears

Nothing Of The Kind. He Is Naturally Slim-Waisted,  As Befits A Worthy

Representative Of The Noble Hairyan Race. It Has Also Been Suggested

That He Loses Caste By His Present Mode Of Conduct. He Begs Me To Say

That,  Being A Jamshi-Worshipper,  He Doesn't Care A Brass Farthing About

Caste. Thirdly,  He Has Been Blamed In Certain Quarters For His

Immoderate Indulgence In Parker's Poison. Let Me Tell You,  Gentlemen,

In My Capacity As Vice-President,  That For The Last Four Thousand Years

His Family Has Enjoyed A Special Dispensation From The Great Mogul,

Authorizing The Eldest Son To Drink Whatever He Damn Well Pleases. Our

Friend Here Happens To Be The Third Son. But That Is Obviously Not His

Fault. If It Were,  He Would Have Come Forward With An Apology Long Ago.

Gentlemen! I Can't Speak Fairer Than That. Whoever Says I'm Not A

Gentleman--Why,  He Isn't One Either."

"Hear,  Hear! I Never Knew You Were An Ornithologist,  Richards."

"Nor Did I--Not Till This Moment. But When It's A Question Of Defending

The Honour Of A Club-Member I Always Rise To The Occasion. Some

Things--They Simply Make My Blood Boil. Look At This Referee: Two Weeks

Out Of Date! How The Blazes Is A Man--"

"I Say,  Charlie,  What Did The Fellow On The Ranch Want To Do With That

Skunk? Something About Tickling,  Wasn't It?"

"Hush,  My Boy. We Can't Talk About It Here. You're Not Old Enough Yet.

I Don't Think I Ought To Tell You. It's Too Funny For Words. . . ."

"You're A Black-And-White Man And I'm A Writer,  And Really,  You Know,

We're A Cut Above All Those Sots On The Balcony. Now Just Be Reasonable

For A Moment. Look Here. Have You Ever Thought About The Impossibility

Of Realizing Colour Description In Landscape? It's Struck Me A Good

Deal Lately,  Here,  With This Blue Sea,  And Those Orange Tints On The

Mountain,  And All The Rest Of It. Take Any Page By A Well-Known

Writer--Take A Description Of A Sunset By Symonds,  For Example. Well,  He

Names All The Gorgeous Colours,  The Yellow And Red And Violet,  Or

Whatever It May Be,  As He Saw Them. But He Can't Make You See

Them--Damned If He Can. He Can Only Throw Words At Your Head. I'm Very

Much Afraid,  My Dear Fellow,  That Humanity Will Never Get Its

Colour-Values Straightened Out By Means Of Verbal Symbols."

"I Always Know When A Man Is Drunk,  Even When I'm Drunk Myself."

"When?"

"When He Talks About Colour-Values."

"I Believe You're Right. I'm Feeling A Bit Muzzy About The Legs,  As If

I Couldn't Move. A Bit Fuzzy--"

"Muzzy,  I Think You Said."

"Fuzzy."

"Muzzy. But We Needn't Quarrel About It,  Need We? I Shall Be Sick In A

Minute,  Old Man."

"It's Rather Hard On A Fellow To Be Always Misunderstood. However,  As I

Was Saying When You Interrupted Me,  I Am Feeling Slightly Wobblish In

The Peripatetic Or Ambulatorial Department. But My Head's All Right.

Now Do Be Serious,  For A Change. You Don't Seem To Catch My Drift. This

Blue Sea,  And Those Orange Tints On The Mountains,  I Mean To Say--How

Are They Going To Be Held Fast By The Optic Apparatus? The Lens,  You

Understand. I Want To Be Able To Shove Them Into A Sketch-Book,  Like

You Fellows. Well,  How? That's What I Want To Know. How To Turn My

Retina Into A Canvas."

"Rot,  My Good Sir."

"It May Be Rot To You,  But It Strikes Me As Rather Unfortunate,  All The

Same,  When You Come To Think Of It. This Blue Sea,  I Mean,  And Those

Orange Tints And All That,  You Know. Take A Sunrise By John Addington.

Of Course,  As A Matter Of Fact,  We Ought Both To Have Been Born In

Another Age--An Age Of Sinecures. Why Are Sinecures Extinct? I Feel As

If I Could Be Governor Of Madagascar At This Moment."

"I Feel As If You Were Getting Slightly Intoxicated."

"That's Me. But It's Only My Legs. My Head Is Astonishingly Clear. And

I Do Wish You Would Try,  Just For Once In A Way,  To Follow My Meaning.

Be Reasonable,  For A Change! I Mean To Say That A Man Has Talents For

All Sorts Of Things. I,  For Example,  Have Pronounced Views Upon

Agriculture. But What's The Use Of Farming Without Capital? What I Mean

To Say Is This: We See The Blue Sea And The Orange Tints On The

Mountains,  And All That,  I Mean,  And We Don't Seem To Realize,  I Mean,

That We May Die At Any Moment And Never See Them Again. How Few People

Grasp That Simple Fact! It's Enough To Make One Sick. Or Do You Think

It's A Laughing Matter?"

"Bally Rotten,  I Call It. You're Quite Right. People Don't Realize

Things The Way They Ought,  Except In A Few Selected Moments. They Live

Like Animals. I Shall Be Sick In A Minute,  Old Man."

"Like Animals. Good Lord! You've Hit The Nail On The Head This Time.

How True That Is. Like Animals. Like Animals. Like Animals."

"I Know What We Want. We Want Fresh Air. No More Parker's Poison For

Me. Let's Take A Stroll."

"I Would If I Could. But I Can't Get Off This Chair,  Damn It. I Shall

Fall Down If I Move An Inch. I Can Hardly Turn My Head Round,  As It Is.

Awfully Sorry. You Don't Mind,  Do You?"

"Gad! That's Awkward. Couldn't We Take Your Chair Along With Us,

Somehow? I'm