Mike Fletcher by George Moore (ebook pc reader .txt) 📕

Prepared,  A Slight Shock Or Interruption In The Course Of Life

Produces It,  Just As An Odorous Wind,  A Sight Of The Sea,  Results In

The Poem Which Has Been Collecting In The Mind."

"I Think You Might Have The Good Feeling To Forbear," Said Frank;

"The Present Is Hardly,  I Think,  A Time For Epigrams Or Philosophy. I

Wonder How You Can Talk So...."

"I Think Frank Is Quite Right. What Right Have We To Analyse Her

Motives?"

"Her Motives Were Simple Enough; Sad Enough Too,  In All Conscience.

Why Make Her Ridiculous By Forcing Her Heart Into The Groove Of Your

Philosophy? The Poor Woman Was Miserably Deceived; Abominably

Deceived. You Do Not Know What Anguish Of Mind She Suffered."

"There Is Nothing To Show That She Went To The Alexandra To Meet A

Lover Beyond The Fact Of A Statement Made To Mike In A Moment Of

Acute Nervous Excitement. We Have No Reason To Think That She Ever

Had A Lover. I Never Heard Her Name Mentioned In Any Such Way. Did

You,  Escott?"

"Yes; I Have Heard That You Were Her Lover."

"I Assure You I Never Was; We Have Not Even Been On Good Terms For A

Long Time Past."

"You Said Just Now That The Act Was Generally Preceded By A State Of

Feeling Long Preparing. It Was You Who Taught Her To Read

Schopenhauer."

"I Am Not Going To Listen To Nonsense At This Hour Of The Morning. I

Never Take Nonsense On An Empty Stomach. Come,  Thompson,  You Are

Going My Way."

Mike And Frank Walked Home Together. The Clocks Had Struck Six,  And

The Milkmen Were Calling Their Ware; Soon The Shop-Shutters Would Be

Coming Down,  And In This First Flush Of The Day's Enterprise,  A Last

Belated Vegetable-Cart Jolted Towards The Market. Mike's Thoughts

Flitted From The Man Who Lay A-Top Taking His Ease,  His Cap Pulled

Over His Eyes,  To The Scene That Was Now Taking Place In The Twilight

Bedroom. What Would Seymour Say? Would He Throw Himself On His Knees?

Frank Spoke From Time To Time; His Thoughts Growled Like A Savage

Dog,  And His Words Bit At His Friend. For Mike Had Incautiously Given

An Account In Particular Detail Of His _Tête-À-Tête_ With Lady Helen.

"Then You Are In A Measure Answerable For Her Death."

"You Said Just Now That Harding Was Answerable; We Can't Both Be

Culpable."

Frank Did Not Reply. He Brooded In Silence,  Losing All Perception Of

The Truth In A Stupid And Harsh Hatred Of Those Whom He Termed The

Villains That Ruined Women. When They Reached Leicester Square,  To

Escape From The Obsession Of The Suicide,  Mike Said--

"I Do Not Think That I Told You That I Have Sketched Out A Trilogy On

The Life Of Christ. The First Play _John_,  The Second _Christ_,  The

Third _Peter_. Of Course I Introduce Christ Into The Third Play. You

Know The Legend. When Peter Is Flying From Rome To Escape

Crucifixion,  He Meets Christ Carrying His Cross."

"Damn Your Trilogy--Who Cares! You Have Behaved Abominably. I Want

You To Understand That I Cannot--That I Do Not Hold With Your

Practice Of Making Love To Every Woman You Meet. In The First Place

It Is Beastly,  In The Second It Is Not Gentlemanly. Look At The

Result!"

"But I Assure You I Am In No Wise To Blame In This Affair. I Never

Was Her Lover."

"But You Made Love To Her."

"No,  I Didn't; We Talked Of Love,  That Was All. I Could See She Was

Excited,  And Hardly Knew What She Was Saying. You Are Most Unjust. I

Think It Quite As Horrible As You Do; It Preys Upon My Mind,  And If I

Talk Of Other Things It Is Because I Would Save Myself The Pain Of

Thinking Of It. Can't You Understand That?"

The Conversation Fell,  And Mike Thrust Both Hands Into The Pockets Of

His Overcoat.

At The End Of A Long Silence,  Frank Said--

"We Must Have An Article On This--Or,  I Don't Know--I Think I Should

Like A Poem. Could You Write A Poem On Her Death?"

"I Think So. A Prose Poem. I Was Penetrated With The Modern

Picturesqueness Of The Room--The Venetian Blinds."

"If That's The Way You Are Going To Treat It,  I Would Sooner Not Have

It--The Face In The Glass,  A Lot Of Repetitions Of Words,  Sentences

Beginning With 'And,' Then A Mention Of Shoes And Silk Stockings. If

You Can't Write Feelingly About Her,  You Had Better Not Write At

All."

"I Don't See That A String Of Colloquialisms Constitute Feelings,"

Said Mike.

Mike Kept His Temper; He Did Not Intend To Allow It To Imperil His

Residence In Temple Gardens,  Or His Position In The Newspaper; But He

Couldn't Control His Vanity,  And Ostentatiously Threw Lady Helen's

Handkerchief Upon The Table,  And Admitted To Having Picked It Up In

The Hotel.

"What Am I To Do With It? I Suppose I Must Keep It As A Relic," He

Added With A Laugh,  As He Opened His Wardrobe.

There Were There Ladies' Shoes,  Scarves,  And Neckties; There Were

There Sachets And Pincushions; There Were There Garters,  Necklaces,

Cotillion Favours,  And A Tea-Gown.

Again Frank Boiled Over With Indignation,  And Having Vented His Sense

Of Rectitude,  He Left The Room Without Even Bidding His Friend

Good-Night Or Good-Morning. The Next Day He Spent The Entire

Afternoon With Lizzie,  For Lady Helen's Suicide Had Set His Nature In

Active Ferment.

In The Story Of Every Soul There Are Times Of Dissolution And

Reconstruction In Which Only The Generic Forms Are Preserved. A New

Force Had Been Introduced,  And It Was Disintegrating That Mass Of

Social Fibre Which Is Modern Man,  And The Decomposition Teemed With

Ideas Of Duty,  Virtue,  And Love. He Interrupted Lizzie's Chit-Chat

Constantly With Reflections Concerning The Necessity Of Religious

Belief In Women.

About Seven They Went To Eat In A Restaurant Close By. It Was An Old

Italian Chop-House That Had Been Enlarged And Modernized,  But The

Original Marble Tables Where Customers Ate Chops And Steaks At Low

Prices Were Retained In A Remote And Distant Corner. Lizzie Proposed

To Sit There. They Were Just Seated When A Golden-Haired Girl Of

Theatrical Mien Entered.

"That's Lottie Rily," Exclaimed Lizzie. Then Lowering Her Voice She

Whispered Quickly,  "She Was In Love With Mike Once; He Was The Fellow

She Left Her 'Ome For. She's On The Stage Now,  And Gets Four Pounds A

Week. I Haven't Seen Her For The Last Couple Of Years. Lottie,  Come

And Sit Down Here."

The Girl Turned Hastily. "What,  Lizzie,  Old Pal,  I Have Not Seen You

For Ages."

"Not For More Than Two Years. Let Me Introduce You To My Friend,  Mr.

Escott--Miss Lottie Rily Of The Strand Theatre."

"Very Pleased To Make Your Acquaintance,  Sir; The Editor Of The

_Pilgrim_,  I Presume?"

Frank Smiled With Pleasure,  And The Waiter Interposed With The Bill

Of Fare. Lottie Ordered A Plate Of Roast Beef,  And Leaned Across The

Table To Talk To Her Friend.

"Have You Seen Mike Lately?" Asked Lizzie.

"Swine!" She Answered,  Tossing Her Head. "No; And Don't Want To. You

Know How He Treated Me. He Left Me Three Months After My Baby Was

Born."

"Have You Had A Baby?"

"What,  Didn't You Know That? It Is Seven Months Old; 'Tis A Boy,

That's One Good Job. And He Hasn't Paid Me One Penny Piece. I Have

Been Up To Barber And Barber's,  But They Advised Me To Do Nothing.

They Said That He Owed Them Money,  And That They Couldn't Get What He

Owed Them--A Poor Look-Out For Me. They Said That If I Cared To

Summons Him For The Support Of The Child,  That The Magistrate Would

Grant Me An Order At Once."

"And Why Don't You?" Said Frank; "You Don't Like The _Exposé_ In The

Newspapers."

"That's It."

"Do You Care For Him Still?"

"I Don't Know Whether I Do,  Or Don't. I Shall Never Love Another Man,

I Know That. I Saw Him In Front About A Month Ago. He Was In The

Stalls,  And He Fixed His Eyes Upon Me; I Didn't Take The Least

Notice,  He Was So Cross. He Came Behind After The First Act. He Said,

'How Old You Are Looking!' I Said,  'What Do You Mean?' I Was Very

Nicely Made Up Too,  And He Said,  'Under The Eyes.' I Said,  'What Do

You Mean?' And He Said,  'You Are All Wrinkles.' I Said,  'What Do You

Mean?' And He Went Down-Stairs.... Swine!"

"He Isn't Good-Looking," Said Frank,  Reflectively,  "A Broken Nose,  A

Chin Thrust Forward,  And A Mop Of Brown Curls Twisted Over His

Forehead. Give Me A Pencil,  And I'll Do His Caricature."

"Every One Says The Same Thing. The Girls In The Theatre All Say,

'What In The World Do You See In Him?' I Tell Them That If He

Chose--If He Were To Make Up To Them A Bit,  They'd Go After Him Just

The Same As I Did. There's A Little Girl In The Chorus,  And She Trots

About After Him; She Can't Help It. There Are Times When I Don't Care

For Him. What Riles Me Is To See Other Women Messing Him About."

"I Suppose It Is Some Sort Of Magnetism,  Electro-Biology,  And He

Can't Help Exercising It Any More Than You Women Can Resist It. Tell

Me,  How Did He Leave You?"

"Without A Word Or A Penny. One Night He Didn't Come Home,  And I Sat

Up For Him,  And I Don't Know How Many Nights After. I Used To Doze

Off And Awake Up With A Start,  Thinking I Heard His Footstep On The

Landing. I Went Down To Waterloo Bridge To Drown Myself. I Don't Know

Why I Didn't; I Almost Wish I Had,  Although I Have Got On Pretty Well

Since,  And Get A Pretty Tidy Weekly Screw."

"What Do You Get?"

"Three Ten. Mine's A Singing Part. Waiter,  Some Cheese And Celery."

"What A Blackguard He Is! I'll Never Speak To Him Again; He Shall

Edit My Paper No More. To-Night I'll Give Him The Dirty Kick-Out."

Mike Remained The Topic Of Conversation Until Lottie Said--

"Good Lord,  I Must Be 'Getting'--It Is Past Seven O'clock."

Frank Paid Her Modest Bill,  And Still Discussing Mike,  They Walked To

The Stage-Door. Quick With Desire To Possess Lizzie Wholly Beyond

Recall,  And Obfuscated With Notions Concerning The Necessity Of

Placing Women In Surroundings In Harmony With Their Natural Goodness,

Frank Walked By His Mistress's Side. At The End Of A Long Silence,

She Said--

"That's The Way You'll Desert Me One Of