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

Brutes."

"No,  Darling,  They Are Not. If You'll Act Fairly By Me,  I Will By

You--I'll Never Desert You."

Lizzie Did Not Answer.

"You Don't Think Me A Brute Like That Fellow Fletcher,  Do You?"

"I Don't Think There's Much Difference Between Any Of You."

Frank Ground His Teeth,  And At That Moment He Only Desired One

Thing--To Prove To Lizzie That Men Were Not All Vile And Worthless.

They Had Turned Into The Temple; The Old Places Seemed Dozing In The

Murmuring Quietude Of The Evening. Mike Was Coming Up The Pathway,

His Dress-Clothes Distinct In The Delicate Gray Light,  His Light-Gray

Overcoat Hanging Over His Arm.

"What A Toff He Is!" Said Lizzie. His Appearance And What It

Symbolized--An Evening In A Boudoir Or At The Gaming-Table--Jarred On

Frank,  Suggesting As It Did A Difference In Condition From That Of

The Wretched Girl He Had Abandoned; And As Mike Prided Himself That

Scandalous Stories Never Followed Upon His Loves,  The Unearthing Of

This Mean And Obscure Liaison Annoyed Him Exceedingly. Above All,  The

Accusation Of Paternity Was Disagreeable; But Determined To Avoid A

Quarrel,  He Was About To Pass By,  When Frank Noticed Lady Helen's

Pocket-Handkerchief Sticking Out Of His Pocket.

"You Blackguard," He Said,  "You Are Taking That Handkerchief To A

Gambling Hell."

Then Realizing That The Game Was Up,  He Turned And Would Have Struck

His Friend Had Not Lizzie Interposed. She Threw Herself Between The

Men,  And Called A Policeman,  And The Quarrel Ended In Mike's

Dismissal From The Staff Of The _Pilgrim_.

Frank Had Therefore To Sit Up Writing Till One O'clock,  For The Whole

Task Of Bringing Out The Paper Was Thrown Upon Him. Lizzie Sat By Him

Sewing. Noticing How Pale And Tired He Looked,  She Got Up,  And

Putting Her Arm About His Neck,  Said--

"Poor Old Man,  You Are Tired; You Had Better Come To Bed."

He Took Her In His Arms Affectionately,  And Talked To Her.

"If You Were Always As Kind And As Nice As You Are To-Night ...

I Could Love You."

"I Thought You Did Love Me."

"So I Do; You Will Never Know How Much." They Were Close Together,

And The Pure Darkness Seemed To Separate Them From All Worldly

Influences.

"If You Would Be A Good Girl,  And Think Only Of Him Who Loves You

Very Dearly."

"Ah,  If I Only Had Met You First!"

"It Would Have Made No Difference,  You'd Have Only Been Saying This

To Some One Else."

"Oh,  No; If You Had Known Me Before I Went Wrong."

"Was He The First?"

"Yes; I Would Have Been An Honest Little Girl,  Trying To Make You

Comfortable."

Throwing Himself On His Back,  Frank Argued Prosaically--

"Then You Mean To Say You Really Care About Me More Than Any One

Else?"

She Assured Him That She Did; And Again And Again The Temptations Of

Women Were Discussed. He Could Not Sleep,  And Stretched At Length On

His Back,  He Held Lizzie's Hand.

She Was In A Communicative Humour,  And Told Him The Story Of The

Waiter,  Whom She Described As Being "A Fellow Like Mike,  Who Made

Love To Every Woman." She Told Him Of Three Or Four Other Fellows,

Whose Rooms She Used To Go To. They Made Her Drink; She Didn't Like

The Beastly Stuff; And Then She Didn't Know What She Did. There Were

Stories Of The Landlady In Whose House She Lodged,  And The Woman Who

Lived Up-Stairs. She Had Two Fellows; One She Called Squeaker--She

Didn't Care For Him; And Another Called Harry,  And She Did Care For

Him; But The Landlady's Daughter Called Him A S----,  Because He

Seldom Gave Her Anything,  And Always Had A Bath In The Morning.

"How Can A Girl Be Respectable Under Such Circumstances?" Lizzie

Asked,  Pathetically. "The Landlady Used To Tell Me To Go Out And Get

My Living!"

"Yes; But I Never Let You Want. You Never Wrote To Me For Money That

I Didn't Send It."

"Yes; I Know You Did,  But Sometimes I Think She Stopped The Letters.

Besides,  A Girl Cannot Be Respectable If She Isn't Married. Where's

The Use?"

He Strove To Think,  And Failing To Think,  He Said--

"If You Really Mean What You Say,  I Will Marry You." He Heard Each

Word; Then A Sob Sounded In The Dark,  And Turning Impulsively He Took

Lizzie In His Arms.

"No,  No," She Cried,  "It Would Never Do At All. Your Family--What

Would They Say? They Would Not Receive Me."

"What Do I Care For My Family? What Has My Family Ever Done For Me?"

For An Hour They Argued,  Lizzie Refusing,  Declaring It Was Useless,

Insisting That She Would Then Belong To No Set; Frank Assuring Her

That Hand-In-Hand And Heart-To-Heart They Would Together,  With United

Strength And Love,  Win A Place For Themselves In The World. They

Dozed In Each Other's Arms.

Rousing Himself,  Frank Said--

"Kiss Me Once More,  Little Wifie; Good-Night,  Little Wife ..."

"Good-Night,  Dear."

"Call Me Little Husband; I Shan't Go To Sleep Until You Do."

"Good-Night,  Little Husband."

"Say Little Hussy."

"Good-Night,  Little Hussy."

Next Morning,  However,  Found Lizzie Violently Opposed To All Idea Of

Marriage. She Said He Didn't Mean It; He Said He Did Mean It,  And He

Caught Up A Bible And Swore He Was Speaking The Truth. He Put His

Back Against The Door,  And Declared She Should Not Leave Until She

Had Promised Him--Until She Gave Him Her Solemn Oath That She Would

Become His Wife. He Was Not Going To See Her Go To The Dogs--No,  Not

If He Could Help It; Then She Lost Her Temper And Tried To Push Past

Him. He Restrained Her,  Urging Again And Again,  And With Theatrical

Emphasis,  That He Thought It Right,  And Would Do His Duty. Then They

Argued,  They Kissed,  And Argued Again.

That Night He Walked Up And Down The Pavement In Front Of Her Door;

But The Servant-Girl Caught Sight Of Him Through The Kitchen-Window

And The Area-Railings,  And Ran Up-Stairs To Warn Miss Baker,  Who Was

Taking Tea With Two Girl Friends.

"He Is A-Walking Up And Down,  Miss,  'Is Great-Coat Flying Behind

Him."

Lizzie Slapped His Face When He Burst Into Her Room; And Scenes Of

Recrimination,  Love,  And Rage Were Transferred To And Fro Between

Temple Gardens And Winchester Street. Her Girl Friends Advised Her To

Marry,  And The Landlady When Appealed To Said,  "What Could You Want

Better Than A Fine Gentleman Like That?"

Frank Was Conscious Of Nothing But Her,  And Every Vision Of Mount

Rorke That Had Risen In His Mind He Had Unhesitatingly Swept Away.

All Prospects Were Engulfed In His Desire; He Saw Nothing But The

White Face,  Which Like A Star Led And Allured Him.

One Morning The Marriage Was Settled,  And Like A Knight Going To The

Crusade,  Frank Set Forth To Find Out When It Could Be. They Must Be

Married At Once. The Formalities Of A Religious Marriage Appalled

Him. Lizzie Might Again Change Her Mind; And A Registrar's Office

Fixed Itself In His Thought.

It Was A Hot Day In July When He Set Forth On His Quest. He Addressed

The Policeman At The Corner,  And Was Given The Name Of The Street And

The Number. He Hurried Through The Heat,  Irritated By The

Sluggishness Of The Passers-By,  And At Last Found Himself In Front Of

A Red Building. The Windows Were Full Of Such General Announcements

As--Working Men's Peace Preservation,  Limited Liability Company,  New

Zealand,  Etc. The Marriage Office Looked Like A Miniature Bank; There

Were Desks,  And A Brass Railing A Foot High Preserved The

Inviolability Of The Documents. A Fat Man With Watery Eyes Rose From

The Leather Arm-Chair In Which He Had Been Dozing,  And Frank

Intimated His Desire To Be Married As Soon As Possible; That

Afternoon If It Could Be Managed. It Took The Weak-Eyed Clerk Some

Little Time To Order And Grasp The Many Various Notions Which Frank

Urged Upon Him; But He Eventually Roused A Little (Frank Had Begun To

Shout At Him),  And Explained That No Marriage Could Take Place After

Two O'clock,  And Later On It Transpired That Due Notice Would Have To

Be Given.

Very Much Disappointed,  Frank Asked Him To Inscribe His Name. The

Clerk Opened A Book,  And Then It Suddenly Cropped Up That This Was

The Registry Office,  Not For Pimlico,  But For Kensington.

"Gracious Heavens!" Exclaimed Frank,  "And Where Is The Registry

Office For Pimlico In Kensington?"

"That I Cannot Tell You; It May Be Anywhere; You Will Have To Find

Out."

"How Am I To Find Out,  Damn It?"

"I Really Can't Tell You,  But I Must Beg Of You To Remember Where You

Are,  Sir,  And To Moderate Your Language," Said The Clerk,  With Some

Faint Show Of Hieratic Dignity. "And Now,  Ma'am,  What Can I Do For

You?" He Said,  Turning To A Woman Who Smelt Strongly Of The Kitchen.

Frank Was Furious; He Appealed Again To The Casual Policeman,  Who,

Although Reluctantly Admitting He Could Give Him No Information,

Sympathized With Him In His Diatribe Against The Stupidities Of The

Authorities. The Policeman Had Himself Been Married By The Registrar,

And Some Time Was Lost In Vain Reminiscences; He At Last Suggested

That Inquiry Could Be Made At A Neighbouring Church.

Frank Hurried Away,  And Had A Long Talk With A Charwoman Whom He

Discovered In The Desert Of The Chairs. She Thought The Office Was

Situated Somewhere In A Region Unknown To Frank,  Which She Called St.

George-Of-The-Fields; Her Daughter,  Who Had Been Shamefully Deserted,

Had Been Married There. The Parson,  She Thought,  Would Know,  And She

Gave Him His Address.

The Heat Was Intolerable! There Were Few People In The Streets. The

Perspiration Collected Under His Hat,  And His Feet Ached So In His

Patent Leather Shoes That He Was Tempted To Walk After The Water-Cart

And Bathe Them In The Sparkling Shower. Several Hansoms Passed,  But

They Were Engaged. Nor Was The Parson At Home. The Maid-Servant

Sniggered,  But Having Some Sympathy With What She Discovered Was His

Mission,  Summoned The Housekeeper,  Who Eyed Him Askance,  And Directed

Him To Bloomsbury; And After A Descent Into A Grocer's Shop,  And An

Adventure Which Ended In An Angry Altercation In A Servants' Registry

Office,  He Was Driven To A Large Building Which Adjoined The Parish

Infirmary And Workhouse.

Even There He Was Forced To Make Inquiries,  So Numerous And Various

Were The Offices. At Last An Old Man In Gray Clothes Declared Himself

The Registrar's Attendant,  And Offered To Show Him The Way; But

Seeing Himself Now Within Range Of His Desire,  He Distanced The