An Old Meerschaum | Page 9

get speech with Barndale
until the steamer was well under way. By then, she had time to think
the matter over, and had come to the conclusion that she would say
nothing about it. For, womanlike, she was half jealous of the pipe, and
she was altogether afraid of two things--first, that Barndale would leave
her to go back to Constantinople; and next, that the Greek and he would
enter on a deadly quarrel. For she had a general belief that all Orientals
were bloodthirsty. But the meerschaum pipe was not yet done with, and

it played its part in a tragedy before its tale was fully told.
CHAPTER III.
The English party reached London in the middle of July, and made
haste out of it--Lilian and her elders to peaceful Suffolk, where they
had a house they visited rarely; and her lover and her brother to Thames
Ditton, where these two inseparables took a house-boat, aboard which
they lived in Bohemian and barbaric ease, like rovers of the deep. Here
they fished, and swam, and boated, and grew daily more and more
mahogany coloured beneath the glorious summer sun. They cooked
their own steaks, and ate with ravenous appetites, and enjoyed
themselves like the two wholesome young giants they were, and grew
and waxed in muscle, and appetite, and ruddiness until a city clerk had
gone wild with envy, beholding them. Their demands for beer amazed
the landlord of the historic 'Swan,' and their absorption of steaks left the
village butcher in astonishment.
But in the midst of all this a purpose came upon Barndale quite
suddenly one day as he lay beneath the awning, intent on doing nothing.
He had not always been a wealthy man. There had been a time when he
had had to write for a living, or, at least, to eke a not over-plentiful
living out. At this time his name was known to the editors of most
magazines. He had written a good deal of graceful verse, and one or
two pretty idyllic stories, and there were people who looked very
hopefully on him as a rising light of literature. His sudden accession to
wealth had almost buried the poor taper of his genius when the hands
of Love triumphant took it suddenly at the time of that lazy lounge
beneath the awning, and gave it a chance once more. He was
meditating, as lovers will, upon his own unworthiness and the
all-worthy attributes of the divine Lilian. And it came to him to do
something--such as in him lay--to be more worthy of her. 'I often used
to say,' he said now within himself, 'that if I had time and money I
would try to write a comedy. Well then, here goes. Not one of the
flimsy Byron or Burnand frivolities, but a comedy with heart in it, and
motive in it, and honest, patient labour.'

So, all on fire with this laudable ambition, he set to work at once. The
plot had been laid long since, in the old impecunious hardworking days.
He revised it now and strengthened it. Day after day the passers by
upon the silent highway came in sight of this bronzed young giant
under his awning, with a pipe in his mouth and a vast bottle by his side,
and beheld him enthusiastically scrawling, or gazing with fixed eye at
nothing in particular on the other side of the river. Once or twice being
caught in the act of declaiming fragments of his dialogue, by
easy-going scullers who pulled silently round the side of the houseboat,
he dashed into the interior of that aquatic residence with much
precipitation. At other times his meditations were broken in upon by
the cheery invitations and restless invasions of a wild tribe of the youth
of Twickenham and its neighbourhood who had a tent in a field hard by,
and whose joy at morning, noon, and night, was beer. These savages
had an accordion and a penny whistle and other instruments of music
wherewith to make the night unbearable and the day a heavy burden.
They were known as 'The Tribe of the Scorchers,' and were a happy
and a genial people, but their presence was inimical to the rising hopes
of the drama. Nevertheless, Barndale worked, and the comedy grew
little by little towards completion. James, outwardly cynical regarding
it, was inwardly delighted. He believed in Barndale with a full and firm
conviction; and he used to read his friend's work at night, or listen to it
when Barndale read, with internal enthusiasm and an exterior of
coolness. Barndale knew him through and through, and in one scene in
the comedy had drawn the better part of him to the life. Hearing this
scene read over, it occurred to the genial youth