The Phantom Rickshaw | Page 9

must have been, for I recollect that I reined in my
horse at the head of the 'rickshaw, and politely wished Mrs. Wessington
"Good-evening." Her answer was one I knew only too well. I listened
to the end; and replied that I had heard it all before, but should be
delighted if she had anything further to say. Some malignant devil
stronger than I must have entered into me that evening, for I have a dim
recollection of talking the commonplaces of the day for five minutes to
the Thing in front of me.
"Mad as a hatter, poor devil--or drunk. Max, try and get him to come
home."
Surely that was not Mrs. Wessington's voice! The two men had
overheard me speaking to the empty air, and had returned to look after
me. They were very kind and considerate, and from their words
evidently gathered that I was extremely drunk. I thanked them
confusedly and cantered away to my hotel, there changed, and arrived
at the Mannerings' ten minutes late. I pleaded the darkness of the night
as an excuse; was rebuked by Kitty for my unlover-like tardiness; and
sat down.

The conversation had already become general; and under cover of it, I
was addressing some tender small talk to my sweetheart when I was
aware that at the further end of the table a short red-whiskered man was
describing, with much broidery, his encounter with a mad unknown
that evening.
A few sentences convinced me that he was repeating the incident of
half an hour ago. In the middle of the story he looked round for
applause, as professional story-tellers do, caught my eye, and
straightway collapsed. There was a moment's awkward silence, and the
red-whiskered man muttered something to the effect that he had
"forgotten the rest," thereby sacrificing a reputation as a good
story-teller which he had built up for six seasons past. I blessed him
from the bottom of my heart, and--went on with my fish.
In the fulness of time that dinner came to an end; and with genuine
regret I tore myself away from Kitty--as certain as I was of my own
existence that It would be waiting for me outside the door. The
red-whiskered man, who had been introduced to me as Doctor
Heatherlegh, of Simla, volunteered to bear me company as far as our
roads lay together. I accepted his offer with gratitude.
My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in readiness in the Mall, and, in
what seemed devilish mockery of our ways, with a lighted head-lamp.
The red-whiskered man went to the point at once, in a manner that
showed he had been thinking over it all dinner time.
"I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the matter with you this evening on
the Elysium road?" The suddenness of the question wrenched an
answer from me before I was aware.
"That!" said I, pointing to It.
"That may be either D. T. or Eyes for aught I know. Now you don't
liquor. I saw as much at dinner, so it can't be D. T. There's nothing
whatever where you're pointing, though you're sweating and trembling
with fright like a scared pony. Therefore, I conclude that it's Eyes. And
I ought to understand all about them. Come along home with me. I'm
on the Blessington lower road."
To my intense delight the 'rickshaw instead of waiting for us kept about
twenty yards ahead--and this, too whether we walked, trotted, or
cantered. In the course of that long night ride I had told my companion
almost as much as I have told you here.

"Well, you've spoiled one of the best tales I've ever laid tongue to," said
he, "but I'll forgive you for the sake of what you've gone through. Now
come home and do what I tell you; and when I've cured you, young
man, let this be a lesson to you to steer clear of women and indigestible
food till the day of your death."
The 'rickshaw kept steady in front; and my red-whiskered friend
seemed to derive great pleasure from my account of its exact
whereabouts.
"Eyes, Pansay--all Eyes, Brain, and Stomach. And the greatest of these
three is Stomach. You've too much conceited Brain, too little Stomach,
and thoroughly unhealthy Eyes. Get your Stomach straight and the rest
follows. And all that's French for a liver pill. I'll take sole medical
charge of you from this hour! for you're too interesting a phenomenon
to be passed over."
By this time we were deep in the shadow of the Blessington lower road
and the 'rickshaw came to a dead stop under a pine-clad, over-hanging
shale cliff. Instinctively I halted too, giving my reason. Heatherlegh
rapped out an oath.
"Now, if you think I'm going to spend a cold