Tommy and Grizel | Page 9

goading him to action. One evening, the
bottles circulating, they mentioned one Dolly, goddess at some bar, as a
fit instructress for him. Coarse pleasantries passed, but for a time he

writhed in silence, then burst upon them indignantly for their unmanly
smirching of a woman's character, and swept out, leaving them a little
ashamed. That was very like Tommy.
But presently a desire came over him to see this girl, and it came
because they had hinted such dark things about her. That was like him
also.
There was probably no harm in Dolly, though it is man's proud right to
question it in exchange for his bitters. She was tall and willowy, and
stretched her neck like a swan, and returned you your change with
disdainful languor; to call such a haughty beauty Dolly was one of the
minor triumphs for man, and Dolly they all called her, except the only
one who could have given an artistic justification for it.
This one was a bearded stranger who, when he knew that Pym and his
friends were elsewhere, would enter the bar with a cigar in his mouth,
and ask for a whisky-and-water, which was heroism again, for smoking
was ever detestable to him, and whisky more offensive than quinine.
But these things are expected of you, and by asking for the whisky you
get into talk with Dolly; that is to say, you tell her several times what
you want, and when she has served every other body you get it. The
commercial must be served first; in the barroom he blocks the way like
royalty in the street. There is a crown for us all somewhere.
Dolly seldom heard the bearded one's "good-evening"; she could not
possibly have heard the "dear," for though it was there, it remained
behind his teeth. She knew him only as the stiff man who got separated
from his glass without complaining, and at first she put this down to
forgetfulness, and did nothing, so that he could go away without
drinking; but by and by, wherever he left his tumbler, cunningly
concealed behind a water-bottle, or temptingly in front of a commercial,
she restored it to him, and there was a twinkle in her eye.
"You little rogue, so you see through me!" Surely it was an easy thing
to say; but what he did say was "Thank you." Then to himself he said,
"Ass, ass, ass!"

Sitting on the padded seat that ran the length of the room, and
surreptitiously breaking his cigar against the cushions to help it on its
way to an end, he brought his intellect to bear on Dolly at a distance,
and soon had a better knowledge of her than could be claimed by those
who had Dollied her for years. He also wove romances about her, some
of them of too lively a character, and others so noble and sad and
beautiful that the tears came to his eyes, and Dolly thought he had been
drinking. He could not have said whether he would prefer her to be
good or bad.
These were but his leisure moments, for during the long working hours
he was still at the exercises, toiling fondly, and right willing to tear
himself asunder to get at the trick of writing. So he passed from
exercises to the grand experiment.
It was to be a tale, for there, they had taken for granted, lay the treasure.
Pym was most considerate at this time, and mentioned woman with an
apology.
"I have kept away from them in the exercises," he said in effect,
"because it would have been useless (as well as cruel) to force you to
labour on a subject so uncongenial to you; and for the same reason I
have decided that it is to be a tale of adventure, in which the heroine
need be little more than a beautiful sack of coals which your cavalier
carries about with him on his left shoulder. I am afraid we must have
her to that extent, Thomas, but I am not asking much of you; dump her
down as often as you like."
And Thomas did his dogged best, the red light in his eye; though he
had not, and never could have had, the smallest instinct for
story-writing, he knew to the finger-tips how it is done; but for ever he
would have gone on breaking all the rules of the game. How he
wrestled with himself! Sublime thoughts came to him (nearly all about
that girl), and he drove them away, for he knew they beat only against
the march of his story, and, whatever befall, the story must march.
Relentlessly he followed in the track of his men, pushing the dreary
dogs on to deeds of valour. He