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The Floating Press - George Griffith

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163 pages

English

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The missionary is typically regarded as an inspiring symbol of service, charity and self-sacrifice. But in George Griffith's thought-provoking novel The Missionary, the shocking events that prompted one person to take up the mantle of religious ambassadorship cast a pall on later good deeds.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 avril 2016
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776598359
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE MISSIONARY
* * *
GEORGE GRIFFITH

*
The Missionary First published in 1902 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-835-9 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-836-6 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Prologue Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX Chapter XXI Chapter XXII Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV Chapter XXV Epilogue
Prologue
*
"Oh—Eny!"
"Well, you needn't be angry, Vane. I kissed you this morning, youknow."
"That's no reason why you should kiss that chap, too! You're my sweetheart."
"Is she? Well, she won't be much longer, because I'm going to have her."
"Are you? Shut up, or I'll punch your head."
"You can't—and, anyhow, you daren't."
Smack!
It was a good swinging blow with the open hand across the cheek, and itleft a vivid flush behind it on the somewhat sallow skin.
"Oh, if you're going to fight I shall go away, and I shan't be friendswith either of you."
But as the two lads closed, the blue-eyed, golden-haired little beautyonly shrank back a little nearer to the after-wheelhouse of the homewardbound P. and O. liner whose deck was the scene of this first act of thetragedy of three lives. A bright flush came into her cheeks, and a newlight began to dance in her eyes as the first look of fright died out ofthem. The breath came and went more quickly between the half-openedlips with a low sibilant sound. They were pretty, well-cut lips, theupper short and exquisitely curved, and the lower full with the promiseof a sensuous maturity.
She was only seven, but she was woman enough already to know that thesetwo lads were fighting for her —for the favour of her smiles and theright to her kisses—and so she stayed.
She had heard in India how the tigers fought for their mates, and, withthe precocity of the Anglo-Indian child, she recognised now the likenessbetween tigers and men—and boys. She was being fought for. These twolads, albeit they had neither of them seen their eleventh birthday, wereusing all their strength against each other, hammering each other'sfaces with their fists, wrestling and writhing, now upstanding and nowon the deck at her feet, were not unlike the tigers she had heard herfather tell her mother about.
She saw the hatred in their eyes, red and swollen by the impact ofwell-planted blows. She watched the gleam of their teeth between theircut and bleeding lips. They hated each other because they loved her—or,in their boyish way, most firmly believed they did. Their lips were cutand bleeding because she had kissed them.
The fascination of the fight grew upon her. The hot young blood began todance in her veins. She found herself encouraging now one and then theother—always the one who was getting the worst of it for the timebeing—and when at last the younger and slighter but more wiry andactive of them, the one who had caught the other kissing her, tookadroit advantage of a roll of the ship and pitched his antagonistbackwards so heavily against the wheelhouse that he droppedhalf-stunned to the deck, she looked proudly at the panting, bleedingvictor, and gasped:
"Oh, Vane, I'm so glad you've won. You haven't quite killed him, haveyou? I suppose the captain would hang you if you did. I'm so sorry itwas all about me. I'll never let any one else but you kiss me again.Really I won't. You may kiss me now if you like. Take my handkerchief.Oh, I don't mind the cuts. You did it for me. There! It was brave ofyou, for he's bigger than you. Poor Reggie, let's help him up. I supposeyou'll both have to go to the doctor."
"We shall both get a jolly good licking more likely. Still, I don't careas long as you won't let him kiss you again."
"No, Vane, indeed I won't, nor anyone else for ever and ever if you'llonly forgive me this time."
And then, for the first time since the fight began, her big bright blueeyes filled and grew dim with tears.
Chapter I
*
It was the evening of Boat-race day, and as usual that province ofVanity Fair whose centre is Piccadilly Circus was more or lesscompletely given over to joyously boisterous troops of undergraduatesand 'Varsity men of all academic ranks whom the great event of the yearhad brought together from all parts of the kingdom, and even from landsbeyond the sea.
The mild saturnalia which London annually permits in honour of thehistoric struggle between the rival blues was at its height. The musichalls were crowded to their utmost capacity, and lusty-voicedundergraduates joined enthusiastically, if not altogether tunefully, inthe choruses of the songs; but the enthusiasm was perhaps highest andthe crowd the greatest at the Palace, where start and race and themagnificent finish with which the struggle had ended were being shown bythe American Biograph.
As the series of pictures followed each other on the screen, the crieswhich a few hours before had been roaring along the two banks of theriver from Putney to Mortlake burst out anew from pit and gallery,circles and stalls and boxes. Cambridge had won for once after a longseries of defeats, but the Oxford boys and men were cheering just aslustily and yelling themselves just as hoarse as the others, for theywere all Englishmen and therefore good sportsmen.
The crush in the First Circle was terrific, but for the moment VaneMaxwell was conscious neither of the heat nor the crowding. His wholesoul was in his eyes as he watched the weirdly silent and yet life-likephantoms flitting across the screen. It was only when the finish hadfaded into swift darkness and the thunders of applause had begun to diedown that he became aware of the fact that someone was standing on oneof his feet, and that just behind him someone else had got hold of hisarm and was holding it with a convulsive sort of clutch.
Just then there was a lull in the applause, and he caught a faintlymurmured "Oh, dear" in a feminine voice. He wrenched his foot free, andturned round just in time to slip his arm round the waist of a faintinggirl and save her from falling.
The crush was loosening now, for the great attraction of the evening hadpassed, and a general move was being made towards the bars.
"If you please there, this young lady's fainting. Give her as much roomas you can, please," he said loudly enough to be heard for some littledistance round.
A number of undergraduates of both Universities managed to immediatelyclear a space about them, and one of his own college chums at Balliolwho had come in with him said, "Take her to the bar, Maxwell, and giveher a drop of brandy. Now, move up there, you fellows. Room for beautyin distress—come along!"
A couple of the stalwart attendants had also arrived on the scene bythis time, and so a lane was easily made to the nearest bar. The girlopened her eyes again, looked about her for a moment, and thenmurmured:
"Oh, thank you so much, I think I can walk. I am getting all right now.It was the crowd and the heat. Please don't trouble. It's very good ofyou."
"It's no trouble at all," said Maxwell. "Come and let me give you a dropof brandy. That'll put you all right."
As they went into the bar they were followed by not a few curiousglances. Men and lads looked at each other and smiled, and women lookedat them and each other, also smiling, but with plainer meaning, and oneor two expressed themselves openly as to the neatness with which thewhole affair had been managed.
Crowded as the bar was, Maxwell had no difficulty in getting a couple ofbrandies and a split soda for himself and his companion. Two men sittingat one of the tables had got up to let her sit down. One of them heldout his hand to Maxwell and said:
"Why, Vane, old man, is it you? In luck, as usual, I see." He said thiswith a glance towards the girl which brought the blood to Maxwell'scheeks. Still, he took the other's hand, and said good-humouredly:
"Good evening, Garthorne. Up for the race, I suppose? Fine fight, wasn'tit? I'm glad you won, it was getting a bit monotonous. Thanks forletting us have the table. This young lady is not very well, felt a bitfaint in the crowd."
"I see," said Garthorne, with another look at her which Maxwell did notaltogether like. "Well, good night, old man. Be as good as you can."
As the two moved away Maxwell's memory went back to a scene which hadoccurred behind the wheelhouse of a P. and O. liner about ten yearsbefore, and, without exactly knowing why, he felt as if it would givehim a certain amount of satisfaction to repeat it. Then he turned to thegirl and said:
"I beg your pardon; I hope you haven't been waiting. You should havetaken a drink at once."
"Oh, thanks, that's all right. I'm a lot better now," she said, takingup the tumbler and smiling over it at him. "Well, here's luck! It wasawfully good of you to get me out of that crowd. I believe I should havefallen down if it hadn't been for you."
"Oh, please don't mention that," he said; "only too happy—I mean I wasvery glad I was there to do it. Here's to your complete recovery."
As he drank their eyes met over the glasses. Until now he had not reallylooked at her; things had been happening rather too rapidly for that.But now, as he put his glass down and began to scrutinize thehalf-saucy, half-demure, and altogether charming face on the other sideof the table, it suddenly dawned upon him that it w