CHAPTER V.
Before she went home, Marcella turned into the little rectory garden tosee if she could find Mary Harden for a minute or two. The intimacybetween them was such that she generally found entrance to the house bygoing round to a garden door and knocking or calling. The house was verysmall, and Mary's little sitting-room was close to this door.
Her knock brought Mary instantly.
"Oh! come in. You won't mind. We were just at dinner. Charles is goingaway directly. Do stay and talk to me a bit."
Marcella hesitated, but at last went in. The meals at the rectorydistressed her--the brother and sister showed the marks of them. To-dayshe found their usual fare carefully and prettily arranged on a spotlesstable; some bread, cheese, and boiled rice--nothing else. Nor did theyallow themselves any fire for meals. Marcella, sitting beside them inher fur, did not feel the cold, but Mary was clearly shivering under hershawl. They eat meat twice a week, and in the afternoon Mary lit thesitting-room fire. In the morning she contented herself with thekitchen, where, as she cooked for many sick folk, and had only a girl offourteen whom she was training to help her with the housework, she hadgenerally much to do.
The Rector did not stay long after her arrival. He had a distant visitto pay to a dying child, and hurried off so as to be home, if possible,before dark. Marcella admired him, but did not feel that she understoodhim more as they were better acquainted. He was slight and young, andnot very clever; but a certain inexpugnable dignity surrounded him,which, real as it was, sometimes irritated Marcella. It sat oddly on hisround face--boyish still, in spite of its pinched and anxious look--butthere it was, not to be ignored. Marcella thought him a Conservative,and very backward and ignorant in his political and social opinions. Butshe was perfectly conscious that she must also think him a saint; andthat the deepest things in him were probably not for her.
Mr. Harden said a few words to her now as to her straw-plaiting scheme,which had his warmest sympathy--Marcella contrasted his tone gratefullywith that of Wharton, and once more fell happily in love with her ownideas--then he went off, leaving the two girls together.
"Have you seen Mrs. Hurd this morning?" said Mary.
"Yes, Willie seems very bad."
Mary assented.
"The doctor says he will hardly get through the winter, especially ifthis weather goes on. But the greatest excitement of the village justnow--do you know?--is the quarrel between Hurd and Westall. Somebodytold Charles yesterday that they never meet without threatening eachother. Since the covers at Tudley End were raided, Westall seems to havequite lost his head. He declares Hurd knew all about that, and that heis hand and glove with the same gang still. He vows he will catch himout, and Hurd told the man who told Charles that if Westall bullies himany more he will put a knife into him. And Charles says that Hurd is nota bit like he was. He used to be such a patient, silent creature. Now--"
"He has woke up to a few more ideas and a little more life than he had,that's all," said Marcella, impatiently. "He poached last winter, andsmall blame to him. But since he got work at the Court in November--isit likely? He knows that he was suspected; and what could be hisinterest now, after a hard day's work, to go out again at night, and runthe risk of falling into Westall's clutches, when he doesn't want eitherthe food or the money?"
"I don't know," said Mary, shaking her head. "Charles says, if they oncedo it, they hardly ever leave it off altogether. It's the excitement andamusement of it."
"He promised me," said Marcella, proudly.
"They promise Charles all sorts of things," said Mary, slyly; "but theydon't keep to them."
Warmly grateful as both she and the Rector had been from the beginningto Marcella for the passionate interest she took in the place and thepeople, the sister was sometimes now a trifle jealous--divinelyjealous--for her brother. Marcella's unbounded confidence in her ownpower and right over Mellor, her growing tendency to ignore anybodyelse's right or power, sometimes set Mary aflame, for Charles's sake,heartily and humbly as she admired her beautiful friend.
"I shall speak to Mr. Raeburn about it," said Marcella.
She never called him "Aldous" to anybody--a stiffness which jarred alittle upon the gentle, sentimental Mary.
"I saw you pass," she said, "from one of the top windows. He was withyou, wasn't he?"
A slight colour sprang to her sallow cheek, a light to her eyes. Mostwonderful, most interesting was this engagement to Mary, who--strange tothink!--had almost brought it about. Mr. Raeburn was to her one of thebest and noblest of men, and she felt quite simply, and with a sort ofChristian trembling for him, the romance of his great position. WasMarcella happy, was she proud of him, as she ought to be? Mary was oftenpuzzled by her.
"Oh no!" said Marcella, with a little laugh. "That wasn't Mr. Raeburn. Idon't know where your eyes were, Mary. That was Mr. Wharton, who isstaying with us. He has gone on to a meeting at Widrington."
Mary's face fell.
"Charles says Mr. Wharton's influence in the village is very bad," shesaid quickly. "He makes everybody discontented; sets everybody by theears; and, after all, what can he do for anybody?"
"But that's just what he wants to do--to make them discontented," criedMarcella. "Then, if they vote for him, that's the first practical steptowards improving their life."
"But it won't give them more wages or keep them out of the publichouse," said Mary, bewildered. She came of a homely middle-class stock,accustomed to a small range of thinking, and a high standard of doing.Marcella's political opinions were an amazement, and on the whole ascandal to her. She preferred generally to give them a wide berth.
Marcella did not reply. It was not worth while to talk to Mary on thesetopics. But Mary stuck to the subject a moment longer.
"You can't want him to get in, though?" she said in a puzzled voice, asshe led the way to the little sitting-room across the passage, and tookher workbasket out of the cupboard. "It was only the week before lastMr. Raeburn was speaking at the schoolroom for Mr. Dodgson. You weren'tthere, Marcella?"
"No," said Marcella, shortly. "I thought you knew perfectly well, Mary,that Mr. Raeburn and I don't agree politically. Certainly, I hope Mr.Wharton will get in!"
Mary opened her eyes in wonderment. She stared at Marcella, forgettingthe sock she had just slipped over her left hand, and the darning needlein her right.
Marcella laughed.
"I know you think that two people who are going to be married ought tosay ditto to each other in everything. Don't you--you dear old goose?"
She came and stood beside Mary, a stately and beautiful creature in herloosened furs. She stroked Mary's straight sandy hair back from herforehead. Mary looked up at her with a thrill, nay, a passionate throbof envy--soon suppressed.
"I think," she said steadily, "it is very strange--that love shouldoppose and disagree with what it loves."
Marcella went restlessly towards the fire and began to examine thethings on the mantelpiece.
"Can't people agree to differ, you sentimentalist? Can't they respecteach other, without echoing each other on every subject?"
"Respect!" cried Mary, with a sudden scorn, which was startling from acreature so soft.
"There, she could tear me in pieces!" said Marcella, laughing, thoughher lip was not steady. "I wonder what you would be like, Mary, if youwere engaged."
Mary ran her needle in and out with lightning speed for a second or two,then she said almost under her breath--
"I shouldn't be engaged unless I were in love. And if I were in love,why, I would go anywhere--do anything--believe anything--if _he_ toldme!"
"Believe anything?--Mary--you wouldn't!"
"I don't mean as to religion," said Mary, hastily. "But everythingelse--I would give it all up!--governing one's self, thinking for one'sself. He should do it, and I would _bless_ him!"
She looked up crimson, drawing a very long breath, as though from somedeep centre of painful, passionate feeling. It was Marcella's turn tostare. Never had Mary
so revealed herself before.
"Did you ever love any one like that, Mary?" she asked quickly.
Mary dropped her head again over her work and did not answerimmediately.
"Do you see--" she said at last, with a change of tone, "do you seethat we have got our invitation?"
Marcella, about to give the rein to an eager curiosity Mary's manner hadexcited in her, felt herself pulled up sharply. When she chose, thislittle meek creature could put on the same unapproachableness as herbrother. Marcella submitted.
"Yes, I see," she said, taking up a card on the mantelpiece. "It will bea great crush. I suppose you know. They have asked the whole county, itseems to me."
The card bore an invitation in Miss Raeburn's name for the Rector andhis sister to a dance at Maxwell Court--the date given was thetwenty-fifth of January.
"What fun!" said Mary, her eye sparkling. "You needn't suppose that Iknow enough of balls to be particular. I have only been to one before inmy life--ever. That was at Cheltenham. An aunt took me--I didn't dance.There were hardly any men, but I enjoyed it."
"Well, you shall dance this time," said Marcella, "for I will make Mr.Raeburn introduce you."
"Nonsense, you won't have any time to think about me. You will be thequeen--everybody will want to speak to you. I shall sit in a corner andlook at you--that will be enough for me."
Marcella went up to her quickly and kissed her, then she said, stillholding her--
"I know you think I ought to be very happy, Mary!"
"I should think I do!" said Mary, with astonished emphasis, when thevoice paused--"I should think I do!"
"I _am_ happy--and I want to make him happy. But there are so manythings, so many different aims and motives, that complicate life, thatpuzzle one. One doesn't know how much to give of one's self, to each--"
She stood with her hand on Mary's shoulder, looking away towards thewindow and the snowy garden, her brow frowning and distressed.
"Well, I don't understand," said Mary, after a pause. "As I said before,it seems to me so plain and easy--to be in love, and give one's self_all_--to that. But you are so much cleverer than I, Marcella, you knowso much more. That makes the difference. I can't be like you. Perhaps Idon't want to be!"--and she laughed. "But I can admire you and love you,and think about you. There, now, tell me what you are going to wear?"
"White satin, and Mr. Raeburn wants me to wear some pearls he is goingto give me, some old pearls of his mother's. I believe I shall find themat Mellor when I get back."
There was little girlish pleasure in the tone. It was as though Marcellathought her friend would be more interested in her bit of news than shewas herself, and was handing it on to her to please her.
"Isn't there a superstition against doing that--before you're married?"said Mary, doubtfully.
"As if I should mind if there was! But I don't believe there is, or MissRaeburn would have heard of it. She's a mass of such things. Well! Ihope I shall behave myself to please her at this function. There arenot many things I do to her satisfaction; it's a mercy we're not goingto live with her. Lord Maxwell is a dear; but she and I would never geton. Every way of thinking she has, rubs me up the wrong way; and as forher view of me, I am just a tare sown among her wheat. Perhaps she isright enough!"
Marcella leant her cheek pensively on one hand, and with the otherplayed with the things on the mantelpiece.
Mary looked at her, and then half smiled, half sighed.
"I think it is a very good thing you are to be married soon," she said,with her little air of wisdom, which offended nobody. "Then you'll knowyour own mind. When is it to be?"
"The end of February--after the election."
"Two months," mused Mary.
"Time enough to throw it all up in, you think?" said Marcella,recklessly, putting on her gloves for departure. "Perhaps you'll bepleased to hear that I _am_ going to a meeting of Mr. Raeburn's nextweek?"
"I _am_ glad. You ought to go to them all."
"Really, Mary! How am I to lift you out of this squaw theory ofmatrimony? Allow me to inform you that the following evening I am goingto one of Mr. Wharton's--here in the schoolroom!"
She enjoyed her friend's disapproval.
"By yourself, Marcella? It isn't seemly!"
"I shall take a maid. Mr. Wharton is going to tell us how the peoplecan--get the land, and how, when they have got it, all the money thatused to go in rent will go in taking off taxes and making lifecomfortable for the poor." She looked at Mary with a teasing smile.
"Oh! I dare say he will make his stealing sound very pretty," said Mary,with unwonted scorn, as she opened the front door for her friend.
Marcella flashed out.
"I know you are a saint, Mary," she said, turning back on the pathoutside to deliver her last shaft. "I am often not so sure whether youare a Christian!"
Then she hurried off without another word, leaving the flushed andshaken Mary to ponder this strange dictum.
* * * * *
Marcella was just turning into the straight drive which led past thechurch on the left to Mellor House, when she heard footsteps behind her,and, looking round, she saw Edward Hallin.
"Will you give me some lunch, Miss Boyce, in return for a message? I amhere instead of Aldous, who is very sorry for himself, and will be overlater. I am to tell you that he went down to the station to meet acertain box. The box did not come, but will come this afternoon; so hewaits for it, and will bring it over."
Marcella flushed, smiled, and said she understood. Hallin moved onbeside her, evidently glad of the opportunity of a talk with her.
"We are all going together to the Gairsley meeting next week, aren't we?I am so glad you are coming. Aldous will do his best."
There was something very winning in his tone to her. It implied bothhis old and peculiar friendship for Aldous, and his eager wish to find anew friend in her--to adopt her into their comradeship. Something verywinning, too, in his whole personality--in the loosely knit, nervousfigure, the irregular charm of feature, the benignant eyes andbrow--even in the suggestions of physical delicacy, cheerfullyconcealed, yet none the less evident. The whole balance of Marcella'stemper changed in some sort as she talked to him. She found herselfwanting to please, instead of wanting to conquer, to make an effect.
"You have just come from the village, I think?" said Hallin. "Aldoustells me you take a great interest in the people?"
He looked at her kindly, the look of one who saw all hisfellow-creatures nobly, as it were, and to their best advantage.
"One may take an interest," she said, in a dissatisfied voice, poking atthe snow crystals on the road before her with the thorn-stick shecarried, "but one can do so little. And I don't know anything; not evenwhat I want myself."
"No; one can do next to nothing. And systems and theories don't matter,or, at least, very little. Yet, when you and Aldous are together, therewill be more chance of _doing_, for you than for most. You will be twohappy and powerful people! His power will be doubled by happiness; Ihave always known that."
Marcella was seized with shyness, looked away, and did not know what toanswer. At last she said abruptly--her head still turned to the woodson her left--
"Are you sure he is going to be happy?"
"Shall I produce his letter to me?" he said, bantering--"or letters? ForI knew a great deal about you before October 5" (their engagement-day),"and suspected what was going to happen long before Aldous did. No;after all, no! Those letters are my last bit of the old friendship. Butthe new began that same day," he hastened to add, smiling: "It may bericher than the old; I don't know. It depends on you."
"I don't think--I am a very satisfactory friend," said Marcella, stillawkward, and speaking with difficulty.
"Well, let me find out, won't you? I don't think Aldous would call meexacting. I believe he would give me a decent character, though I teasehim a good deal. You must let me tell you sometime what he did forme--what he was to me--at Cambridge? I shal
l always feel sorry forAldous's wife that she did not know him at college."
A shock went through Marcella at the word--that tremendous word--wife.As Hallin said it, there was something intolerable in the claim it made!
"I should like you to tell me," she said faintly. Then she added, withmore energy and a sudden advance of friendliness, "But you really mustcome in and rest. Aldous told me he thought the walk from the Court wastoo much for you. Shall we take this short way?"
And she opened a little gate leading to a door at the side of the housethrough the Cedar Garden. The narrow path only admitted of single file,and Hallin followed her, admiring her tall youth and the fine black andwhite of her head and cheek as she turned every now and then to speak tohim. He realised more vividly than before the rare, exciting elements ofher beauty, and the truth in Aldous's comparison of her to one of thetall women in a Florentine fresco. But he felt himself a good dealbaffled by her, all the same. In some ways, so far as any man who is notthe lover can understand such things, he understood why Aldous hadfallen in love with her; in others, she bore no relation whatever to thewoman his thoughts had been shaping all these years as his friend's fitand natural wife.
Luncheon passed as easily as any meal could be expected to do, of whichMr. Boyce was partial president. During the preceding month or two hehad definitely assumed the character of an invalid, although toinexperienced eyes like Marcella's there did not seem to be very muchthe matter. But, whatever the facts might be, Mr. Boyce's adroit use ofthem had made a great difference to his position in his own household.His wife's sarcastic freedom of manner was less apparent; and he wasobviously less in awe of her. Meanwhile he was as sore as ever towardsthe Raeburns, and no more inclined to take any particular pleasure inMarcella's prospects, or to make himself agreeable towards his futureson-in-law. He and Mrs. Boyce had been formally asked in Miss Raeburn'sbest hand to the Court ball, but he had at once snappishly announced hisintention of staying at home. Marcella sometimes looked back withastonishment to his eagerness for social notice when they first came toMellor. Clearly the rising irritability of illness had made it doublyunpleasant to him to owe all that he was likely to get on that score tohis own daughter; and, moreover, he had learnt to occupy himself morecontinuously on his own land and with his own affairs.
As to the state of the village, neither Marcella's entreaties norreproaches had any effect upon him. When it appeared certain that hewould be summoned for some specially flagrant piece of neglect he wouldspend a few shillings on repairs; otherwise not a farthing. All thatfilial softening towards him of which Marcella had been conscious in theearly autumn had died away in her. She said to herself now plainly andbitterly that it was a misfortune to belong to him; and she would havepitied her mother most heartily if her mother had ever allowed her thesmallest expression of such a feeling. As it was, she was left to wonderand chafe at her mother's new-born mildness.
In the drawing-room, after luncheon, Hallin came up to Marcella in acorner, and, smiling, drew from his pocket a folded sheet of foolscap.
"I made Aldous give me his speech to show you, before to-morrow night,"he said. "He would hardly let me take it, said it was stupid, and thatyou would not agree with it. But I wanted you to see how he does thesethings. He speaks now, on an average, two or three times a week. Eachtime, even for an audience of a score or two of village folk, he writesout what he has to say. Then he speaks it entirely without notes. Inthis way, though he has not much natural gift, he is making himselfgradually an effective and practical speaker. The danger with him, ofcourse, is lest he should be over-subtle and over-critical--not simpleand popular enough."
Marcella took the paper half unwillingly and glanced over it in silence.
"You are sorry he is a Tory, is that it?" he said to her, but in a lowervoice, and sitting down beside her.
Mrs. Boyce, just catching the words from where she sat with her work, atthe further side of the room, looked up with a double wonder--wonder atMarcella's folly, wonder still more at the deference with which men likeAldous Raeburn and Hallin treated her. It was inevitable, ofcourse--youth and beauty rule the world. But the mother, under no spellherself, and of keen, cool wit, resented the intellectual confusion, thelowering of standards involved.
"I suppose so," said Marcella, stupidly, in answer to Hallin's question,fidgeting the papers under her hand. Then his curious confessor's gift,his quiet questioning look with its sensitive human interest to allbefore him, told upon her.
"I am sorry he does not look further ahead, to the great changes thatmust come," she added hurriedly. "This is all about details,palliatives. I want him to be more impatient."
"Great political changes you mean?"
She nodded; then added--
"But only for the sake, of course, of great social changes to comeafter."
He pondered a moment.
"Aldous has never believed in _great_ changes coming suddenly. Heconstantly looks upon me as rash in the things _I_ adopt and believe in.But for the contriving, unceasing effort of every day to make that partof the social machine in which a man finds himself work better and moreequitably, I have never seen Aldous's equal--for the steady passion, thepersistence, of it."
She looked up. His pale face had taken to itself glow and fire; his eyeswere full of strenuous, nay, severe expression. Her foolish priderebelled a little.
"Of course, I haven't seen much of that yet," she said slowly.
His look for a moment was indignant, incredulous, then melted into acharming eagerness.
"But you will! naturally you will!--see everything. I hug myselfsometimes now for pure pleasure that some one besides his grandfatherand I will know what Aldous is and does. Oh! the people on the estateknow; his neighbours are beginning to know; and now that he is goinginto Parliament, the country will know some day, if work and highintelligence have the power I believe. But I am impatient! In the firstplace--I may say it to you, Miss Boyce!--I want Aldous to come out ofthat _manner_ of his to strangers, which is the only bit of the trueTory in him; _you_ can get rid of it, no one else can--How long shall Igive you?--And in the next, I want the world not to be wasting itself onbaser stuff when it might be praising Aldous!"
"Does he mean Mr. Wharton?" thought Marcella, quickly. "But thisworld--our world--hates him and runs him down."
But she had no time to answer, for the door opened to admit Aldous,flushed and bright-eyed, looking round the room immediately for her, andbearing a parcel in his left hand.
"Does she love him at all?" thought Hallin, with a nervous stiffening ofall his lithe frame, as he walked away to talk to Mrs. Boyce, "or, inspite of all her fine talk, is she just marrying him for his money andposition!"
Meanwhile, Aldous had drawn Marcella into the Stone Parlour and wasstanding by the fire with his arm covetously round her.
"I have lost two hours with you I might have had, just because atiresome man missed his train. Make up for it by liking these prettythings a little, for my sake and my mother's."
He opened the jeweller's case, took out the fine old pearls--necklaceand bracelets--it contained, and put them into her hand. They were hisfirst considerable gift to her, and had been chosen for association'ssake, seeing that his mother had also worn them before her marriage.
She flushed first of all with a natural pleasure, the girl delighting inher gaud. Then she allowed herself to be kissed, which was, indeed,inevitable. Finally she turned them over and over in her hands; and hebegan to be puzzled by her.
"They are much too good for me. I don't know whether you ought to giveme such precious things. I am dreadfully careless and forgetful. Mammaalways says so."
"I shall want you to wear them so often that you won't have a chance offorgetting them," he said gaily.
"Will you? Will you want me to wear them so often?" she asked, in an oddvoice. "Anyway, I should like to have just these, and nothing else. I amglad that we know nobody, and have no friends, and that I shall have sofew presents. You won't give me many jew
els, will you?" she saidsuddenly, insistently, turning to him. "I shouldn't know what to do withthem. I used to have a magpie's wish for them; and now--I don't know,but they don't give me pleasure. Not these, of course--not these!" sheadded hurriedly, taking them up and beginning to fasten the bracelets onher wrists.
Aldous looked perplexed.
"My darling!" he said, half laughing, and in the tone of the apologist,"You know we _have_ such a lot of things. And I am afraid my grandfatherwill want to give them all to you. Need one think so much about it? Itisn't as though they had to be bought fresh. They go with pretty gowns,don't they, and other people like to see them?"
"No, but it's what they imply--the wealth--the _having_ so much whileother people want so much. Things begin to oppress me so!" she brokeout, instinctively moving away from him that she might express herselfwith more energy. "I like luxuries so desperately, and when I get them Iseem to myself now the vulgarest creature alive, who has no right to anopinion or an enthusiasm, or anything else worth having. You must notlet me like them--you must help me not to care about them!"
Raeburn's eye as he looked at her was tenderness itself. He could ofcourse neither mock her, nor put what she said aside. This question shehad raised, this most thorny of all the personal questions of thepresent--the ethical relation of the individual to the World's Fair andits vanities--was, as it happened, a question far more sternly androbustly real to him than it was to her. Every word in his fewsentences, as they stood talking by the fire, bore on it for a practisedear the signs of a long wrestle of the heart.
But to Marcella it sounded tame; her ear was haunted by the fragments ofanother tune which she seemed to be perpetually trying to recall andpiece together. Aldous's slow minor made her impatient.
He turned presently to ask her what she had been doing with hermorning--asking her with a certain precision, and observing herattentively. She replied that she had been showing Mr. Wharton thehouse, that he had walked down with her to the village, and was gone toa meeting at Widrington. Then she remarked that he was very goodcompany, and very clever, but dreadfully sure of his own opinion.Finally she laughed, and said drily:
"There will be no putting him down all the same. I haven't told anybodyyet, but he saved my life this morning."
Aldous caught her wrists.
"Saved your life! Dear--What do you mean?"
She explained, giving the little incident all--perhaps more than--itsdramatic due. He listened with evident annoyance, and stood ponderingwhen she came to an end.
"So I shall be expected to take quite a different view of himhenceforward?" he inquired at last, looking round at her, with a veryforced smile.
"I am sure I don't know that it matters to him what view anybody takesof him," she cried, flushing. "He certainly takes the frankest views ofother people, and expresses them."
And while she played with the pearls in their box she gave a vividaccount of her morning's talk with the Radical candidate for WestBrookshire, and of their village expedition.
There was a certain relief in describing the scorn with which her actsand ideals had been treated; and, underneath, a woman's curiosity as tohow Aldous would take it.
"I don't know what business he had to express himself so frankly," saidAldous, turning to the fire and carefully putting it together. "Hehardly knows you--it was, I think, an impertinence."
He stood upright, with his back to the hearth, a strong, capable,frowning Englishman, very much on his dignity. Such a moment must surelyhave become him in the eyes of a girl that loved him. Marcella provedrestive under it.
"No; it's very natural," she protested quickly. "When people are so muchin earnest they don't stop to think about impertinence! I never met anyone who dug up one's thoughts by the roots as he does."
Aldous was startled by her flush, her sudden attitude of opposition. Hisintermittent lack of readiness overtook him, and there was an awkwardsilence. Then, pulling himself together with a strong hand, he left thesubject and began to talk of her straw-plaiting scheme, of the Gairsleymeeting, and of Hallin. But in the middle Marcella unexpectedly said:
"I wish you would tell me, seriously, what reasons you have for notliking Mr. Wharton?--other than politics, I mean?"
Her black eyes fixed him with a keen insistence.
He was silent a moment with surprise; then he said:
"I had rather not rake up old scores."
She shrugged her shoulders, and he was roused to come and put his armround her again, she shrinking and turning her reddened face away.
"Dearest," he said, "you shall put me in charity with all the world. Butthe worst of it is," he added, half laughing, "that I don't see how I amto help disliking him doubly henceforward for having had the luck to putthat fire out instead of me!"