CHAPTER II
THE COLONEL AND SOME REFLECTIONS
Presently Morris heard a step upon the lawn, and turned to see hisfather sauntering towards him. Colonel Monk, C.B., was an elderly man,over sixty indeed, but still of an upright and soldierly bearing. Hisrecord was rather distinguished. In his youth he had served in theCrimea, and in due course was promoted to the command of a regiment ofGuards. After this, certain diplomatic abilities caused him to be sentto one of the foreign capitals as military attache, and in reward ofthis service, on retiring, he was created a Companion of the Bath. Inappearance he was handsome also; in fact, much better looking than hisson, with his iron-grey hair, his clear-cut features, somewhat marredin effect by a certain shiftiness of the mouth, and his large dark eyes.Morris had those dark eyes also--they redeemed his face from plainness,for otherwise it showed no beauty, the features being too irregular, thebrow too prominent, and the mouth too large. Yet it could boast what, inthe case of a man at any rate, is better than beauty--spirituality,and a certain sympathetic charm. It was not the face which was soattractive, but rather the intelligence, the personality that shonethrough it, as the light shines through the horn panes of some homely,massive lantern. Speculative eyes of the sort that seem to searchhorizons and gather knowledge there, but shrink from the faces of women;a head of brown hair, short cut but untidy, an athletic, manlike form towhich, bizarrely enough, a slight stoop, the stoop of a student, seemedto give distinction, and hands slender and shapely as those of anEastern--such were the characteristics of Morris Monk, or at least thoseof them that the observer was apt to notice.
"Hullo! Morris, are you star-gazing there?" said Colonel Monk, with ayawn. "I suppose that I must have fallen asleep after dinner--that comesof stopping too long at once in the country and drinking port. I noticeyou never touch it, and a good thing, too. There, my cigar is out. Now'sthe time for that new electric lighter of yours which I can never makework."
Morris fumbled in his pocket and produced the lighter. Then he said:
"I am sorry, father; but I believe I forgot to charge it."
"Ah! that's just like you, if you will forgive my saying so. You takeany amount of trouble to invent and perfect a thing, but when it comesto making use of it, then you forget," and with a little gesture ofimpatience the Colonel turned aside to light a match from a box which hehad found in the pocket of his cape.
"I am sorry," said Morris, with a sigh, "but I am afraid it is true.When one's mind is very fully occupied with one thing----" and he brokeoff.
"Ah! that's it, Morris, that's it," said the Colonel, seating himselfupon a garden chair; "this hobby-horse of yours is carrying you--to thedevil, and your family with you. I don't want to be rough, but it istime that I spoke plain. Let's see, how long is it since you left theLondon firm?"
"Nine years this autumn," answered Morris, setting his mouth a little,for he knew what was coming. The port drunk after claret had upsethis father's digestion and ruffled his temper. This meant that tohim--Morris--Fate had appointed a lecture.
"Nine years, nine wasted years, idled and dreamt away in a village uponthe eastern coast. It is a large slice out of a man's life, my boy. Bythe time that I was your age I had done a good deal," said his father,meditatively. When he meant to be disagreeable it was the Colonel'scustom to become reflective.
"I can't admit that," answered Morris, in his light, quick voice--"Imean I can't admit that my time has either been idled away or wasted. Onthe contrary, father, I have worked very hard, as I did at college,and as I have always done, with results which, without boasting, I mayfairly call glorious--yes, glorious--for when they are perfected theywill change the methods of communication throughout the whole world."As he spoke, forgetting the sharp vexation of the moment, his face wasirradiated with light--like some evening cloud on which the sun strikessuddenly.
Watching him out of the corner of his eye, even in that low moonlight,his father saw those fires of enthusiasm shine and die upon his son'sface, and the sight vexed him. Enthusiasm, as he conceived, perhaps withjustice, had been the ruin of Morris. Ceasing to be reflective, his tonebecame cruel.
"Do you really think, Morris, that the world wishes to have its methodsof communication revolutionised? Aren't there enough telephones andphonograms and aerial telegraphs already? It seems to me that you merelywish to add a new terror to existence. However, there is no need topursue an academical discussion, since this wretched machine of yours,on which you have wasted so much time, appears to be a miserablefailure."
Now, to throw the non-success of his invention into the teeth of theinventor, especially when that inventor knows that it is successfulreally, although just at present it does not happen to work, is a verydeadly insult. Few indeed could be deadlier, except, perhaps, that ofthe cruelty which can suggest to a woman that no man will ever look ather because of her plainness and lack of attraction; or the coarsetaunt which, by shameless implication, unjustly accuses the soldier ofcowardice, the diplomat of having betrayed the secrets of his country,or the lawyer of having sold his brief. All the more, therefore, was itto Morris's credit that he felt the lash sting without a show of temper.
"I have tried to explain to you, father," he began, struggling to freehis clear voice from the note of indignation.
"Of course you have, Morris; don't trouble yourself to repeat that longstory. But even if you were successful--which you are not--er--I cannotsee the commercial use of this invention. As a scientific toy it may bevery well, though, personally, I should prefer to leave it alone, since,if you go firing off your thoughts and words into space, how do you knowwho will answer them, or who will hear them?"
"Well, father, as you understand all about it, it is no use myexplaining any further. It is pretty late; I think I will be turningin."
"I had hoped," replied the Colonel, in an aggrieved voice, "that youmight have been able to spare me a few minutes' conversation. For someweeks I have been seeking an opportunity to talk to you; but somehowyour arduous occupations never seem to leave you free for ordinarysocial intercourse."
"Certainly," replied Morris, "though I don't quite know why you shouldsay that. I am always about the place if you want me." But in his hearthe groaned, guessing what was coming.
"Yes; but you are ever working at your chemicals and machinery in theold chapel; or reading those eternal books; or wandering about raptin contemplation of the heavens; so that, in short, I seldom like totrouble you with my mundane but necessary affairs."
Morris made no answer; he was a very dutiful son and humble-spirited.Those who pit their intelligences against the forces of Nature, andtry to search out her secrets, become humble. He could not altogetherrespect his father; the gulf between them was too wide and deep. Buteven at his present age of three and thirty he considered it a duty tosubmit himself to him and his vagaries. Outside of other reasons, hismother had prayed him to do so almost with her last breath, and, livingor dead, Morris loved his mother.
"Perhaps you are not aware," went on Colonel Monk, after a solemn pause,"that the affairs of this property are approaching a crisis."
"I know something, but no details," answered Morris. "I have not likedto interfere," he added apologetically.
"And I have not not liked to trouble you with such sordid matters,"rejoined his parent, with sarcasm. "I presume, however, that you areacquainted with the main facts. I succeeded to this estate encumberedwith a mortgage, created by your grandfather, an extravagant andunbusiness-like man. That mortgage I looked to your mother's fortuneto pay off, but other calls made this impossible. For instance, thesea-wall here had to be built if the Abbey was to be saved, and half amile of sea-walling costs something. Also very extensive repairs to thehouse were necessary, and I was forced to take three farms in hand whenI retired from the army fifteen years ago. This has involved a net lossof about ten thousand pounds, while all the time the interest had to bepaid and the place kept up in a humble fashion."
"I thought that my uncle Porson took ov
er the mortgage after my mother'sdeath," interrupted Morris.
"That is so," answered his father, wincing a little; "but a creditorremains a creditor, even if he happens to be a relative by marriage. Ihave nothing to say against your uncle John, who is an excellentperson in his way, and well-meaning. Of course, he has been justified,perfectly justified, in using his business abilities--or perhaps Ishould say instincts, for they are hereditary--to his own advantage.In fact, however, directly or indirectly, he has done well out of thisproperty and his connection with our family--exceedingly well, bothfinancially and socially. In a time of stress I was forced to sell himthe two miles of sea-frontage building-land between here and Northwoldfor a mere song. During the last ten years, as you know, he has cut thisup into over five hundred villa sites, which he has sold upon long leaseat ground-rents that to-day bring in annually as much as he paid for thewhole property."
"Yes, father; but you might have done the same. He advised you to beforehe bought the land."
"Perhaps I might, but I am not a tradesman; I do not understand theseaffairs. And, Morris, I must remind you that in such matters I have hadno assistance. I do not blame you any more than I blame myself--it isnot in your line either--but I repeat that I have had no assistance."
Morris did not argue the point. "Well, father," he asked, "what is theupshot? Are we ruined?"
"Ruined? That is a large word, and an ugly one. No, we are no moreruined than we have been for the last half-dozen years, for, thankHeaven, I still have resources and--friends. But, of course, this placeis in a way expensive, and you yourself would be the last to pretendthat our burdens have been lessened by--your having abandoned thevery strange profession which you selected, and devoted yourself toresearches which, if interesting, must be called abstract----"
"Forgive me, father," interrupted Morris with a ring of indignationin his voice; "but you must remember that I put you to no expense. Inaddition to what I inherited from my mother, which, of course, underthe circumstances I do not ask for, I have my fellowship, out of whichI contribute something towards the cost of my living and experiments,that, by the way, I keep as low as possible."
"Of course, of course," said the Colonel, who did not wish to pursuethis branch of the subject, but his son went on:
"You know also that it was at your express wish that I came to live hereat Monksland, as for the purposes of my work it would have suited memuch better to take rooms in London or some other scientific centre."
"Really, my dear boy, you should control yourself," broke in his father."That is always the way with recluses; they cannot bear the slightestcriticism. Of course, as you were going to devote yourself to this lineof research it was right and proper that we should live together. Surelyyou would not wish at my age that I should be deprived of the comfort ofthe society of an only child, especially now that your mother has leftus?"
"Certainly not, father," answered Morris, softening, as was his fashionat the thought of his dead mother.
Then came a pause, and he hoped that the conversation was at end; a vainhope, as it proved.
"My real object in troubling you, Morris," continued his father,presently, "was very different to the unnecessary discussions into whichwe have drifted."
His son looked up, but said nothing. Again he knew what was coming, andit was worse than anything that had gone before.
"This place seems very solitary with the two of us living in itsgreat rooms. I, who am getting an old fellow, and you a student and arecluse--no, don't deny it, for nowadays I can barely persuade you toattend even the Bench or a lawn-tennis party. Well, fortunately, wehave power to add to our numbers; or at least you have. I wish you wouldmarry, Morris."
His son turned sharply, and answered:
"Thank you, father, but I have no fancy that way."
"Now, there's Jane Rose, or that handsome Eliza Layard," went on theColonel, taking no notice. "I have reason to know that you might haveeither of them for the asking, and they are both good women withouta breath against them, and, what in the state of this property is notwithout importance, very well to do. Jane gets fifty thousand poundsdown on the day of her marriage, and as much more, together with theplace, upon old Lady Rose's death; while Miss Layard--if she is notquite to the manner born--has the interest in that great colliery and arather sickly brother. Lastly--and this is strange enough, consideringhow you treat them--they admire you, or at least Eliza does, for shetold me she thought you the most interesting man she had ever met."
"Did she indeed!" ejaculated Morris. "Why, I have only spoken threetimes to her during the last year."
"No doubt, my dear boy, that is why she thinks you interesting. To heryou are a mine of splendid possibilities. But I understand that youdon't like either of them."
"No, not particularly--especially Eliza Layard, who isn't a lady, andhas a vicious temper--nor any young woman whom I have ever met."
"Do you mean to tell me candidly, Morris, that at your age you detestwomen?"
"I don't say that; I only say that I never met one to whom I felt muchattracted, and that I have met a great many by whom I was repelled."
"Decidedly, Morris, in you the strain of the ancestral fish is toopredominant. It isn't natural; it really isn't. You ought to have beenborn three centuries ago, when the old monks lived here. You would havemade a first-class abbot, and might have been canonised by now. Am I tounderstand, then, that you absolutely decline to marry?"
"No, father; I don't want you to understand anything of the sort. If Icould meet a lady whom I liked, and who wouldn't expect too much, andwho was foolish enough to wish to take me, of course I should marry her,as you are so bent upon it."
"Well, Morris, and what sort of a woman would fulfil the conditions, toyour notion?"
His son looked about him vaguely, as though he expected to find hisideal in some nook of the dim garden.
"What sort of a woman? Well, somebody like my cousin Mary, I suppose--aneasy-going person of that kind, who always looks pleasant and cool."
Morris did not see him, for he had turned his head away; but at themention of Mary Porson's name his father started, as though someone hadpricked him with a pin. But Colonel Monk had not commanded a regimentwith some success and been a military attache for nothing; having filleddiplomatic positions, public and private, in his time, he could keephis countenance, and play his part when he chose. Indeed, did hissimpler-minded son but know it, all that evening he had been playing apart.
"Oh! that's your style, is it?" he said. "Well, at your age I shouldhave preferred something a little different. But there is no accountingfor tastes; and after all, Mary is a beautiful woman, and clever inher own way. By Jove! there's one o'clock striking, and I promised oldCharters that I would always be in bed by half-past eleven. Good night,my boy. By the way, you remember that your uncle Porson is coming toSeaview to-morrow from London, and that we are engaged to dine with himat eight. Fancy a man who could build that pretentious monstrosity andcall it Seaview! Well, it will condemn him to the seventh generation;but in this world one must take people as one finds them, and theirhouses, too. Mind you lock the garden door when you come in. Goodnight."
"Really," thought Colonel Monk to himself as he took off his dress-shoesand, with military precision, set them side by side beneath a chair, "itdoes seem a little hard on me that I should be responsible for a son whois in love with a damned, unworkable electrical machine. And with hischances--with his chances! Why he might have been a second secretary inthe Diplomatic Service by now, or anything else to which interest couldhelp him. And there he sits hour after hour gabbling down a littletrumpet and listening for an answer which never comes--hour after hour,and month after month, and year after year. Is he a genius, or is he anidiot, or a moral curiosity, or simply useless? I'm hanged if I know,but that's a good idea about Mary; though, of course, there are thingsagainst it. Curious that I should never have considered the matterseriously before--because of the cousinship, I suppose. Would she havehim? It doesn't
seem likely, but you can never know what a woman will orwill not do, and as a child she was very fond of Morris. At any rate thesituation is desperate, and if I can, I mean to save the old place, forhis sake and our family's, as well as my own."
He went to the window, and, lifting a corner of the blind, looked out."There he is, still staring at the sea and the sky, and there I daresayhe will be till dawn. I bet he has forgotten all about Mary now, and isthinking of his electrical machine. What a curiosity! Good heavens; whata curiosity! Ah, I wonder what they would have made of him in my oldmess five and thirty years ago?" And quite overcome by this reflection,the Colonel shook his grizzled head, put out the candle, and retired torest.