CHAPTER VI
L500
"And what is your other name, Mr. Engelhardt?"
"Hermann."
"Hermann Engelhardt! That's a lovely name. How well it will look in thenewspapers!"
The piano-tuner shook his head.
"It will never get into them now," said he, sadly.
"What nonsense!" exclaimed the girl. "When you have told me of all thebig things you dream of doing one day! You'll do them every one when yougo home to England again; I'll put my bottom dollar on you."
"Ah, but the point is whether I shall ever go back at all."
"Of course you will."
"I have a presentiment that I never shall."
"Since when?" inquired Naomi, with a kindly sarcasm.
"Oh, I always have it, more or less."
"You had it very much less this morning, when you were telling me howyou'd go home and study at Milan and I don't know where-all, once you'dmade the money."
"But I don't suppose I ever shall make it."
"Bless the man!" cried Naomi, giving him up, for the moment in despair.She continued to gaze at him, however, as he leant back in his wickerchair, with hopeless dark eyes fixed absently upon the distant clumps ofpale green trees that came between glaring plain and cloudless sky. Theywere sitting on the veranda which did not face the station-yard, becauseit was the shady one in the afternoon. The silver had all been properlyput away, and locked up as carefully as before. As for the morning'svisitors, Naomi was herself disposed to think no more of them or theirimpudence; it is therefore sad to relate that her present companionwould allow her to forget neither. With him the incident rankledcharacteristically; it had left him solely occupied by an extravagantlypoor opinion of himself. For the time being, this discolored his entireexistence and prospects, draining his self-confidence to the last drop.Accordingly, he harped upon the late annoyance, and his own ingloriousshare in it, to an extent which in another would have tried Naomi verysorely indeed; but in him she rather liked it. She had a book in herlap, but it did not interest her nearly so much as the human volume inthe wicker chair at her side. She was exceedingly frank about thematter.
"You're the most interesting man I ever met in my life," was her verynext remark.
"I can't think that!"
He had hauled in his eyes some miles to see whether she meant it.
"Nevertheless, it's the case. Do you know why you're so interesting?"
"No, that I don't!"
"Because you're never the same for two seconds together."
His face fell.
"Among other reasons," added Naomi, nodding kindly.
But Engelhardt had promptly put himself upon the spit. He was alwaysdoing this.
"Yes, I know I'm a terribly up-and-down kind of chap," said he,miserably; "there's no happy medium about _me_."
"When you are good you are very good indeed, and when you are bad youare horrid! That's just what I like. I can't stand your always-the-samepeople. They bore me beyond words; they drill me through and through!Still, you were very good indeed this morning, you know. It is tooabsurd of you to give a second thought to a couple of tramps and theirinsolence!"
"I can't help it. I'm built that way. To think that I should have stoodstill to hear you insulted like that!"
"But you didn't stand still."
"Oh, yes, I did."
"Well, I wish you wouldn't bother about it. I wish you wouldn't botherabout yourself."
"When I am bad I am horrid," he said, with a wry smile, "and that'snow."
"No, I tell you I like it. I never know where I've got you. That's onereason why you're so interesting."
His face glowed, and he clasped her with his glance.
"How kind you are!" he said, softly. "How you make the best of one, evenat one's worst! But oh, how bitterly you make me wish that I weredifferent!"
"I'm very glad that you're not," said Naomi; "everybody else isdifferent."
"But I would give my head to be like everybody else--to be hail-fellowwith those men out at the shed, for instance. _They_ wouldn't have stoodstill this morning."
"Wouldn't you as soon be hail-fellow with me?" asked the girl, ignoringhis last sentence.
"A million times sooner, of course! But surely you understand?"
"I think I do."
"I know you do; you understand everything. I never knew anyone like you,never!"
"Then we're quits," said Naomi, as though the game were over. And sheclosed her eyes. But it was she who began it again; it always was.
"You have one great fault," she said, maternally.
"I have a thousand and one."
"There you are. You think too much about them. You take too much noticeof yourself; that's your great fault."
"Yet I didn't think I was conceited."
"Not half enough. That's just it. Yet you _are_ egotistical."
He looked terribly crestfallen. "I suppose I am," he said, dolefully."In fact, I am."
"Then you're not, so there!"
"Which do you mean?"
"I only said it to tease you. Do you suppose I'd have said such a thingif I'd really thought it?"
"I shouldn't mind what you said. If you really do think me egotistical,pray say so frankly."
"Of course I don't think anything of the kind!"
"Is that the truth?"
"The real truth."
(It was not.)
"If it's egotistical to think absolutely nothing of yourself," continuedNaomi, "and to blame yourself and not other people for every littlething that goes wrong, then I should call you a twenty-two-carategotist. But even then your aims and ambitions would be rather lofty forthe billet."
"They never seemed so to me," he whispered, "until you sympathized withthem."
"Of course I sympathize," said Naomi, laughing at him. It was necessaryto laugh at him now and then. It kept him on his feet; this time it ledhim from the abstract to the concrete.
"If only I could make enough money to go home and study, to study evenin London for one year," murmured Engelhardt, as his eyes drifted outacross the plains. "Then I should know whether my dreams ever were worthdreaming. But I have taken root out here, I am beginning to do well,better than ever I could have hoped. At our village in the old country Iwas glad enough to play the organ in church for twelve pounds a year.Down in Victoria they gave me fifty without a murmur, and I made alittle more out of teaching. Oh! didn't I tell you I started life outhere as an organist? That's how it was I was able to buy this business,and I am doing very well indeed. Two pounds for tuning a piano! Theywouldn't credit it in the old country."
"The man before you used to charge three. A piano-tuner in the bush isan immensely welcome visitor, mind. I don't think I should have loweredmy terms at all, especially when you have no intention of doing thissort of thing all your days."
"Ah, well, I shall never dare to throw it up."
"Never's not a word I like to hear you use, Mr. Engelhardt. Rememberthat you've only been out here three years, and that you are not yettwenty-six. You told me so yourself this morning."
"It's perfectly true," said Engelhardt. "But there's one's mother toconsider. I told you about her. I am beginning to send her so much moneynow. It would be frightful to give that up, just because there are tunesin my head now and then, and I can't put them together in properharmony."
"I should say that your mother would rather have you than your money,Mr. Engelhardt."
"Perhaps so, but not if I were on her hands composing things that nobodywould publish."
"That couldn't be. You would succeed. Something tells me that you would.I see it in your face; I did this morning. I know nothing about music,yet I feel so certain about you. The very fact that you should havethese ambitions when you are beginning to do well out here, that initself is enough for me."
He shook his head, without turning it to thank her by so much as a look.The girl was glad of that. Though he had so little confidence inhimself, she knew that the dreams
of which he had spoken more freely andmore hopefully in the morning were thick upon him then, as he sat in thewicker chair and looked out over the plains, with parted lips and suchwistful eyes that Naomi's mind went to work at the promptings of theheart in her which he touched. It was a nimble, practical mind, and thewarm heart beneath it was the home of noble impulses, which broke forthcontinually in kind words and generous acts. Naomi wore that heart uponher sweet frank face, it shone with a clear light out of the fearlesseyes that were fixed now so long and so steadily upon the piano-tuner'seager profile. She watched him while the shadow of the building grewbroader and broader under his eyes, until all at once it lost its edges,and there were no more sunlit patches on the plain. Still he neithermoved nor looked at her. At last she touched him on the arm. She wassitting on his right, and she laid her fingers lightly upon the splintsand bandages which were her own handiwork.
"Well, Mr. Engelhardt?"
He started round, and she was smiling at him in the gloaming, with hersweet warm face closer to his than it had ever been before.
"I have been very rude," he stammered.
"I am going to be much ruder."
"Now you are laughing at me."
"No, I am not. I was never farther from laughing in my life, for I fearthat I shall offend you, though I do hope not."
He saw that something was upon her mind.
"You couldn't do it if you tried," he said, simply.
"Then I want to know how much money you think you ought to have to gohome to England with a clear conscience, and to give yourself heart andsoul to music for a year certain? I _am_ so inquisitive about it all."
She was employing, indeed, and successfully, a tone of pure andindefensible curiosity. He thought for some moments before answering.Then he said, quite innocently:
"Five hundred pounds. That would leave me enough to come back and startall over again out here if I failed. I wouldn't tackle it on less."
"But you wouldn't fail. I know nothing about it, but I have myinstincts, and I see success in your face. I see it there! And I want tobet on you. I have more money than is good for any girl, and I want toback you for five hundred pounds."
"It is very kind of you," he said, "but you would lose your money." Hedid not see her meaning. The southern night had set in all at once; hecould not even see her strenuous eyes.
"How dense you are," she said, softly, and with a little nervous laugh."Can't you see that I want to _lend_ you the money?"
"To lend it to me!"
"Why not?"
"Five hundred pounds!"
"My dear young man, I'm ashamed to say that I should never feel it. It'sa sporting offer merely. Of course I'd charge interest--you'd dedicateall your nice songs to me. Why don't you answer? I don't like to see youin the bush, it isn't at all the place for you; and I do want to sendyou home to your mother. You might let me, for her sake. Have you lostyour tongue?"
Her hand had remained upon the splints and bandages; indeed, she hadforgotten that there was a living arm inside them, but now somethingtrivial occurred that made her withdraw it, and also get up from herchair.
"Are you on, or are you not?"
"Oh, how can I thank you? What can I say?"
"Yes or no," replied Naomi, promptly.
"No, then. I can't--I can't----"
"Then don't. Now not another word! No, there's no offence on eitherside, unless it's I that have offended you. It was great cheek of me,after all. Yes, it was! Well, then, if it wasn't, will you have thegoodness to lend me your ears on an entirely different matter?"
"Very well; with all my heart; yet if only I could ever thank you----"
"If only you would be quiet and listen to me! How are the bruisesbehaving? That's all I want to hear now."
"The bruises? Oh, they're all right; I'd quite forgotten I had any."
"You can lean back without hurting?"
"Rather! If I put my weight on the left side it doesn't hurt a bit."
"Think you could stand seven miles in a buggy to-morrow morning?"
"Couldn't I!"
"Then I thought of driving over to the shed in the morning; and youshall come with me if you're good."
For an instant he looked radiant. Then his face clouded over as hethought again of her goodness and his own ingratitude.
"Miss Pryse," he began--and stuck--but his tone spoke volumes ofremorse and self-abasement.
Evidently she was getting to know that tone, for she caught him up witha look of distinct displeasure.
"Only if you're good, mind!" she told him, sharply. "Not on any accountunless!"
And Engelhardt said no more.