XII
THE THOUSANDTH MAN
It had been new life to them, but now it was all over. It was the lastevening of their week, and they were spending it rather silently onBlanche's balcony.
"I make it at least three hundred," said Cazalet, and knocked out a pipethat might have been a gag. "You see, we were very seldom under fifty!"
"Speak for yourself, please! My longevity's a tender point," saidBlanche, who looked as though she had no business to have her hair up,as she sat in a pale cross-fire between a lamp-post and her lightedroom.
Cazalet protested that he had only meant their mileage in the car; hemade himself extremely intelligible now, as he often would when sherallied him in a serious voice. Evidently that was not the way to rousehim up to-night, and she wanted to cheer him after all that he had donefor her. Better perhaps not to burke the matter that she knew was on hismind.
"Well, it's been a heavenly time," she assured him just once more. "Andto-morrow it's pretty sure to come all right about Scruton, isn't it?"
"Yes! To-morrow we shall probably have Toye back," he answered with griminconsequence.
"What has that to do with it, Walter?"
"Oh, nothing, of course."
But still his tone was grim and heavy, with a schoolboy irony that hewould not explain but could not keep to himself. So Mr. Toye must beturned out of the conversation, though it was not Blanche who haddragged him in. She wished people would stick to their point. She meantto make people, just for once and for their own good; but it took timeto find so many fresh openings, and he only cutting up another pipefulof that really rather objectionable bush tobacco.
"There's one thing I've rather wanted to ask you," she began.
"Yes?" said Cazalet.
"You said the other day that it would mean worry for you in anycase--after to-morrow--whether the charge is dismissed or not!"
His wicker chair creaked under him.
"I don't see why it should," she persisted, "if the case falls through."
"Well, that's where I come in," he had to say.
"Surely you mean just the other way about? If they commit the man fortrial, then you do come in, I know. It's like your goodness."
"I wish you wouldn't say that! It hurts me!"
"Then will you explain yourself? It's not fair to tell me so much, andthen to leave out just the bit that's making you miserable!"
The trusty, sisterly, sensible voice, half bantering but altogetherkind, genuinely interested if the least bit inquisitive, too, would havegone to a harder or more hardened heart than beat on Blanche's balconythat night. Yet as Cazalet lighted his pipe he looked old enough to beher father.
"I'll tell you some time," he puffed.
"It's only a case of two heads," said Blanche. "I know you're bothered,and I should like to help, that's all."
"You couldn't."
"How do you know? I believe you're going to devote yourself to thispoor man--if you can get him off--I mean, when you do."
"Well?" he said.
"Surely I could help you there! Especially if he's ill," cried Blanche,encouraged by his silence. "I'm not half a bad nurse, really!"
"I'm certain you're not."
"Does he _look_ very ill?"
She had been trying to avoid the direct question as far as possible, butthis one seemed so harmless. Yet it was received in a stony silenceunlike any that had gone before. It was as though Cazalet neither movednor breathed, whereas he had been all sighs and fidgets just before. Hispipe was out already--that was the one merit of bush tobacco, itrequired constant attention--and he did not look like lighting it again.
Until to-night they had not mentioned Scruton since the motoring began.That had been a tacit rule of the road, of wayside talk and indoor orgy.But Blanche had always assumed that Cazalet had been to see him in theprison; and now he told her that he never had.
"I can't face him," he cried under his breath, "and that's the truth!Let me get him out of this hole, and I'm his man forever; but until Ido, while there's a chance of failing, I simply can't face the fellow.It isn't as if he'd asked to see me. Why should I force myself uponhim?"
"He hasn't asked to see you because he doesn't know what you're doingfor him!" Blanche leaned forward as eagerly as she was speaking, all herrepressed feelings coming to their own in her for just a moment. "Hedoesn't know because I do believe you wouldn't have him told that you'darrived, lest he should suspect! You _are_ a brick, Sweep, you reallyare!"
He was too much of one to sit still under the name. He sprang up,beating his hands. "Why shouldn't I be--to him--to a poor devil who'sbeen through all he's been through? Ten years! Just think of it; no,it's unthinkable to you or me. And it all started in our office; we wereto blame for not keeping our eyes open; things couldn't have come tosuch a pass if we'd done our part, my poor old father for one--I can'thelp saying it--and I myself for another. Talk about contributorynegligence! We were negligent, as well as blind. We didn't know avillain when we saw one, and we let him make another villain under ournoses; and the second one was the only one we could see in his truecolors, even then. Do you think we owe him nothing now? Don't you think_I_ owe him something, as the only man left to pay?"
But Blanche made no attempt to answer his passionate questions. He hadlet himself go at last; it relieved her also in a way, for it was thenatural man back again on her balcony. But he had set Blanche offthinking on other lines than he intended.
"I'm thinking of what _he_ must have felt he owed Mr. Craven and--andEthel!" she owned.
"I don't bother my head over either of them," returned Cazalet harshly."He was never a white man in his lifetime, and she was every inch hisdaughter. Scruton's the one I pity--because--because I've suffered somuch from that man myself."
"But you don't think he did it!" Blanche was sharp enough to interrupt.
"No--no--but if he had!"
"You'd still stand by him?"
"I've told you so before. I meant to take him back to Australia withme--I never told you that--but I meant to take him, and not a soul outthere to know who he was." He sighed aloud over the tragic stopper onthat plan.
"And would you still?" she asked.
"If I could get him off."
"Guilty or not guilty?"
"Rather!"
There was neither shame, pose, nor hesitation about that. Blanche wentthrough into the room without a word, but her eyes shone finely in thelamplight. Then she returned with a book, and stood half in the balcony,framed as in a panel, looking for a place.
"You remind me of _The Thousandth Man_," she told him as she found it.
"Who was he?"
"He's every man who does a thousandth part of what you're doing!" saidBlanche with confidence. And then she read, rather shyly and not toowell:
"'One man in a thousand, Solomon says, Will stick more close than a brother. And it's worth while seeking him half your days If you find him before the other. Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend On what the world sees in you, But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend With the whole round world agin you.'"
"I should hope he would," said Cazalet, "if he's a man at all."
"But this is the bit for you," said Blanche:
"'His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right, In season or out of season. Stand up and back it in all men's sight-- With _that_ for your only reason! Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide The shame or mocking or laughter, But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side _To the gallows-foot_--and after!'"
The last italics were in Blanche's voice, and it trembled, but so didCazalet's as he cried out in his formula:
"That's the finest thing I ever heard in all my life! But it's true, andso it should be. _I_ don't take any credit for it."
"Then you're all the more the thousandth man!"
He caught her suddenly by the shoulders. His rough hands trembled; hisjaw worked. "Look here, Blanchie! If
_you_ had a friend, wouldn't you dothe same?"
"Yes, if I'd such a friend as all that," she faltered.
"You'd stand by his side 'to the gallows-foot'--if he was swine enoughto let you?"
"I dare say I might."
"However bad a thing it was--murder, if you like--and however much hewas mixed up in it--not like poor Scruton?"
"I'd try to stick to him," she said simply.
"Then you're the thousandth woman," said Cazalet. "God bless you,Blanchie!"
"God bless you, Blanchie!"]
He turned on his heel in the balcony, and a minute later found the roombehind him empty. He entered, stood thinking, and suddenly began lookingall over for the photograph of himself, with a beard, which he had seenthere a week before.