To-morrow | Page 9

her own want of hope with so bitter
an aptness that in her ner- vous irritation she could have screamed at
him out- right. But she only said in self-mockery, and speaking to him
as though he had been sane, "Why, Captain Hagberd, your son may not
even want to look at me."
He flung his head back and laughed his throaty affected cackle of
anger.
"What! That boy? Not want to look at the only sensible girl for miles
around? What do you think I am here for, my dear--my dear--my
dear? . . . What? You wait. You just wait. You'll see to-morrow. I'll
soon--"
"Bessie! Bessie! Bessie!" howled old Carvil in- side. "Bessie!--my
pipe!" That fat blind man had given himself up to a very lust of laziness.
He would not lift his hand to reach for the things she took care to leave
at his very elbow. He would not move a limb; he would not rise from
his chair, he would not put one foot before another, in that par- lour
(where he knew his way as well as if he had his sight), without calling

her to his side and hanging all his atrocious weight on her shoulder. He
would not eat one single mouthful of food without her close attendance.
He had made himself helpless beyond his affliction, to enslave her
better. She stood still for a moment, setting her teeth in the dusk, then
turned and walked slowly indoors.
Captain Hagberd went back to his spade. The shouting in Carvil's
cottage stopped, and after a while the window of the parlour downstairs
was lit up. A man coming from the end of the street with a firm
leisurely step passed on, but seemed to have caught sight of Captain
Hagberd, because he turned back a pace or two. A cold white light lin-
gered in the western sky. The man leaned over the gate in an interested
manner.
"You must be Captain Hagberd," he said, with easy assurance.
The old man spun round, pulling out his spade, startled by the strange
voice.
"Yes, I am," he answered nervously.
The other, smiling straight at him, uttered very slowly: "You've been
advertising for your son, I believe?"
"My son Harry," mumbled Captain Hagberd, off his guard for once.
"He's coming home to- morrow."
"The devil he is!" The stranger marvelled greatly, and then went on,
with only a slight change of tone: "You've grown a beard like Father
Christmas himself."
Captain Hagberd drew a little nearer, and leaned forward over his spade.
"Go your way," he said, resentfully and timidly at the same time,
because he was always afraid of being laughed at. Every mental state,
even madness, has its equi- librium based upon self-esteem. Its
disturbance causes unhappiness; and Captain Hagberd lived amongst a
scheme of settled notions which it pained him to feel disturbed by
people's grins. Yes, peo- ple's grins were awful. They hinted at

something wrong: but what? He could not tell; and that stranger was
obviously grinning--had come on purpose to grin. It was bad enough on
the streets, but he had never before been outraged like this.
The stranger, unaware how near he was of hav- ing his head laid open
with a spade, said seriously: "I am not trespassing where I stand, am I?
I fancy there's something wrong about your news. Suppose you let me
come in."
"YOU come in!" murmured old Hagberd, with inexpressible horror.
"I could give you some real information about your son--the very latest
tip, if you care to hear."
"No," shouted Hagberd. He began to pace wildly to and fro, he
shouldered his spade, he ges- ticulated with his other arm. "Here's a
fellow-- a grinning fellow, who says there's something wrong. I've got
more information than you're aware of. I've all the information I want.
I've had it for years--for years--for years--enough to last me till
to-morrow. Let you come in, indeed! What would Harry say?"
Bessie Carvil's figure appeared in black silhou- ette on the parlour
window; then, with the sound of an opening door, flitted out before the
other cot- tage, all black, but with something white over her head.
These two voices beginning to talk sud- denly outside (she had heard
them indoors) had given her such an emotion that she could not utter a
sound.
Captain Hagberd seemed to be trying to find his way out of a cage. His
feet squelched in the pud- dles left by his industry. He stumbled in the
holes of the ruined grass-plot. He ran blindly against the fence.
"Here, steady a bit!" said the man at the gate, gravely stretching his arm
over and catching him by the sleeve. "Somebody's been trying to get at
you. Hallo! what's this rig you've