II
Somebody was shaking him. He opened his eyes, to see a black moustache, large and badly trimmed, and it annoyed him so much that he closed his eyes again. “Now then, sir, now then!” it said.
Inigo did not feel called upon to reply.
“Time you was moving if you want the 6:45,” it went on.
This remark was so extraordinary that it opened his eyes again. The waiting-room looked quite different in the morning light. He stared at the porter. “Where’s Morton Mitcham?” he asked.
The porter shook his head. “ ’Tain’t on this line. I never ’eard of it.”
“It’s not a station but a man. He was sitting there last night, talking about banjos in Bangkok and conjuring in Singapore. Unless I dreamt him.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m that way myself,” said the porter earnestly. “Let me ’ave a few or a bit of tinned salmon last thing, and I’m off, all night. The stuff I’ve seen! Banjos and Singapore’s nothing to it.”
‚ÄúI don‚Äôt know that I care for Old Rob Roy,‚Äù Inigo mused. ‚ÄúHe‚Äôs split my head open and left a sort of dark brown taste in my mouth, as if I‚Äôd been chewing some of his Highland peat. But look here, where‚Äôs what‚Äôs-his-name‚ÅÝ‚Äîwait a minute‚ÅÝ‚ÄîHarry Briggs?‚Äù
“Ar, now you’re talking! You didn’t dream ’im, I can tell you. Went off duty a bit back, he did. You missed the 1:20, didn’t you? Going North, aren’t you, sir?”
‚ÄúAm I?‚Äù Inigo thought it over. ‚ÄúI suppose so, but before I go anywhere I want a bath and a shave and some health salts in a tumbler of tepid water and then some tea and toast. And perhaps an egg‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou never know‚ÅÝ‚Äîone of those young and tender eggs, the little brown ones. Now,‚Äù and he produced a shilling, ‚Äúwhat do you think about that programme?‚Äù
“Thank you, sir. Well, what I think is you’d best get on to Grantham on this next train. Dullingham’s no good to you, I give you my word. Get anything you like at Grantham, anything you like.” And the porter smacked his lips at the thought of this roaring metropolis.
So Inigo went to Grantham. He sneaked through the early morning sunshine to the Angel and Royal, where he slipped into a bathroom before most of its guests had looked at their early cups of tea, and had to keep several of them at bay because he stayed so long luxuriating in nakedness and warm water. By the time he was fit to appear at the breakfast table, he was ready for anything it had to offer. After breakfast he smoked his pipe and stared, in a rather dreamy fashion, at several newspapers, and it was half past ten when he finally took the road.
It was only because he was the prospective author of “The Last Knapsack,” that prose elegy of pedestrianism, that Inigo chose to walk out of the town, which offered him innumerable trains and buses. Walking did not seem very pleasant that morning; the day was warm already; the westward road was dusty and never free from motor traffic; and he did not feel inclined to exert himself. It was better when at last he was able to turn down a side-road, which brought him, after many a corner that seemed alarmingly like a blank end, to a small redbrick inn and bread and cheese and beer. There was nobody to talk to at the inn, for the landlord evidently had other work to do during the day, his wife had so little time to spare that she appeared even to serve the beer under protest, and there was no company; but Inigo lingered there until two o’clock, in a dreamy reverie. When he sauntered on again, skirting fields of stubble and bright but decaying woods, the beer within and the sun without conspired to make that reverie dreamier still.
He did not know where he was or where he was going, and he did not care. He drifted like a leaf down the vacant lane. The whole burnished afternoon was only an idle fantasy. ‚ÄúI move among shadows a shadow,‚Äù he told himself over and over again, for his mind was a shining jumble of quotations from the more melancholy anthologies. Here everything was golden, and nothing real perhaps except the dust. ‚ÄúGolden lads and girls‚ÅÝ‚Ää‚Å݂Ķ come to dust.‚Äù That was how it went, and that too he repeated with swelling vowels that sent little shivers of pleasure down his spine. He came at last to a place of exquisite shade and peace, where the lane turned into a narrow road and great branches hung over a grassy space at the corner. It was a place where a man could meditate or perhaps sleep for an hour. But someone had left a little car there. There was plenty of shaded space on either side of the car, but the sight of it, suggesting noise and fuss, kept Inigo standing where he was. The car spoilt the place. He looked at it in disgust. Then he looked at it in astonishment. He went nearer.
Yes, there it was. Along the bottom of the windscreen was a notice printed in bold crimson letters: Take heed for the end draweth nigh. In the rear compartment were a number of placards, two or three feet square and printed in even bolder crimson letters. Inigo did not scruple‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor clearly this was no time for scruples‚ÅÝ‚Äîto take out two of them. And the stars of heaven fell upon the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken by a mighty wind. And the heaven departeth as a scroll when it is rolled together; and every mountain and island were moved out of their places. Then he turned to the other, which said: And I beheld, and heard an angel flying though the midst of heaven, saying with a loud voice, Woe, woe, woe, to the inhabiters of the earth by reason of the other voices of the trumpet of the three angels, which are yet to sound! He carefully replaced the placards and stretched himself on the grass by the side of this strange apocalyptic little car.
It was very quiet. The few sounds there were, a distant creaking, a vague twittering, were so remote that they might be coming from another world, another life. He stared out of the shade about him into the shimmer of green and gold beyond. The whole afternoon had been insubstantial. Now it all seemed little more than so much painted silk, quivering at a breath. Its fragility hurt him; he closed his eyes. But the ground he was resting on was solid enough, and the blades he pulled were the old sweet blades of grass. He opened his eyes again. The car itself, though a little battered, had very definite substance. He noticed it had been fitted quite recently with a new set of tyres. Inigo juggled idly with the thought of these tyres. Perhaps the prophet who owned the car bought them because he expected to be still running about in his car when the cities were sheets of flame and the mountains were fading like smoke. He might run right through Armageddon in it. That would be a record indeed; a nonstop run into the new heaven and earth. And all the journalists and advertising men, poor ghosts, biting their spectral lips because the very last edition had been printed, sold, withered away, long before! These fancies made Inigo feel more comfortable, though there was still a little hollow place, as hollow as the world without, inside him. He yawned, shut his eyes, wondered who owned the car, then fell asleep.
He awoke about an hour later, sat up, and discovered that the owner of the car was there, fussing with it. For a minute or two, Inigo could only blink at him, but he decided that the man looked disappointingly unprophetical. Their eyes met.
“Hello!” cried the man. “Do you think I disturbed you? I must have done, mustn’t I? But you weren’t here, were you, when I first came? It’s very warm this afternoon, isn’t it?” He spoke in rather high chanting tones, and as he spoke his whole face beamed. He was a man of about forty, and he had curly auburn hair damply clustered about a somewhat lumpy forehead, gold spectacles, prominent cheekbones, a small curling moustache and too many teeth. He was very neatly dressed in a dark blue suit and a black tie, and there was something vaguely evangelical about his appearance.
‚ÄúI don‚Äôt think you disturbed me,‚Äù Inigo replied, ‚Äúand it doesn‚Äôt matter if you did. It‚Äôs stupid to fall asleep like this, gives you a headache‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut I was awfully tired.‚Äù And he yawned.
The other flashed his spectacles at the knapsack. “You’ve been walking, haven’t you? I should think you’re taking a holiday, aren’t you? What splendid weather we’re having, aren’t we? Perhaps you’re going about alone, are you?”
“I wander lonely as a cloud, absolutely.” Inigo struggled to his feet.
“Ah, I recognize that, you know,” cried the other enthusiastically. “That’s Wordsworth, isn’t it? About the daffodils, isn’t it? A beautiful piece too, don’t you think? Now you’re probably not feeling like walking, are you? I wonder if I could give you a lift. I’m going on to Oxwell. Do you know it? Are you going that way at all?”
“To tell you the truth,” said Inigo, “I don’t know where I’m going. I’m just wandering about for a day or two, on a kind of holiday.”
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs splendid, isn‚Äôt it? Though, mind you, I don‚Äôt envy you because the work I am doing‚ÅÝ‚Äîand it takes me all over the country‚ÅÝ‚Äîis better than any holiday, much better. Do you know what I‚Äôm doing? Of course you don‚Äôt. I‚Äôm organizing secretary to the Second Resurrectionists. Perhaps you‚Äôre a Second Resurrectionist, are you?‚Äù
“No. I’m not even a First Resurrectionist. I’m afraid I never heard of them before.”
‚ÄúIs that so?‚Äù The man‚Äôs face clouded for a moment, then brightened again. ‚ÄúBut there, you have now, haven‚Äôt you? I thought you might be one because we‚Äôre holding one of our special gatherings tonight at Oxwell, and I thought you might be on your way there. I‚Äôm going there myself, but I told you that, didn‚Äôt I? Yes, the special meeting for all the East Midland district‚ÅÝ‚Äîincluding both Ephraim and Gad‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Ephraim and Gad!” cried Inigo. “What have they got to do with it?”
“Ah, that puzzles you, does it? You recognize them of course? Well, I must explain, mustn’t I? One moment, though. I must tell you my name.” He looked quite grave when he said this: “I’m E. G. Timpany.” Then he smiled again.
‚ÄúAnd my name‚Äôs Jollifant, Inigo Jollifant‚ÅÝ‚Äîrather absurd, isn‚Äôt it?‚Äù
E. G. Timpany held up his hand. ‚ÄúNo, no, no. Not at all. You mustn‚Äôt say that. I know the name. Yes, I do. A Mrs.¬ÝJollifant is one of our prominent workers in the Southwestern district‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat‚Äôs Simeon, you know. Exeter is the headquarters of Simeon, and Mrs.¬ÝJollifant is, I believe, an Exeter lady. Yes, she keeps a teashop there. A relation perhaps?‚Äù
“I don’t think so,” replied Inigo. “But tell me about Gad and Ephraim, and why Exeter is in Simeon.”
‚ÄúWe divide up our country as Jehovah divided up Canaan among the twelve tribes. I was the humble instrument of the command. At the Annual Convention, someone complained about the confusion between the various districts. Our President turned to me. ‚ÄòPerhaps Mr.¬ÝE. G. Timpany can suggest something,‚Äô he said. At that very moment, I heard a Voice. And the Voice said ‚ÄòLook in your Bible.‚Äô In a flash, I saw what we were to do. ‚ÄòAre we not the Children of Israel?‚Äô I said, for we believe that the great Anglo-Saxon race is descended from the ten lost tribes, just as the British Israelites do, only we have looked further into things than they have. ‚ÄòWe will divide up our territory as Canaan itself was divided,‚Äô I said.‚Äù He stopped and took out his watch. ‚ÄúTime is getting on, isn‚Äôt it?‚Äù
‚ÄúI suppose it is,‚Äù said Inigo, disappointed. He did not want to lose Mr.¬ÝE. G. Timpany.
‚ÄúNow I want you to do me a favour, Mr.¬ÝJollifant. I‚Äôm sure you‚Äôre an educated man, aren‚Äôt you? Have you any profession?‚Äù
“I’m a schoolmaster of sorts.”
“A university man perhaps?”
“Cambridge. A Third in French, and a History Special.”
‚ÄúA Special, eh? That‚Äôs splendid, isn‚Äôt it?‚Äù cried Mr.¬ÝTimpany, whose notion of a Special was evidently quite different from that of the university authorities. ‚ÄúI knew, though, I knew. I could tell in a moment. You always can, can‚Äôt you? Not that I‚Äôm a university man myself. I‚Äôm not. I‚Äôm self-educated. I left school when I was fifteen‚ÅÝ‚Äîa day school in Wolverhampton, it was‚ÅÝ‚Äîand all I‚Äôve had since has been a Correspondence Course‚ÅÝ‚Äîin Accountancy, and very poor, I thought, not at all thorough‚ÅÝ‚Äîand some evening classes in Commercial Spanish. That was before I discovered the great teacher, Mr.¬ÝJollifant‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe Bible, the common, everyday, beautiful old Bible.‚Äù And he suddenly produced one from nowhere, like a conjurer. ‚ÄúI‚Äôm sure you‚Äôre not one of these so-called higher critics, are you?‚Äù
Inigo truthfully replied that he wasn’t, but tried to convey the impression that he might have been a higher critic if he had cared about that sort of reputation.
‚ÄúBut there I go, talking and talking away,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝTimpany. ‚ÄúWhat I wanted to ask you, as a favour to me, was to come with me to Oxwell. You‚Äôll be very welcome, Mr.¬ÝJollifant. There‚Äôs a high tea at half past six‚ÅÝ‚Äîpeople coming from all parts, you see‚ÅÝ‚Äîand then a gathering afterwards. I want you to come simply as my guest, my friend, if you don‚Äôt mind my calling you that, and I‚Äôm sure you don‚Äôt, do you? Now what do you say? I‚Äôd like nothing better than to stay here and talk to you about some of our Second Resurrection truths, but‚ÅÝ‚Äîas you can see, can‚Äôt you?‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI haven‚Äôt the time.‚Äù And he smiled his wide innocent smile, with its flashing confusion of ivories, and passed a hand over his damp forehead and auburn curls.
There was no resisting this invitation. Inigo packed himself and his raincoat and knapsack (both of which found a place among the texts from Revelations at the back) in the little car, and off they went. They slowly chut-chutted down the winding lanes, crawled through half a dozen villages, for Mr.¬ÝE. G. Timpany was an excessively cautious driver, so that there was plenty of time for people to read the notice on the windscreen: Take heed for the end draweth nigh. If such people grinned, as they frequently did, Inigo gave them a solemn and prophetic stare, but if they looked puzzled or startled‚ÅÝ‚Äîand one little girl and a man in a milk-cart really did look startled‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe beamed upon them with the air of a man bringing glad tidings. His companion did not talk much because there were so many corners and crossroads and the like to be carefully negotiated, but from time to time he let fall some information about either the Second Resurrection movement or himself. So far as Inigo could gather, then and later, the Second Resurrectionists took their stand on some fantastic interpretation of the twentieth chapter of Revelations, believing that Satan was let loose, given almost unlimited powers, about 1914, when he instantly set to work deceiving the nations and gathering them together for battle, that worse was soon to follow, more and bigger battles, floods and earthquakes, fire out of heaven, all within the space of the next two or three years, after which the sea would give up its dead, the sun, the moon, stars, and the round earth would vanish like clouds, and there would be an end of all material things. In addition to this apocalyptic dream, there were astonishing theories about the ten lost tribes and the Great Pyramid. It was all very confusing, not unlike hearing somebody describe a nightmare. Mr.¬ÝTimpany‚Äôs own history, or such scraps of it as Inigo caught, seemed simplicity itself. The central fact in it was that he had sold what he called ‚Äúone of the best insurance books in Wolverhampton‚Äù to devote the remainder of his life, three years at the most, to the Second Resurrectionists. When Inigo applauded such courage and faith, Mr.¬ÝTimpany was very modest indeed, and pointed out that once he had come to believe in the Second Resurrection view of the future, it was impossible for him to remain in the insurance business.
‚ÄúI want to talk to people about our S.R. truths,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝTimpany, ‚Äúand I felt it wrong to take their money, just as you would, wouldn‚Äôt you? What was the use of my trying to persuade a man to take out a twenty-years endowment policy, a thousand pounds, we will say, with benefits at a premium of fifty-one pounds ten, when I knew so well in my own heart that everything was coming to an end long before then? The very last day, I remember, a man came to me because he wanted to take out an education policy for his two boys, and I had to tell him outright that his boys never would be educated, not as we know education, you see. It was the least I could do, wasn‚Äôt it? It wouldn‚Äôt have been honest to have gone on, would it? Not that I wanted to, but in any case it wouldn‚Äôt, would it?‚Äù
Inigo thought this over. “I think it would,” he announced at length, as gravely as he could. “After all, I suppose people only insure themselves to set their minds at rest, because they feel assured about the future. Well, they’d have had that, you see. And their future is settled anyhow, you believe. They’d really have had their money’s worth, you see.”
Mr.¬ÝTimpany did not see, and they were at Oxwell before the question was settled. Oxwell proved to be a miserable little town, and Mr.¬ÝTimpany explained that it had only been chosen as the scene of the gathering because one of the chief Second Resurrectionists in the district happened to live there and it was he who was providing them with the hall for the meeting and the tea. ‚ÄúMr.¬ÝGrudy is one of our old stalwarts, a strong character and very deep-thinking man,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝTimpany went on to explain, ‚Äúentirely self-made and quite well-to-do. He‚Äôs a farmer and corn-chandler and horse-dealer and several other things besides. Quite a patriarchal character, and one of our most substantial S.R.s. I‚Äôd been taking a message to one of his married sons when I met you,‚Äù he added, as if that somehow clinched the matter.
There were several cars, a trap or two, and a little bus standing outside the hall, a redbrick building of small size and less dignity that evidently served the town as a recreation-room. People, mostly women, were already buzzing in and out of the place, and Mr.¬ÝTimpany, with a hasty excuse to Inigo, immediately dived among them and finally disappeared for some time, leaving Inigo outside, staring at the people and at the large notices that surrounded the door. These were even more fiercely apocalyptic than those in Mr.¬ÝTimpany‚Äôs car. In crimson lettering, bright as arterial blood, they announced a speedy end to all familiar things. And in those days, they screamed, shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them. The Second Resurrectionists, all washed and brushed, stiffly erect in their best clothes, passed in and out and shook hands, asked one another how they were and said they were quite strangers. Inigo moved nearer the door and was pleasantly assailed by the smell of freshly cooked ham. He remembered that he had had nothing since breakfast but a little bread and cheese. Yes, he was hungry. Then his eye was caught by the furious crimson of another placard: Therefore I will shake the heavens, and the earth shall remove out of her place, in the wrath of the Lord of hosts, and in the day of his fierce anger. He was also feeling very dirty and untidy.
‚ÄúThis is Mr.¬ÝJollifant.‚Äù Mr.¬ÝTimpany was beaming upon him once more. ‚ÄúMr.¬ÝGrudy.‚Äù
‚ÄúWe are very pleased to see you here today,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝGrudy in a very deep voice. There was certainly something patriarchal about him. He was a gaunt elderly man carefully dressed in black. His eyebrows were bushy, intimidating; his nose had a masterful Semitic curve; his long white moustache was not altogether of this world. It was a face you could see framed in the smoke of a desert sacrifice.
Inigo said he was very pleased too, and then took Mr.¬ÝTimpany on one side and asked him about washing and brushing. Mr.¬ÝTimpany remembered that Inigo would have to spend the night somewhere. He consulted Mr.¬ÝGrudy, who advanced upon Inigo again. ‚ÄúThere is room in my house for you tonight,‚Äù he said. ‚ÄúYou will stay with us.‚Äù
Inigo, wishing he could reply in the same grand manner, could only stammer something about thanking him awfully, better not, lot of trouble, very decent, easily manage somewhere though, to all of which Mr.¬ÝGrudy paid no attention.
‚ÄúThere is a place for you,‚Äù he announced. ‚ÄúMy wife is superintending the preparations for tea, but my niece shall take you to the house.‚Äù And he stalked away, followed by Mr.¬ÝTimpany.
Inigo waited for the tall bony female with the large nose, the daughter of Ephraim or Gad. To his astonishment, however, Mr.¬ÝTimpany returned with a girl about twenty, all rosy and smiling, quite a pretty girl. And this was Mr.¬ÝGrudy‚Äôs niece, Miss Larch, the maiden of the tribe, who would wait upon him. Inigo, an almost painfully susceptible youth, shook her hand enthusiastically and accompanied her to the house, which was only about quarter of a mile away, in the highest spirits. There, it is true, he was handed over to an elderly woman, who showed him into a neat little bedroom; but when he had washed and brushed himself and returned to the hall, Miss Larch, still rosy and smiling, was waiting for him. He wanted to shake hands with her all over again. She wore a charming blue dress that gave place, at the knee, to silk stockings of a most admirable contour; the five freckles dotted about her small nose were delicious in themselves; she had large blue eyes, thickly fringed, and they seemed to twinkle when they turned upon him. It was incredible that she should be a daughter of either Ephraim or Gad.
‚ÄúYou don‚Äôt look a bit like a Second Resurrectionist,‚Äù he boldly confided on the way back. And then, of course, he had to tell her what a Second Resurrectionist did look like, and drew a strong picture of a bony female that made her laugh. Didn‚Äôt she look like that, then? She didn‚Äôt, he replied with fervour, and left her more rosy and smiling than ever. But he too didn‚Äôt look like one, she told him. He wasn‚Äôt one. Then what was he doing there? He explained shortly, then drew from her an explanation of her own presence on the scene. She had lived there for the last eighteen months, Mrs.¬ÝGrudy being her mother‚Äôs sister, and she helped in the house and it was all very, very dull, though her uncle and aunt were very, very kind, but there was nothing really to do and everybody who came was either old or stuffy or both, and nobody talked about anything but the Bible and the lost tribes and the Pyramids, and sometimes she thought it was silly and then at other times she had to believe in it, they were all so sure about it, and then she felt she was awfully wicked and was a bit frightened, yes, awfully frightened sometimes. It all came out in one breathless rush, and it was evident that Miss Larch‚ÅÝ‚ÄîFreda‚ÅÝ‚Äîhad not exchanged confidences with anyone for a long time. By the time they reached the hall, they were not so much friends as fellow-conspirators, for Youth, when it is exiled into the kingdoms of the old, at once turns itself into the strongest of secret societies. At the door, Inigo glanced meaningly at the crimson letters, and Freda glanced at them too. Then their eyes met.
The door was closed but they opened it softly and peeped in. Some sixty or seventy people were sitting at the long tea-tables. They were not eating but listening to Mr.¬ÝGrudy, who was apparently concluding an address from the platform at the far end of the room. He boomed on for some little time before Inigo could make out what he was saying, but his final quotation from the Bible he carried in his hand came clearly enough, and Inigo, peeping over Freda‚Äôs shoulder, heard it with a sense of incredulity, as if all Oxwell were some fantastic dream.
‚ÄúAnd it shall come to pass,‚Äù roared Mr.¬ÝGrudy, ‚Äúin that day, that his burden shall be taken away from off thy shoulder, and his yoke from off thy neck, and the yoke shall be destroyed because of the anointing. He is come to Aiath, he is passed to Migron; at Michmash he hath laid up his carriages.‚Äù Then, after a suitable pause, Mr.¬ÝGrudy stepped down from the platform. ‚ÄúLet us have tea,‚Äù he said in a milder voice, and instantly there was a babel.
‚ÄúIt looks as if we‚Äôve come to Michmash, absolutely,‚Äù muttered Inigo. Mr.¬ÝTimpany had reserved a space for them next to him, but the table was so crowded and the others had been sitting there so long that not much of the space was left, for they were using long wooden forms and not chairs. Freda sat down, then Inigo jammed himself between her and Timpany, who was almost steaming. ‚ÄúWarm in here, isn‚Äôt it?‚Äù he said to Inigo. ‚ÄúBut a splendid gathering, really splendid!‚Äù
It may have been a splendid gathering but it was certainly a very odd meal. Inigo remembered other high teas but none higher than this. The forms were a solid mass of eaters and drinkers, and the tables were a solid mass of food. There were hams and tongues and rounds of cold beef and raised pies and egg salads; plates heaped high with white bread, brown bread, currant teacakes, scones; dishes of jelly and custard and blancmange and fruit salad; piles of jam tarts and maids of honour and cream puffs and almond tarts; then walnut cake, plum cake, chocolate cake, coconut cake; mounds of sugar, quarts of cream, and a steady flood of tea. Inigo never remembered seeing so much food before. It was like being asked to eat one‚Äôs way through the Provision and Cooked Food departments of one of the big stores. The appetite was not tickled, not even met fairly; it was overwhelmed. The sight of these tables drove hunger out of the world, made it impossible to imagine it had ever been there. Inigo ate this and that, but he hardly knew what he was eating, he was so warm, so tightly wedged in, so amazed at the spectacle. The Second Resurrectionists were worthy of the colossal meal spread before them. This highest of high teas had met its match. If they had all been forty years in the wilderness, they could not have dealt with it more manfully. They were not your gabbling, laughing eaters; they did not make a first rush and then suddenly lose heart; they did not try this and taste that. No, they were quiet, systematic, devastating; they advanced steadily in good order from the first slice of ham to the last slice of chocolate cake; and in fifty minutes the tables were a mere ruin of broken meats, the flood of tea a pale and tepid trickle. Inigo, who retired early from the conflict, though he had to stay where he was, with Mr.¬ÝTimpany steaming on one side and Freda delicately grilling on the other, looked on with wonder and admiration. Across the table were two middle-aged women with long yellow faces, almost exactly alike, and a little round man who had no teeth and whose nose and chin came within an inch of one another as he worked away. It did not look as if three such persons would be able to do more than skirt the fringes of a high tea, but actually they walked right through and emerged unruffled at the other end. Above their heads, high on the opposite wall, was yet another of Mr.¬ÝGrudy‚Äôs crimson placards, which began: And the light of a candle shall shine no more at all in thee. Inigo stared, now at the people, now at the placard. It was all very odd, absolutely.
Tea was over. Freda disappeared; Mr.¬ÝTimpany was borne away by the daughters of Ephraim and Gad; and Inigo strolled outside to taste the air, which had a novel and delicious flavour. After that he smoked a pipe and sauntered up and down the road, keeping an eye on the door so that he should not miss the fair Freda. A few belated Resurrectionists, whose work had kept them from the last Grudy high tea but two that this world would know, hurried into the hall. Then a large car arrived and carefully deposited on the road several persons who evidently could not be expected to grapple with a high tea. There was a tremendous middle-aged woman, purple and commanding, who was attended, as such women so often are attended, by a thin depressed-looking girl in a frock she had never liked. There was also a tall man with an excessively long and lean and brown face and a military bearing. Inigo watched these three new arrivals sail, drift, and march into the hall. Then he caught a glimpse of Freda‚Äôs blue frock in the doorway.
“Well,” he asked her, “when does the meeting begin?”
‚ÄúIn a minute,‚Äù she replied. ‚ÄúThe nobs have arrived. Did you see them? They won‚Äôt come to the tea, they‚Äôre too grand. That woman with the red face and the big nose is Mrs.¬ÝBevison-Burr, and that‚Äôs her daughter with her‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe never says a single word and wears the most awful clothes. And the man with them is Major Dunker. He‚Äôs rather nice, but he‚Äôs a bit cracked.‚Äù
“Never mind. We’re all a bit cracked.”
‚ÄúYou may be,‚Äù retorted Freda, ‚Äúbut I‚Äôm not‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“I know what you’re going to say next,” he told her.
“You don’t.”
“I do. You were going to say ‘So there?’ ”
‚ÄúNo, I wasn‚Äôt,‚Äù cried Freda. Then she made a little face at him, plainly asking for more. This was Freda‚Äôs idea of conversation. After sitting in corners so long and listening to stuffy old people who said things that were either silly or downright frightening, to contradict a young man who smiled at her and had nice eyes‚ÅÝ‚Äîit was lovely. So Inigo exchanged a little more of this stuff‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúsandbag badinage,‚Äù he called it‚ÅÝ‚Äîand had time to reflect that if she had worn steel spectacles or scaled three stone more, he could not have done it, would have been elsewhere. As it was, he too was happy, delighted with Freda herself, with the phrase he had just made, and with his own ironical reflections.
It was time, however, for the meeting, the gathering, the convention‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhatever it was‚ÅÝ‚Äîto begin. The tea things had been cleared away, the tables moved back, and all the forms ranged in front of the little platform. Now Mr.¬ÝGrudy, Mrs.¬ÝBevison-Burr, Major Dunker, and Mr.¬ÝTimpany marched on to the platform and looked as if they were about to sing a quartette. Everybody else made a rush at the forms. Freda and Inigo were among the last, with the result that they had to squeeze in at the end of one of the back forms. Freda was jammed against a very stout woman, who smiled at her and patted her hand. Inigo was jammed against Freda and in order to sit there at all he had to hold on to the form itself, just at the back of Freda. There was really only half of him on the form.
Mr.¬ÝGrudy stepped to the front of the platform and surveyed them with a benevolent patriarchal stare, as if he saw before him his shepherds and bowmen and handmaidens and flocks and herds. Then he lifted a hand. Immediately everybody leaned forward and covered their faces. Inigo was not sure what was about to happen, but he leaned forward too, with a sharp jerk, so that the arm behind Freda slipped up and landed somewhere in the neighbourhood of her waist. She shook herself and whispered something. ‚ÄúSorry, couldn‚Äôt help it,‚Äù he began whispering, and at the same time, by a gigantic effort, contrived to remove the innocently offending arm. She gave him a fierce little Sh-sh-sh. Mr.¬ÝGrudy was opening with a prayer. It was rather a long prayer, and Inigo was so uncomfortable, his body twisted at a fiendish angle, that he found it impossible to listen to it. Nevertheless he was in sympathy with it, for Mr.¬ÝGrudy continually referred to captivities and migrations across great deserts and Inigo felt them in every limb. When everybody sat up again at the end of the prayer, Mr.¬ÝGrudy stood there, very erect, and did nothing but look at them for at least two minutes. Inigo wondered what would happen next.
‚ÄúJee‚Äëee‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù sang Mr.¬ÝGrudy.
Everybody jumped up at once‚ÅÝ‚Äîexcept Inigo. He sat there a second too long; his end of the form went down and he fell with a crash; the other end shooting up and slightly forward, hurled a little round man‚ÅÝ‚Äîit was the toothless one‚ÅÝ‚Äîinto the seat in front; and there was a confusion and uproar. The hymn could not begin until the little man had been restored to his own row, the seat had been put back in its place, and Inigo, crimson, dusty, and furious, had scrambled to his feet.
‚ÄúJee‚Äëee‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù sang Mr.¬ÝGrudy again, and this time they were off. Inigo did not sing, for the hymn was one he had never heard before. He felt foolish. When they came to sit down again, he felt still more foolish because the few inches allotted to him had now been swallowed up. He was about to abandon the seat altogether, to go and lean against the wall, when Freda captured about six inches from the large lady on her right and offered it to him so prettily that he could not refuse. And there he sat, very close, for the rest of the evening.
Mr.¬ÝE. G. Timpany was called upon to address them. Moist and triumphant, he stepped forward, clutching at a large bundle of notes, and looked all gold spectacles and teeth and preposterous auburn curls. He beamed upon them. For such moments as these he would gladly have sold all Wolverhampton. He produced figures, compared the numbers in Ephraim with those in Dan, was convinced that Gad would soon outstrip Issachar and even gave them percentages. Indeed, he made such good use of his correspondence course in accountancy that Inigo expected him at any moment to remember his other course and drop into Commercial Spanish. It was impossible not to like Mr.¬ÝTimpany, he was so innocently happy, so naively proud of his position as organizing secretary. Inigo found it quite painful to think that just when Mr.¬ÝTimpany was beginning to enjoy this life, he would either have to quit it or be compelled to admit he was a fool‚ÅÝ‚Äîunless it was possible for the Second Resurrectionists continually to postpone Doomsday.
Mrs.¬ÝBevison-Burr, the commanding woman, came next. Her subject was Unbelief. She referred to Unbelief as if it were a very obnoxious person who was in the habit of insulting her every morning and evening. Mrs.¬ÝBevison-Burr commanded them to do all manner of things to Unbelief. She did not hold out any great hopes for them when they had done all these things. Only a few of them were wanted by Jehovah, but the least they could all do was to settle Unbelief. They were asked to remember that Unbelief and Bolshevism were one and the same. There was a little more about Jehovah, to whom she referred as if he were a prominent politician staying at her country house. Mrs.¬ÝBevison-Burr was not a success, though her presence there was evidently gratifying to most of her audience.
Major Dunker followed. His themes were the Pyramids, international relations, and earthquakes. Holding a little notebook very close to his face, he talked at some length of pyramid inches, which determined all the chief dates in the world’s history, but it was difficult to follow this part of his speech because of the notebook. He passed on to international relations, which were rapidly approaching a supreme crisis. We were on the eve of the greatest and the last of all wars, the real Armageddon. But worse was to come. Earthquakes. Everybody had noticed that in recent years there had been more and more storms and floods and earthquakes, and scientists had all been baffled by these phenomena. All over the world they were investigating to discover the causes of these disturbances. They could find nothing. The causes were not in the mere rise and fall of the barometer nor even in spots in the sun. Forces were being let loose upon this planet that had formerly been restrained. These were the first activities of the newly released Prince of Darkness. And when the thousand years are expired, Satan shall be loosed out of his prison. And having delivered this quotation in the same dry tones he had used throughout, the Major abruptly concluded. He was, Inigo decided, quietly and decently mad.
Mr.¬ÝGrudy called for the testimony of other friends. Nobody spoke for a minute or two. Then a man with a black beard jumped up, said something about King George the Fifth being the ninety-ninth in succession from King David, and then sat down again. He was followed by a shrill little woman, who declared that she had dreamt four times that year of an angel waving something that looked like a golden coal-scuttle over the dome of St.¬ÝPaul‚Äôs. Mr.¬ÝGrudy nodded approvingly at her, but there seemed to be a general impression that she had not done well in putting herself forward in this way. After that there was another wait. Then Mr.¬ÝGrudy stepped forward again and was about to address them when there was a stir at the back of the hall.
‚ÄúI see that our friend, the Reverend Higginworth Wenderby, has arrived,‚Äù cried Mr.¬ÝGrudy. ‚ÄúI am sure he will be pleased to give us his testimony. It is a privilege to have him here with us.‚Äù
A tall stout man in black climbed on to the platform, and stood there, panting and mopping his brow, while they applauded furiously. He was a curious figure. He had a mane of dark hair and an unusually large, white, wet face, which retreated at the forehead and the chin. “My dear friends,” he boomed, “please allow me a moment. I cannot talk to you without breath, and I have come here in such haste that I have no breath.” Everybody applauded again, including Inigo, who looked round and saw that a change had come over the whole meeting. Everybody seemed expectant. They were leaning forward now, all eager attention.
Mr.¬ÝWenderby held up a large white hand. ‚ÄúMy friends,‚Äù he began, softly this time, ‚Äúit is a joy to address you once more, and there are not many joys in this vale of suffering and sorrow. We live here in sin, and Death is busy among the people. The husband must go from the wife, and the mother must weep over the departed child.‚Äù He continued in this strain for some time, his voice as artful and moving as a passage for muted strings. The matter was nothing, the manner everything; and even Inigo, who had disliked the man at sight, found himself vaguely moved. As for the rest of his audience, they frankly abandoned themselves to the luxury of easy emotion. Some of the women sobbed. Freda stirred uneasily and bit her underlip. Inigo sat there in both physical and mental discomfort.
Mr.¬ÝWenderby paused and let his huge head droop. Then he raised it, higher and higher, until at last his white wet face seemed to shine in the light. ‚ÄúBut have I come here, my friends, to bear testimony to these things?‚Äù he asked, without raising his voice. ‚ÄúAre they strange tidings, these of sin and misery and death, that I should come and relate them to you? Have I nothing more to say? Is this the end of our message?‚Äù He stepped forward another pace, so that he stood on the very edge of the platform. ‚ÄúNo,‚Äù he thundered. ‚ÄúNo, and a thousand times, no!‚Äù
“Ephraim!” yelled a voice in Inigo’s ear.
“I beg your pardon,” he cried, startled. But the man, who had drawn up a chair just behind Inigo, took no notice whatever of him but stared fixedly at the preacher.
‚ÄúI look for the Word, and the Word is here.‚Äù Mr.¬ÝWenderby, now in full diapason, held up his Bible. ‚ÄúAnd after these things,‚Äù he chanted, ‚ÄúI heard a great voice of much people in heaven, saying, Alleluia; Salvation, and glory, and honour, and power unto the Lord our God. For true and righteous are his judgements; for he hath judged the great whore, which did corrupt the earth with her fornication, and hath avenged the blood of his servants at her hand. And again they said, Alleluia. And her smoke rose up forever and ever.‚Äù Mr.¬ÝWenderby then crumbled the world to dust and blew it away in one mighty shout. He led the faithful to their eternal home. He arrayed them in fine linen and took them through the gates of pearl and along the streets of pure gold to where the river of the water of life flowed from the throne of the Lamb.
The arms he raised seemed to lift most of his audience out of their seats. If they had groaned before, now they shouted. Only Mrs.¬ÝBevison-Burr and Major Dunker remained unmoved. Mr.¬ÝTimpany had taken off his spectacles and was wiping them feverishly. Mr.¬ÝGrudy towered in his chair and his face grew bright in the glow of unseen desert suns. Inigo looked round in astonishment. The place was a pandemonium. Face after face, almost transfigured, caught and held his glance. This then was the secret, these moments, crashing in Dionysiac rout through months of boredom, glittering and trumpeting for a space in lives as quiet and faded as an old photograph. Something pitiful tugged at his heart, then was gone.
Mr.¬ÝWenderby, dripping and paler than ever, blessed them fervently. All was over. There was a rush to the platform. ‚ÄúWhat do we do now?‚Äù asked Inigo.
“Let’s go, shall we?” said Freda. “It wasn’t quite so frightening this time, but it was bad enough. You feel better about it all outside, I’ve noticed.”
They walked up the road, cheerfully libelling all the Second Resurrectionists, but when they arrived at the house, Freda hesitated. “I suppose I ought to go in, really. My aunt may want me to help her with supper.”
‚ÄúSupper!‚Äù Inigo was horrified. ‚ÄúThere can‚Äôt be supper, not after that tea. Surely none of ‚Äôem want supper‚ÅÝ‚Äîunless they‚Äôre going to stay up all night.‚Äù
“Yes, they will. They’re awful greedies, I can tell you. And Uncle will be bringing some of them in. That’s why I don’t want to go in. They’ll talk and talk and talk, and I’ve had enough of it, haven’t you?”
He admitted that he had had a good deal of it. They strolled about a mile farther up the road, stood on a bridge and talked nonsense, and then returned to the house. Freda did not go in, however, but crept up to a lighted window and peeped through a space between the drawn curtains.
“They are there,” she announced, “and they’re eating sandwiches. Didn’t I say they would?”
“It’s incredible,” Inigo cried softly. “They can’t go on putting it away like this. They simply will bring the world to an end. I can see Timpany’s teeth just fastening on a wretched sandwich. Horrible, horrible! Come away.”
Freda had another peep, then joined him. ‚ÄúMr.¬ÝWenderby‚Äôs there. I don‚Äôt like him, do you? He‚Äôs the queerest of them all, I think. Do you know, he always calls me ‚ÄòLittle Sister‚Äô‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Like his infernal cheek!”
‚ÄúAnd‚ÅÝ‚Äîand‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe always looks as if he wants to kiss me. He doesn‚Äôt, you know‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“I should think not.”
“But I always feel he would if I didn’t dodge. He frightens me.”
“Then he’s a vile brute,” cried Inigo. He was quite indignant. The arm he slipped round her, as she stood there looking so defenceless, so prettily forlorn, quivered with righteous indignation.
“Do you think so?” she murmured, not stirring except to lift her face a little.
“Beyond the pale, absolutely,” said Inigo firmly. He saw her fair face tilting until it caught the light. He saw the dark curve of her mouth. It was irresistible. He bent forward, and at that very moment the front door opened. Before anybody could come out, Freda had flown round the corner. Inigo went after her but by the time he had caught up to her they had been all round the house and were back again at the front door.
In the hall they met Mr.¬ÝTimpany. ‚ÄúA splendid gathering, wasn‚Äôt it?‚Äù he called to them.
They replied, breathlessly, that it was, absolutely splendid.
‚ÄúNow don‚Äôt tell me you‚Äôre sorry you came, Mr.¬ÝJollifant,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝTimpany continued. ‚ÄúDon‚Äôt tell me you weren‚Äôt interested.‚Äù
“I won’t,” said Inigo, shaking him by the hand.