The Captives [98]
in existence? Why couldn't life be simple and straightforward with people like his father and himself and that girl Maggie alone somewhere with nothing to interfere? Life was never just as you wanted it, always a little askew, a little twisted, cynically cocking its eye at you before it vanished round the corner? He didn't seem to be able to manage it. Anyway, he wasn't going to have that fellow Thurston marrying his sister.
He found his father lying back in his arm-chair fast asleep, looking like a dead man, his long thin face pale with fatigue, his eyelids a dull grey, his mouth tightly closed as though in a grim determination to pursue some battle. And at the sight of him thus worn out and beaten Martin's affection flooded his heart. He stood opposite his father looking at him and loving him more deeply than he had ever done before.
"I will take him away from all this," was his thought, "these Thurstons and all--out of all this . . . We'll go off abroad somewhere. And I'll make him fat and happy."
Then his father suddenly woke up, with a start and a cry: "Where am I?" . . . Then he suddenly saw Martin. "Martin," he said, smiling.
Martin smiled back and then began at once: "Father, this isn't true about Thurston, is it?"
He saw, as he had often done before, that his father had to call himself up from some world of vision before he could realise even his surroundings. Martin he recognised intuitively with the recognition of the spirit, but he seemed to take in the details of the room slowly, one by one, as though blinded by the light.
"Ah--I've been dreaming," he said, still smiling at Martin helplessly and almost timidly. "I'm so tired these days--suddenly--I usen't to be . . ." He put his hand to his forehead, then laid it on Martin's knee, and the strength and warmth of that seemed suddenly to fill him with vigour.
"You're never tired, are you?" he asked as a child might ask an elder.
"Very seldom," answered Martin, "I say, father, what is all this about Thurston?"
"Thurston . . . Why, what's he been doing?"
"He says he's engaged to Amy." The disgust of the idea made Martin's words, against his will, sharp and angry.
"Does he? . . . Yes, I remember. He spoke to me about it."
"Of course it's simply his infernal cheek . . ."
Mr. Warlock sighed. "I don't know, I'm sure. Amy seemed to wish it."
Martin felt then more strongly than before the Something that drove him. It said to him: "Now, then . . . here's a thing for you to make a row about--a big row. And then you can go off with Maggie." But, on the other hand, there was Something that said: "Don't hurt him. Don't hurt him. You may regret it all your life if . . ."
If what? He didn't know. He was always threatened with regretting things all his life. The blow was always going to fall. And that pleasant very British phrase came back to him, "He would put his foot down"--however--he was very angry--very angry.
He burst out: "Oh, but that's absurd, father. Impossible--utterly. Thurston in the family? Why, you must see yourself how monstrous it would be. Amy's got some silly, sentimental whim and she's got to be told that it won't do. If you ask me, I don't think Amy's improved much since I was away. But that's not the question. The idea of Thurston's disgusting. You can't seriously consider it for a minute . . ."
"Why is Thurston disgusting, my boy?"
Martin hated to be called "my boy"--it made him feel so young and dependent.
"You've only got to look at him!" Martin jumped up, disregarding his father's hand, and began to stamp about the room. "He's a cad--he's not your friend, father. He isn't, really. He'd like to out you from the whole thing if he could. He thinks you're old-fashioned and behind the times, and all he thinks about is bringing in subscriptions and collecting new converts. He's like one of those men who beat drums outside tents in a fair . . . He's a sickening man! He doesn't believe in his religion or anything else. I should think he's crooked about money, and immoral probably too. You're much too innocent,
He found his father lying back in his arm-chair fast asleep, looking like a dead man, his long thin face pale with fatigue, his eyelids a dull grey, his mouth tightly closed as though in a grim determination to pursue some battle. And at the sight of him thus worn out and beaten Martin's affection flooded his heart. He stood opposite his father looking at him and loving him more deeply than he had ever done before.
"I will take him away from all this," was his thought, "these Thurstons and all--out of all this . . . We'll go off abroad somewhere. And I'll make him fat and happy."
Then his father suddenly woke up, with a start and a cry: "Where am I?" . . . Then he suddenly saw Martin. "Martin," he said, smiling.
Martin smiled back and then began at once: "Father, this isn't true about Thurston, is it?"
He saw, as he had often done before, that his father had to call himself up from some world of vision before he could realise even his surroundings. Martin he recognised intuitively with the recognition of the spirit, but he seemed to take in the details of the room slowly, one by one, as though blinded by the light.
"Ah--I've been dreaming," he said, still smiling at Martin helplessly and almost timidly. "I'm so tired these days--suddenly--I usen't to be . . ." He put his hand to his forehead, then laid it on Martin's knee, and the strength and warmth of that seemed suddenly to fill him with vigour.
"You're never tired, are you?" he asked as a child might ask an elder.
"Very seldom," answered Martin, "I say, father, what is all this about Thurston?"
"Thurston . . . Why, what's he been doing?"
"He says he's engaged to Amy." The disgust of the idea made Martin's words, against his will, sharp and angry.
"Does he? . . . Yes, I remember. He spoke to me about it."
"Of course it's simply his infernal cheek . . ."
Mr. Warlock sighed. "I don't know, I'm sure. Amy seemed to wish it."
Martin felt then more strongly than before the Something that drove him. It said to him: "Now, then . . . here's a thing for you to make a row about--a big row. And then you can go off with Maggie." But, on the other hand, there was Something that said: "Don't hurt him. Don't hurt him. You may regret it all your life if . . ."
If what? He didn't know. He was always threatened with regretting things all his life. The blow was always going to fall. And that pleasant very British phrase came back to him, "He would put his foot down"--however--he was very angry--very angry.
He burst out: "Oh, but that's absurd, father. Impossible--utterly. Thurston in the family? Why, you must see yourself how monstrous it would be. Amy's got some silly, sentimental whim and she's got to be told that it won't do. If you ask me, I don't think Amy's improved much since I was away. But that's not the question. The idea of Thurston's disgusting. You can't seriously consider it for a minute . . ."
"Why is Thurston disgusting, my boy?"
Martin hated to be called "my boy"--it made him feel so young and dependent.
"You've only got to look at him!" Martin jumped up, disregarding his father's hand, and began to stamp about the room. "He's a cad--he's not your friend, father. He isn't, really. He'd like to out you from the whole thing if he could. He thinks you're old-fashioned and behind the times, and all he thinks about is bringing in subscriptions and collecting new converts. He's like one of those men who beat drums outside tents in a fair . . . He's a sickening man! He doesn't believe in his religion or anything else. I should think he's crooked about money, and immoral probably too. You're much too innocent,