This etext was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.
“The dog that snapt the shadow,dropt the bone.”
CONTENTS
BOOK THE FIRST
I. TWO IN THE FIELD.
II. A MAN DOWN.
III. A SEA DOG.
IV. PURGATORIO.
V. THE VALLEY OF REPOSE.
VI. AN ACTOR PASSES OFF THE STAGE.
VII. IN THE STREET OF THE PEACE.
VIII. THE DEAL.
IX. CUT FOR PARTNERS.
X. THE GAMEOPENS.
XI. SHIPS UPON THE SEA.
XII. A SHUFFLE.
XIII. A CHOICE.
XIV. A QUATRE.
XV. DON QUIXOTE.
XVI. BROKEN.
BOOK THE SECOND
I. BITS OF LIFE.
II. A COMPACT.
III. BAFFLED.
IV. FOR THE HIGHEST BIDDER.
V. THE TEAR ON THESWORD.
VI. THE COUNT STANDS BY.
VII. A VOYAGE.
VIII. A GREAT FIGHT.
IX. THE EDITOR’S ROOM.
X. THE CURTAIN LOWERS.
XI. “MILKSOP”.
XII. THE END OF THE “CROONAH.”
XIII. AT D’ERRAHA AGAIN.
XIV. THE COUNT’S STORY.
Qui n’accepte pas le regretn’accepte pas la vie.
The train technically known as the “Flying Dutchman,”tearing through the plains of Taunton, and in a first-class carriageby themselves, facing each other, two boys.
One of these boys remembers the moment to this day. A journeyaccomplished with Care for a travelling companion usually adheres tothe wheels of memory until those wheels are still. Grim Care waswith these boys in the railway carriage. A great catastrophe hadcome to them. A FitzHenry had failed to pass into her Majesty’sNavy. Back and back through the generations--back to the dayswhen England had no navy--she had always been served at sea by a FitzHenry. Moreover, there had always been a Henry of that name on the books. Henry, the son of Henry, had, as a matter of course, gone down to thesea in a ship, had done his country’s business in the great waters.
There was, if they could have looked at it from a racial point ofview, one small grain of consolation. The record was not evennow snapped--for Henry had succeeded, Luke it was who had failed.
Henry sat with his back to the engine, looking out over the flatmeadow-land, with some moisture remarkably like a tear in either eye. The eyes were blue, deep, and dark like the eastern horizon when thesun is setting over the sea. The face was brown, and oval, andstill. It looked like a face that belonged to a race, somethingthat had been handed down with the inherent love of blue water. It is probable that many centuries ago, a man with features such asthese, with eyes such as these, and crisp, closely curling hair, hadleaped ashore from his open Viking boat, shouting defiance to the Briton.
This son of countless Henrys sat and thought the world was hollow,with no joy in it, and no hope, because Luke had failed.
We are told that there shall be two in the field, that the one shallbe taken and the other left. But we have yet to learn why, inour limited vision, the choice seems invariably to be mistaken. We have yet to learn why he who is doing good work is called from thefield, leaving there the man whose tastes are urban.
Except for the sake of the record--and we cannot really be expectedin these busy times to live for generations past or