English Illustrated/"A Weak Imitation"

by Leonard Merrick

“A WEAK IMITATION.”

By LEONARD MERRICK.

Tuesday.

CABIN or intermediate? It is the question I have debated since I decided to return. New York declines to support me; nobody in London is awaiting me. Capital, translated into English money, twenty-five pounds—cabin or intermediate?

The brilliant adventurer of fiction who always finds it wise to be extravagant would not vacillate an instant; I know it. I know how that successful extravagance of his always warms my heart and fascinates me, so that I follow his impecunious career in hansoms with far more interest than the struggles of the hero whose notion of economy is to go in the omnibus. I know how I have admired him, and agreed with him, and rather pined between the paragraphs for a chance to be brilliant and adventurous too; but somehow, now the opening is here, I don't seem made for the part. I seem to incline to the hero's point of view which is narrow and commonplace. The opportunity is magnificent: twenty-five pounds, and no source of income when I land! Nothing could be finer! I see the adventurer in the situation to a semi-colon. (A reference would be made at such a crisis to his “irreproachable linen” and “faultless clothes.”) He argues lazily that the true economy is to travel first-class on account of the people to be met. He meditates that aboard ship one mixes with distinctly wealthier persons than one knows at home, and adds that for the creation of intimacy a week at sea is equal to a year ashore. Yes, the adventurer would go cabin, and, what is more, he would most certainly be playing a David-and-Jonathan-duologue with a desirable passenger by the time of sighting Queenstown. On the whole I am tempted to back his choice. He is mercenary but acute, and I shall risk it. By surface-car to Bowling Green, and then to book a first-class passage by the Germanic!

Wednesday.

I have done it! If I did not invariably feel the same way on coming aboard, I should say there isn't a soul on the ship with whom I shall ever have a conversation. Aware by experience, however, that in the course of the afternoon several individualities will emerge from the crowd—the last a feminine individuality that I shall be astonished I overlooked. Also aware, by experience, that she will be the very last person I shall contrive to know. Not that it matters this trip; I am here on business! She will attract me by a suggestion of disdain, an air of “le hig lif” and prove an acquaintance perfectly natural. I shall esteem her oblivious to men's existence, and she will own later that she tried to guess my profession, or wondered if I meant to speak to her. Whereat I shall be flattered, and at the same time disenchanted a shade.

The familiar first feature of a voyage has occurred. Exchanged a few words with some man on deck, and re-encountered him in the smoking-room, where we resumed the chat. Told me he has been to New York on pleasure; must be mad! Insanity mitigated though, as he did not like it. Has an elderly stock broker sort of cut about him, but do not know what he is, as we were not confidential. Must admit that if he had been an American, instead of a compatriot, I should be in full possession of his biography—related with the superficial simplicity which makes the American unit as charming as the nation is detestable. Other compatriot sits opposite me at table. Travelling with “Charles, his friend,” to whom he recited all the French of the bill of fare in patronising tones for the admiration of the neighbourhood. Later pronounced “plover” phonetically) and “Charles, his friend,” corrected him. Situation strained!

Passenger-lists crowned the serviettes, and, faithful to my model, I have been carefully through one. There is a lord among us! The model would have “scanned it keenly” over a brandy-and-soda, but at that point the copy fell short. To the height of brandy-and-soda I cannot soar. I am travelling first-class, and I have examined the passenger-list. To carry the imitation to the length of a wine bill is asking too much of a novice. May of course look mean at dinner without the conventional claret, but if I deny myself beer (which I want) and spend the money on Apollinaris (which makes me ill) perhaps I can convey the idea of abstinence from motives of hygiene. Am going around on the track of the lord!

Thursday.

Not found him! He might get me a government appointment, and I can't discover which he is. Don't like to inquire—the “love of Tommy,” and all that! I thought I had identified him once, but it was only a major. It is exasperating; twenty-four hours gone without result. And this boat makes a fast passage! Merely rich people are no use to me, but there are enough dollars on board—including the reputed contract of a variety actress—-to sink the ship. She (not the ship, the actress) has already established a little coterie of admirers; they form a rather noisy semi-circle which the other women (and the men who don't belong to it) eye with envious reprobation. Funny the curiosity a professional excites in the philistine. Spoke to her, and referred to it. She said: “Sakes, they stare at me as if I was a 'freak.'” Think “freak” is good!

Have had another promenade with him of the stockbroker aspect. He was alone—he always is—and seemed encouraged when I told him it was a nice day. Found him “doing the mile” with melancholy determination, and bore him company.

She has appeared! She is younger than usual. Saw her as we registered two-thirds of our “constitutional.” She wears a tailor-made jacket, and a sailor-hat with a wisp of veil attached, deliciously incongruous and feminine. Her eyes met mine absently, as if she did not know I was there. If anything stimulates me to get friendly with a pretty woman it is being looked at as if she didn't know I was there! I think the eyes are gray. She does not seem to have any companion with her, and gives one the idea of being unmarried. Have not learnt her name yet, though; she was reading when we passed again, and the back of her chair was hidden. Mean to glance at the initials on it when she goes below. Wish I could break the ice, and inaugurate a series of talks with her, but it is a wish and not an intention: no time to spare for enjoyment! The bugle is tooting for luncheon; unless she is ill she will move. …

She was just rising as I reached her—they are gray! Left the book in her place—Aurora Leigh—and a glove; size, five-and-a-fraction, or I'm a Yankee. Her chair is marked “N.B.” (Superfluous injunction!) She is “Miss Nellie Bret”—found it in the passenger list. If I did have the leisure now—— But it is out of the question!

Friday.

It was a moment of weakness—or rather an hour—but it happened! I was sitting near her, divided by one; and presently the “one” got up. I had a view of her from time to time across the novel I had borrowed from the library, in the pages of which the Adventurer figured again. I was searching for something to say when a bold old beggar stopped deliberately in front of her, and, presuming on his age, robbed me of my opportunity. I considered it exceedingly “pushing” of him, though I envied him the coup. I caught fragments of a tale about himself, and the Prince of Wales, and India—especially himself; but he failed to entertain her, I was delighted to observe, for she was monosyllabic and inaudible. He lounged away after ten minutes, and our eyes met. I fancied hers had a half-amused protest in them. As well as I could manage it, my own gaze expressed comprehension.

“You were so unkind,” I said, diffidently, “that I am frightened to risk boring you myself!”

That was the way it began.

She laughed; and when she answered me her voice had that timbre of the unexpected in it which one always feels on hearing a woman one has admired speak for the first time.

She is an art student going to Europe to study. The insolent opulence does not claim her, I imagine. She alluded to the pecuniary prospects of the Career, and complained that it was so long before a palette produced a purse. I owned to her I wrote—tried to write, hoped to write; said the pen was no mightier than the brush. What a bond there is between artists, particularly when one of the pair is a girl! We talked without restraint for an hour; I might even say “without cessation." She mentioned the class she is joining; she called it the “institootion.” Nothing is perfect—the peach has a stone, and the nice American woman declines the vowel “u”—but when she is nice probably la belle Americame gets as near perfection as a New Yorker chasing the dollars comes to perpetual motion. And that is about “as near as makes no difference.” She has the geniality of her husband and brothers, with the refinement that they lack; the charm of her sex allied to the spontaneity of her nation. Miss Bret is eminently companionable, under other circumstances she would represent the interest of my trip. Even as it is, there may surely be moments? I can't monopolise the lord from breakfast-time to cheese-and-crackers; there is no reason why in intervals—— Yes, I am compromising, I feel it! Banish the sentiment! The remainder of the day shall be devoted to relentless investigation for the personage who is to slap me on the shoulder and say, “My boy, a sinecure, five hundred a year! Take it, and woo Melpomene in peace!”

Saturday.

Can only conclude he is suffering in his state-room. How plebeian! In the meanwhile why not Miss Bret as well as another? Saving the “stockbroker” I am not particularly chummy with anybody else, and I distinctly prefer the lady. Throgmorton Street is getting unnecessarily attached to me. That is the worst of a passenger who doesn't thaw to the multitude; when he does take a liking, he is apt to be importunate. He is all the time hanging on to me when I want to drift Miss Bret-ward.

They are getting up a concert for Monday night; Miss Bret is to sing. Been practising her accompaniments with her, and then strolled with her on deck, and then took her down again to look for tea. Asked the steward if any was “going.” She thought it funny; seems they don't say that in America. She declared it would be better if I asked if any was “coming.” So it would, but it never struck me before. We “refreshed” at a table tête-à-tête, and were witty about the other people in the saloon. She had a box of sweets, and offered me some,—called them “candies” of course. Am not sure the American language hasn't a certain piquancy. “Candies?” it sounds pretty, I think. Could not avoid noticing how nice she looked with a caramel in her mouth,—the provoking movement of the lips, don't you know. (By Jove, I have just written it! And she has been chaffing me about that British “don't you know” like anything!) Suppose there is nothing intrinsically beautiful in sucking a caramel, but some women are adorable whatever they do.

Very bad taste, the rowdyness of the actress-group. We went to “do the mile” before dinner, and I disliked passing it very much. That kind of thing seems to me disrespectful to the other ladies on board. I suggested to Miss Bret that we should limit ourselves to the opposite side of the boat.

I had helped her on with her jacket, and found her the pin belonging to the sailor-hat. What a sense of intimacy there is in helping a laughing woman to put on her “things!” What a curb one has to keep on one's self not to say too much!

Don't think I shall turn in yet. It's a heavenly night: go up and smoke, and look at the stars!

Sunday.

Great Scott! the “stockbroker” is the lord! Was there ever such good fortune! Verily hath the Adventurer wisdom, and I, his disciple, am in luck. I learnt it from her after service; she had thought I knew, and alluded to the fact quite casually. Astonishing thing that before a woman has been aboard twelve hours she knows everything about every one—from the domestic relations of the first officer to the history of an improvident person with thirteen children in the steerage.

Have not had any conversation with him since I made the discovery, because I could not leave Miss Bret abruptly, but I design the afternoon for him in its entirety.

Hope I am not beginning to take too lively an interest in Miss Bret. Must confess to a feeling of restlessness, which I am aware is premonitory of a cropper. Think on the whole it would be as well to give her a wider berth during the remainder of the voyage. To think is to do: wider berth resolved!

Conversation with the lord as determined; we sauntered about together some time. Not the entire afternoon—indeed it was only for twenty minutes—but after being with Miss Bret so much I felt it would look rude to neglect her utterly. It is obvious one must use tact in affairs like this, and edge away by degrees.

A migration to larboard was taking place when I joined her, it was warmer that side. I moved her chair round for her and placed it behind a boat out of the way of the promenaders. Stayed

with

h her rather longer than I intended; we had tea on deck. When the bugle sounded for dinner I carried her rug down to the door of her state-room. Our hands touched as I gave it to her; fancied hers wasn't withdrawn as quickly as it might have been. Know mine wasn't! Am convinced my resolution was well taken; the less I see of her in future the better. Will have just one turn in the moonlight with her this evening, and to-morrow limit myself to a few passing words.

Monday.

Had forgotten to-day was fixed for the concert, it has, of course, been impossible to avoid her. We had to have a last rehearsal, and there were several things to be discussed. Most prejudicial to my chances, all this, upon my soul!—have scarcely said a word to my intended benefactor except “Good-morning.”

Don't go in for gushing about sunsets as a general rule, but the one this afternoon was really glorious. We considered it the loveliest we had seen; we had been walking, and paused to look at it. The sea was like a lake, and everything was purple and orange in turn. Couldn't help reminding her we should not watch many more together, and she said “no” very thoughtfully; and there was silence. Asked if she would be sorry when we landed, and she answered “for some things she thought she should.” I said women often fancied they regretted it very much indeed when a voyage ended, but twenty-four hours on shore was sufficient to blot the remembrance out. She said she had no doubt that was so. The silence was longer this time.

She found she was growing chilly a moment later, and decided she would go below. It was simply balmy, so I bowed a dignified assent, and refrained from expostulating. Suppose it was silly to have said that about women forgetting, but after all if she is offended it simplifies my position with regard to her. Didn't sit beside her at the concert, which was as slow an affair as ever I endured. She thanked me rather coldly at the conclusion of her song, and I said “It was a privilege!” with formal politeness. Ghastly, dull thing, a passage anyhow; wish to goodness it was over!

Tuesday.

Not spoken six words to her all day! Not spoken to any one; got nothing to say. Smoked an ounce of tobacco, and am going to turn in.

Wednesday.

She has been lodged unapproachably between two old dowagers since breakfast. A deliberate plan to repulse me! And to judge by her expression one would imagine it was her daily custom to sit there.

Great mind to stop and have it out with her in front of all the row. Did hesitate when I lifted my cap, but she only inclined her head with a smile, and went on with her book. Perhaps one of the old crones has moved—go up and see!

Not moved! Both in a state of fixity suggestive of a ninety-nine years' lease. Miss Nellie Bret reading as placidly as ever. Hope she didn't see me lounge round.

Couldn't address her when she went to luncheon, I meant to—tried to, but I bungled, and she figuratively walked over me. Afterwards I saw her ensconced in that detestable place again, with an air of being settled for the rest of the afternoon. And we are to be landed early to-morrow! This is simply infernal.

I was scribbling at one of the double desks in the writing-room, and, as I made a blot, I looked in her face! She had been writing a letter on the other side. We lifted our heads at the same moment, and our eyes met through the scallop in the top of the partition.

It was my chance at last, and I threw it away! Don't know what demon possessed me. I said, “I'm afraid I'm disturbing you,” and moved to another chair. Think I must have been crazed! She will never forgive me, never; and in twenty-four hours we shall be flying across England in opposite directions.

The coast of Cork is getting clearer every minute. Everybody on deck, staring and chattering. The idiot who fancies his French accent has lent her his field-glasses, and she is flirting with him outrageously. Will she ever be alone?—I only live to apologise to her!

Couldn't see my dinner for watching her across the saloon. She left the table early, and I bolted up after her in the middle of an entrée. Cannoned against the lord in the companionway just as I was reaching her. He caught me by the arm and began to talk. It was maddening. Nellie was leaning over the taffrail; the air had freshened, and the lace thing round her neck was fluttering in the breeze. I flung his hand off, and left him affronted—

She is an angel of tenderness and patience! Must try to find a ring in pearls or pink coral for a fiver.