On the road to Elysium Hill I overheard two men
talking together in the dusk.
talking together in the dusk.
Kipling - Poems
Her next words undeceived me--"Not a soul in sight!
Come along,
Jack, and I'll race you to the Reservoir buildings! " Her wiry little
Arab was off like a bird, my Waler following close behind, and in this
order we dashed under the cliffs. Half a minute brought us within fifty
yards of the 'rickshaw. I pulled my Waler and fell back a little. The
'rickshaw was directly in the middle of the road; and once more the Arab
passed through it, my horse following. "Jack! Jack dear! Please forgive
me," rang with a wail in my ears, and, after an interval:--"It's a
mistake, a hideous mistake! "
I spurred my horse like a man possessed. When I turned my head at
the Reservoir works, the black and white liveries were still
waiting--patiently waiting--under the grey hillside, and the wind
brought me a mocking echo of the words I had just heard. Kitty bantered
me a good deal on my silence throughout the remainder of the ride. I had
been talking up till then wildly and at random.
To save my life I could not speak afterward naturally, and from
Sanjowlie to the Church wisely held my tongue.
I was to dine with the Mannerings that night, and had barely time to
canter home to dress.
On the road to Elysium Hill I overheard two men
talking together in the dusk. --"It's a curious thing," said one, "how
completely all trace of it disappeared. You know my wife was insanely
fond of the woman ('never could see anything in her myself), and wanted
me to pick up her old 'rickshaw and coolies if they were to be got for
love or money. Morbid sort of fancy I call it; but I've got to do what
the Memsahib tells me.
"Would you believe that the man she hired it from tells me that all four
of the men--they were brothers--died of cholera on the way to Hardwar,
poor devils, and the 'rickshaw has been broken up by the man himself.
'Told me he never used a dead Memsahib's 'rickshaw. 'Spoiled his luck. '
Queer notion, wasn't it? Fancy poor little Mrs. Wessington spoiling any
one's luck except her own! " I laughed aloud at this point; and my laugh
jarred on me as I uttered it. So there were ghosts of 'rickshaws after
all, and ghostly employments in the other world! How much did Mrs.
Wessington give her men? What were their hours? Where did they go?
Jack, and I'll race you to the Reservoir buildings! " Her wiry little
Arab was off like a bird, my Waler following close behind, and in this
order we dashed under the cliffs. Half a minute brought us within fifty
yards of the 'rickshaw. I pulled my Waler and fell back a little. The
'rickshaw was directly in the middle of the road; and once more the Arab
passed through it, my horse following. "Jack! Jack dear! Please forgive
me," rang with a wail in my ears, and, after an interval:--"It's a
mistake, a hideous mistake! "
I spurred my horse like a man possessed. When I turned my head at
the Reservoir works, the black and white liveries were still
waiting--patiently waiting--under the grey hillside, and the wind
brought me a mocking echo of the words I had just heard. Kitty bantered
me a good deal on my silence throughout the remainder of the ride. I had
been talking up till then wildly and at random.
To save my life I could not speak afterward naturally, and from
Sanjowlie to the Church wisely held my tongue.
I was to dine with the Mannerings that night, and had barely time to
canter home to dress.
On the road to Elysium Hill I overheard two men
talking together in the dusk. --"It's a curious thing," said one, "how
completely all trace of it disappeared. You know my wife was insanely
fond of the woman ('never could see anything in her myself), and wanted
me to pick up her old 'rickshaw and coolies if they were to be got for
love or money. Morbid sort of fancy I call it; but I've got to do what
the Memsahib tells me.
"Would you believe that the man she hired it from tells me that all four
of the men--they were brothers--died of cholera on the way to Hardwar,
poor devils, and the 'rickshaw has been broken up by the man himself.
'Told me he never used a dead Memsahib's 'rickshaw. 'Spoiled his luck. '
Queer notion, wasn't it? Fancy poor little Mrs. Wessington spoiling any
one's luck except her own! " I laughed aloud at this point; and my laugh
jarred on me as I uttered it. So there were ghosts of 'rickshaws after
all, and ghostly employments in the other world! How much did Mrs.
Wessington give her men? What were their hours? Where did they go?
