they'll tie you down on a little
table and cut you open--but don't be afraid; they'll take precious good
care that you don't die.
table and cut you open--but don't be afraid; they'll take precious good
care that you don't die.
Kipling - Poems
I must have two or three thousand at least in the
Bank--twenty or thirty years more provided for, that is to say. Then I
fall back on my hundred and twenty a year, which will be more by that
time. Let's consider.
"Twenty-five--thirty-five--a man's in his prime then, they
say--forty-five--a middle-aged man just entering politics--fifty-five
'died at the comparatively early age of fifty-five,' according to the
newspapers. Bah! How these Christians funk death! Sixty-five--we're only
getting on in years. Seventy-five is just possible, though. Great hell,
cat O! fifty years more of solitary confinement in the dark! You'll die,
and Beeton will die, and Torp will die, and Mai--everybody else will
die, but I shall be alive and kicking with nothing to do. I'm very sorry
for myself. I should like some one else to be sorry for me. Evidently
I'm not going mad before I die, but the pain's just as bad as ever.
Some day when you're vivisected, cat O!
they'll tie you down on a little
table and cut you open--but don't be afraid; they'll take precious good
care that you don't die. You'll live, and you'll be very sorry then that
you weren't sorry for me. Perhaps Torp will come back or. . . I wish I
could go to Torp and the Nilghai, even though I were in their way. "
Pussy left the room before the speech was ended, and Alf, as he entered,
found Dick addressing the empty hearth-rug.
"There's a letter for you, sir," he said. "Perhaps you'd like me to read
it. "
"Lend it to me for a minute and I'll tell you. "
The outstretched hand shook just a little and the voice was not
over-steady. It was within the limits of human possibility that--that
was no letter from Maisie. He knew the heft of three closed envelopes
only too well. It was a foolish hope that the girl should write to
him, for he did not realise that there is a wrong which admits of no
reparation though the evildoer may with tears and the heart's best love
strive to mend all. It is best to forget that wrong whether it be caused
or endured, since it is as remediless as bad work once put forward.
"Read it, then," said Dick, and Alf began intoning according to the
rules of the Board School--"'I could have given you love, I could have
given you loyalty, such as you never dreamed of.
Bank--twenty or thirty years more provided for, that is to say. Then I
fall back on my hundred and twenty a year, which will be more by that
time. Let's consider.
"Twenty-five--thirty-five--a man's in his prime then, they
say--forty-five--a middle-aged man just entering politics--fifty-five
'died at the comparatively early age of fifty-five,' according to the
newspapers. Bah! How these Christians funk death! Sixty-five--we're only
getting on in years. Seventy-five is just possible, though. Great hell,
cat O! fifty years more of solitary confinement in the dark! You'll die,
and Beeton will die, and Torp will die, and Mai--everybody else will
die, but I shall be alive and kicking with nothing to do. I'm very sorry
for myself. I should like some one else to be sorry for me. Evidently
I'm not going mad before I die, but the pain's just as bad as ever.
Some day when you're vivisected, cat O!
they'll tie you down on a little
table and cut you open--but don't be afraid; they'll take precious good
care that you don't die. You'll live, and you'll be very sorry then that
you weren't sorry for me. Perhaps Torp will come back or. . . I wish I
could go to Torp and the Nilghai, even though I were in their way. "
Pussy left the room before the speech was ended, and Alf, as he entered,
found Dick addressing the empty hearth-rug.
"There's a letter for you, sir," he said. "Perhaps you'd like me to read
it. "
"Lend it to me for a minute and I'll tell you. "
The outstretched hand shook just a little and the voice was not
over-steady. It was within the limits of human possibility that--that
was no letter from Maisie. He knew the heft of three closed envelopes
only too well. It was a foolish hope that the girl should write to
him, for he did not realise that there is a wrong which admits of no
reparation though the evildoer may with tears and the heart's best love
strive to mend all. It is best to forget that wrong whether it be caused
or endured, since it is as remediless as bad work once put forward.
"Read it, then," said Dick, and Alf began intoning according to the
rules of the Board School--"'I could have given you love, I could have
given you loyalty, such as you never dreamed of.
