"
There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by
a man who does not intend to strike.
There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by
a man who does not intend to strike.
Kipling - Poems
"
The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning
against the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be
good enough to do things.
"Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal," said Torpenhow, critically;
"but I'm afraid, I am very much afraid, you've struck the wrong man. Be
careful, Dick; remember, this isn't the Soudan. "
"Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your
name before the world----"
This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant
years lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The
memory did not contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed
to enjoy the fruit of those years.
"I don't know quite what to do with you," began Dick, meditatively. "Of
course you're a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your case
you'd probably die. I don't want you dead on this floor, and, besides,
it's unlucky just as one's moving in. Don't hit, sir; you'll only excite
yourself. "
He put one hand on the man's forearm and ran the other down the plump
body beneath the coat. "My goodness! " said he to Torpenhow, "and this
gray oaf dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the
black hide taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound of wet
dates, and he was as tough as whipcord. This thing's soft all over--like
a woman.
"
There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by
a man who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to
breathe heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a
soft hearth-rug. Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches
underneath the eyes, and shook his head. "You were going to steal my
things,--mine, mine, mine! --you, who don't know when you may die. Write
a note to your office,--you say you're the head of it,--and order them
to give Torpenhow my sketches,--every one of them. Wait a minute: your
hand's shaking. Now! " He thrust a pocket-book before him. The note
was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while Dick
walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice as
he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow returned
with a gigantic portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly, "Now,
I hope this will be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when I have
settled down to work with any nonsense about actions for assault,
believe me, I'll catch you and manhandle you, and you'll die. You
haven't very long to live, anyhow. Go! Imshi, Vootsak,--get out!
The man stared blankly at Dick, and then at Torpenhow, who was leaning
against the wall. He was not used to ex-employees who ordered him to be
good enough to do things.
"Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded steal," said Torpenhow, critically;
"but I'm afraid, I am very much afraid, you've struck the wrong man. Be
careful, Dick; remember, this isn't the Soudan. "
"Considering what services the syndicate have done you in putting your
name before the world----"
This was not a fortunate remark; it reminded Dick of certain vagrant
years lived out in loneliness and strife and unsatisfied desires. The
memory did not contrast well with the prosperous gentleman who proposed
to enjoy the fruit of those years.
"I don't know quite what to do with you," began Dick, meditatively. "Of
course you're a thief, and you ought to be half killed, but in your case
you'd probably die. I don't want you dead on this floor, and, besides,
it's unlucky just as one's moving in. Don't hit, sir; you'll only excite
yourself. "
He put one hand on the man's forearm and ran the other down the plump
body beneath the coat. "My goodness! " said he to Torpenhow, "and this
gray oaf dares to be a thief! I have seen an Esneh camel-driver have the
black hide taken off his body in strips for stealing half a pound of wet
dates, and he was as tough as whipcord. This thing's soft all over--like
a woman.
"
There are few things more poignantly humiliating than being handled by
a man who does not intend to strike. The head of the syndicate began to
breathe heavily. Dick walked round him, pawing him, as a cat paws a
soft hearth-rug. Then he traced with his forefinger the leaden pouches
underneath the eyes, and shook his head. "You were going to steal my
things,--mine, mine, mine! --you, who don't know when you may die. Write
a note to your office,--you say you're the head of it,--and order them
to give Torpenhow my sketches,--every one of them. Wait a minute: your
hand's shaking. Now! " He thrust a pocket-book before him. The note
was written. Torpenhow took it and departed without a word, while Dick
walked round and round the spellbound captive, giving him such advice as
he conceived best for the welfare of his soul. When Torpenhow returned
with a gigantic portfolio, he heard Dick say, almost soothingly, "Now,
I hope this will be a lesson to you; and if you worry me when I have
settled down to work with any nonsense about actions for assault,
believe me, I'll catch you and manhandle you, and you'll die. You
haven't very long to live, anyhow. Go! Imshi, Vootsak,--get out!
