"
This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the sanctity
of work.
This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the sanctity
of work.
Kipling - Poems
By Jove, it put the fear
into me! And one oughtn't to be afraid of anything. "
To each man is appointed his particular dread,--the terror that, if he
does not fight against it, must cow him even to the loss of his manhood.
Dick's experience of the sordid misery of want had entered into the
deeps of him, and, lest he might find virtue too easy, that memory stood
behind him, tempting to shame, when dealers came to buy his wares. As
the Nilghai quaked against his will at the still green water of a lake
or a mill-dam, as Torpenhow flinched before any white arm that could cut
or stab and loathed himself for flinching, Dick feared the poverty he
had once tasted half in jest. His burden was heavier than the burdens of
his companions.
Maisie watched the face working in the moonlight.
"You've plenty of pennies now," she said soothingly.
"I shall never have enough," he began, with vicious emphasis. Then,
laughing, "I shall always be three-pence short in my accounts. "
"Why threepence? "
"I carried a man's bag once from Liverpool Street Station to
Blackfriar's Bridge. It was a sixpenny job,--you needn't laugh; indeed
it was,--and I wanted the money desperately. He only gave me threepence;
and he hadn't even the decency to pay in silver. Whatever money I make,
I shall never get that odd threepence out of the world.
"
This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the sanctity
of work. It jarred on Maisie, who preferred her payment in applause,
which, since all men desire it, must be of the right. She hunted for her
little purse and gravely took out a threepenny bit.
"There it is," she said. "I'll pay you, Dickie; and don't worry any
more; it isn't worth while. Are you paid? "
"I am," said the very human apostle of fair craft, taking the coin. "I'm
paid a thousand times, and we'll close that account. It shall live on my
watch-chain; and you're an angel, Maisie. "
"I'm very cramped, and I'm feeling a little cold. Good gracious! the
cloak is all white, and so is your moustache! I never knew it was so
chilly. "
A light frost lay white on the shoulder of Dick's ulster. He, too, had
forgotten the state of the weather. They laughed together, and with that
laugh ended all serious discourse.
into me! And one oughtn't to be afraid of anything. "
To each man is appointed his particular dread,--the terror that, if he
does not fight against it, must cow him even to the loss of his manhood.
Dick's experience of the sordid misery of want had entered into the
deeps of him, and, lest he might find virtue too easy, that memory stood
behind him, tempting to shame, when dealers came to buy his wares. As
the Nilghai quaked against his will at the still green water of a lake
or a mill-dam, as Torpenhow flinched before any white arm that could cut
or stab and loathed himself for flinching, Dick feared the poverty he
had once tasted half in jest. His burden was heavier than the burdens of
his companions.
Maisie watched the face working in the moonlight.
"You've plenty of pennies now," she said soothingly.
"I shall never have enough," he began, with vicious emphasis. Then,
laughing, "I shall always be three-pence short in my accounts. "
"Why threepence? "
"I carried a man's bag once from Liverpool Street Station to
Blackfriar's Bridge. It was a sixpenny job,--you needn't laugh; indeed
it was,--and I wanted the money desperately. He only gave me threepence;
and he hadn't even the decency to pay in silver. Whatever money I make,
I shall never get that odd threepence out of the world.
"
This was not language befitting the man who had preached of the sanctity
of work. It jarred on Maisie, who preferred her payment in applause,
which, since all men desire it, must be of the right. She hunted for her
little purse and gravely took out a threepenny bit.
"There it is," she said. "I'll pay you, Dickie; and don't worry any
more; it isn't worth while. Are you paid? "
"I am," said the very human apostle of fair craft, taking the coin. "I'm
paid a thousand times, and we'll close that account. It shall live on my
watch-chain; and you're an angel, Maisie. "
"I'm very cramped, and I'm feeling a little cold. Good gracious! the
cloak is all white, and so is your moustache! I never knew it was so
chilly. "
A light frost lay white on the shoulder of Dick's ulster. He, too, had
forgotten the state of the weather. They laughed together, and with that
laugh ended all serious discourse.
