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Hayward's poetic allusions troubled his imagination, and his soul yearned for romance. At least that was how he put it to himself. And it happened that an incident was taking place in Frau Erlin's house which increased Philip's preoccupation with the matter of sex. Two or three times on his walks among the hills he had met Fraulein Cacilie wandering by herself.
The burning match was quickly plunged into Hayward's handful of shavings, which blazed up as he thrust it into Slag's nest; and Slag, holding the nest with the tender care of a loving sick-nurse, and the cool indifference of a salamander, till it was a flaming ball, crammed it into the heart of the pile of sticks.
He was without a coat and wore a blue cravat and a shirt of fancy cotton which matched none too well. "You beat me to the tank again, Alf," was his jovial greeting. "I would have got here sooner, but I stopped to drive Mrs. Hayward's cow in for her.
Hayward's police attendant sat in front, all keeping their positions throughout the night as dutifully as the figures in a tableau vivant, and so we silently left Permatang Pasir for our jungle voyage of eighteen hours, in which time, by unintermitting hard work, we were propelled about as many miles, though some say twenty-nine.
Indeed, as they sat round the camp fire that evening, not a grumble did he mutter. The captain was, of course, grieved to hear of Mr Hayward's illness, though he hoped that they should find him perfectly recovered on their return.
After Hayward's death in 1884, his own habits began to change. He still dined at the Athenaeum "corner," but increasing deafness began to make society irksome, and, his solitary meal ended, he spent his evenings reading in the Library. By-and-by that too became impossible. His voice grew weak, throat and tongue were threatened with disease.
He fixed his gaze now upon the pale features of Brisley. "I've seen you before, haven't I?" "Yes, Chief Inspector," said Brisley, licking his lips. "Hayward's Heath. We have been retained by " "You have been retained!" shouted Kerry. "You have!" He twisted round upon his heel, facing Monte Irvin. Angry words trembled on his tongue.
About the year 1780, John Hancock, after he resigned the presidency of Congress, purchased this place of Dr. Hayward for his summer residence. He paid for it seven or eight shares in Long Wharf property, amounting them in all to about $400, but at the time of Dr. Hayward's decease, in 1821, valued at $100,000, a striking evidence of growth and financial prosperity in less then fifty years.
Macalister thought Hayward a poor creature, and sneered at his delicacies of sentiment: he asked satirically about Hayward's literary work and received with scornful smiles his vague suggestions of future masterpieces; their arguments were often heated; but the punch was good, and they were both fond of it; towards the end of the evening they generally composed their differences and thought each other capital fellows.
Some of them indeed came back, and, under Mr Hayward's instruction, became so far civilised as to make themselves very useful, and two or three of their number imbibed the truths of Christianity.
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