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'Very well; in fact I don't fancy he had any secrets from me. Like lightning the thought flashed across Mark's mind, what if Caffyn had been entrusted with Holroyd's literary projects? But he remembered the next moment that Holroyd had expressly said that he had never told a soul of his cherished work until that last evening in Rotten Row.
'Do you mind telling me her name? said Mark, with a deadly foreboding of what was coming. 'Did I never speak of the Langtons to you? said Holroyd. 'I think I must have done so. She is a Miss Langton. 'Some day if if it is all well, you may see her, I hope. Oddly enough, I believe she has heard your name rather often; she has a small brother who used to be in your form at St.
'Yes, said Holroyd, listlessly, 'I may as well see him. 'Well, said Caffyn, 'he's at Liverpool just now, I believe. I can write to him and tell him about you, and ask him to come over and meet us somewhere, and then you could settle all about it, you know, if you liked the look of him. 'It's very good of you to take all this trouble, said Vincent gratefully.
He did not see them actually rush for the lieutenant as he returned, but he has no doubt they did make a concerted rush. Suddenly the lieutenant was shouting and cursing and beating at his legs. "I'm stung!" he shouted, with a face of hate and accusation towards Gerilleau. Then he vanished over the side, dropped into his boat, and plunged at once into the water. Holroyd heard the splash.
'I don't know that I can describe it more exactly: it 'Oh, it doesn't matter, interrupted Mark. 'I can read it some time. What have you called it? "Glamour," said Holroyd, still with a sensitive shrinking at having to reveal what had long been a cherished secret. 'It isn't a society novel, I suppose? 'No, said Holroyd. 'I'm not much of a society man; I go out very little.
At dinner he felt himself able, now that his fears were removed, to encourage conversation, and drew from Holroyd particulars of his Ceylon life, which supplied them with topics for that evening, and prevented the meal from becoming absolutely dull, even though it was at no time remarkable for festivity. 'I tell you what I can't quite understand, said Caffyn on one occasion.
I felt I only wanted a fair start. Then Fladgate got it into his head that I was the author of that manuscript of yours. I did tell him how it really was, but he wouldn't believe me, and then upon my soul, Holroyd, I thought you were dead! 'And had no rights! concluded the other drily; 'I see go on. 'I was mad, I suppose, continued Mark; 'I let him think he was right.
He turned his ghastly face and haggard eyes to her and at the same instant withdrew his hand from Mabel's. 'What would you have me say? he asked hoarsely. 'I can't deny it ... it is not my book ... from beginning to end it was written by another. And, as he spoke the words, Vincent Holroyd entered the room.
Holroyd liked a nigger help because he would stand kicking a habit with Holroyd and did not pry into the machinery and try to learn the ways of it. Certain odd possibilities of the negro mind brought into abrupt contact with the crown of our civilisation Holroyd never fully realised, though just at the end he got some inkling of them. To define Azuma-zi was beyond ethnology.
And even when his work time was over, which was rare, he loitered about the shed. Then, the next time Holroyd maltreated him, Azuma-zi went presently to the Lord of the Dynamos and whispered, "Thou seest, O my Lord!" and the angry whirr of the machinery seemed to answer him. Thereafter it appeared to him that whenever Holroyd came into the shed a different note came into the sounds of the dynamo.
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