Dusk

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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Norman Gortsby sat on a bench in the Park, with hisback to a strip of bush-planted sward, fenced by the parkrailings, and the Row fronting him across a wide stretchof carriage drive. Hyde Park Corner, with its rattle andhoot of traffic, lay immediately to his right. It wassome thirty minutes past six on an early March evening,and dusk had fallen heavily over the scene, duskmitigated by some faint moonlight and many street lamps.There was a wide emptiness over road and sidewalk, andyet there were many unconsidered figures moving silentlythrough the half-light, or dotted unobtrusively on benchand chair, scarcely to be distinguished from the shadowedgloom in which they sat.The scene pleased Gortsby and harmonised with hispresent mood. Dusk, to his mind, was the hour of thedefeated. Men and women, who had fought and lost, whohid their fallen fortunes and dead hopes as far aspossible from the scrutiny of the curious, came forth inthis hour of gloaming, when their shabby clothes andbowed shoulders and unhappy eyes might pass unnoticed,or, at any rate, unrecognised.A king that is conquered must see strange looks,So bitter a thing is the heart of man.The wanderers in the dusk did not choose to havestrange looks fasten on them, therefore they came out inthis bat-fashion, taking their pleasure sadly in apleasure-ground that had emptied of its rightfuloccupants. Beyond the sheltering screen of bushes andpalings came a realm of brilliant lights and noisy,rushing traffic. A blazing, many-tiered stretch ofwindows shone through the dusk and almost dispersed it,marking the haunts of those other people, who held theirown in life's struggle, or at any rate had not had toadmit failure. So Gortsby's imagination pictured thingsas he sat on his bench in the almost deserted walk. Hewas in the mood to count himself among the defeated.Money troubles did not press on him; had he so wished hecould have strolled into the thoroughfares of light andnoise, and taken his place among the jostling ranks ofthose who enjoyed prosperity or struggled for it. He hadfailed in a more subtle ambition, and for the moment hewas heartsore and disillusionised, and not disinclined totake a certain cynical pleasure in observing andlabelling his fellow wanderers as they went their ways inthe dark stretches between the lamp-lights.On the bench by his side sat an elderly gentlemanwith a drooping air of defiance that was probably theremaining vestige of self-respect in an individual whohad ceased to defy successfully anybody or anything. Hisclothes could scarcely be called shabby, at least theypassed muster in the half-light, but one's imaginationcould not have pictured the wearer embarking on thepurchase of a half-crown box of chocolates or laying outninepence on a carnation buttonhole. He belongedunmistakably to that forlorn orchestra to whose piping noone dances; he was one of the world's lamenters whoinduce no responsive weeping. As he rose to go Gortsbyimagined him returning to a home circle where he wassnubbed and of no account, or to some bleak lodging wherehis ability to pay a weekly bill was the beginning andend of the interest he inspired. His retreating figurevanished slowly into the shadows, and his place on thebench was taken almost immediately by a young man, fairlywell dressed but scarcely more cheerful of mien than hispredecessor. As if to emphasise the fact that the worldwent badly with him the new-corner unburdened himself ofan angry and very audible expletive as he flung himselfinto the seat."You don't seem in a very good temper," saidGortsby, judging that he was expected to take due noticeof the demonstration.The young man turned to him with a look of disarmingfrankness which put him instantly on his guard."You wouldn't be in a good temper if you were in thefix I'm in," he said; "I've done the silliest thing I'veever done in my life.""Yes?" said Gortsby dispassionately."Came up this afternoon, meaning to stay at thePatagonian Hotel in Berkshire Square," continued theyoung man; "when I got there I found it had been pulleddown some weeks ago and a cinema theatre run up on thesite. The taxi driver recommended me to another hotelsome way off and I went there. I just sent a letter tomy people, giving them the address, and then I went outto buy some soap - I'd forgotten to pack any and I hateusing hotel soap. Then I strolled about a bit, had adrink at a bar and looked at the shops, and when I cameto turn my steps back to the hotel I suddenly realisedthat I didn't remember its name or even what street itwas in. There's a nice predicament for a fellow whohasn't any friends or connections in London! Of course Ican wire to my people for the address, but they won'thave got my letter till to-morrow; meantime I'm withoutany money, came out with about a shilling on me, whichwent in buying the soap and getting the drink, and here Iam, wandering about with twopence in my pocket andnowhere to go for the night."There was an eloquent pause after the story had beentold. "I suppose you think I've spun you rather animpossible yarn," said the young man presently,with asuggestion of resentment in his voice."Not at all impossible," said Gortsby judicially; "Iremember doing exactly the same thing once in a foreigncapital, and on that occasion there were two of us, whichmade it more remarkable. Luckily we remembered that thehotel was on a sort of canal, and when we struck thecanal we were able to find our way back to the hotel."The youth brightened at the reminiscence. "In aforeign city I wouldn't mind so much," he said; "onecould go to one's Consul and get the requisite help fromhim. Here in one's own land one is far more derelict ifone gets into a fix. Unless I can find some decent chapto swallow my story and lend me some money I seem likelyto spend the night on the Embankment. I'm glad, anyhow,that you don't think the story outrageously improbable."He threw a good deal of warmth into the last remark,as though perhaps to indicate his hope that Gortsby didnot fall far short of the requisite decency."Of course," said Gortsby slowly, "the weak point ofyour story is that you can't produce the soap."The young man sat forward hurriedly, felt rapidly inthe pockets of his overcoat, and then jumped to his feet."I must have lost it," he muttered angrily."To lose an hotel and a cake of soap on oneafternoon suggests wilful carelessness," said Gortsby,but the young man scarcely waited to hear the end of theremark. He flitted away down the path, his head heldhigh, with an air of somewhat jaded jauntiness."It was a pity," mused Gortsby; "the going out toget one's own soap was the one convincing touch in thewhole story, and yet it was just that little detail thatbrought him to grief. If he had had the brilliantforethought to provide himself with a cake of soap,wrapped and sealed with all the solicitude of thechemist's counter, he would have been a genius in hisparticular line. In his particular line genius certainlyconsists of an infinite capacity for taking precautions."With that reflection Gortsby rose to go; as he didso an exclamation of concern escaped him. Lying on theground by the side of the bench was a small oval packet,wrapped and sealed with the solicitude of a chemist'scounter. It could be nothing else but a cake of soap,and it had evidently fallen out of the youth's overcoatpocket when he flung himself down on the seat. Inanother moment Gortsby was scudding along the dusk-shrouded path in anxious quest for a youthful figure in alight overcoat. He had nearly given up the search whenhe caught sight of the object of his pursuit standingirresolutely on the border of the carriage drive,evidently uncertain whether to strike across the Park ormake for the bustling pavements of Knightsbridge. Heturned round sharply with an air of defensive hostilitywhen he found Gortsby hailing him."The important witness to the genuineness of yourstory has turned up," said Gortsby, holding out the cakeof soap; "it must have slid out of your overcoat pocketwhen you sat down on the seat. I saw it on the groundafter you left. You must excuse my disbelief, butappearances were really rather against you, and now, as Iappealed to the testimony of the soap I think I ought toabide by its verdict. If the loan of a sovereign is anygood to you - "The young man hastily removed all doubt on thesubject by pocketing the coin."Here is my card with my address," continuedGortsby; "any day this week will do for returning themoney, and here is the soap - don't lose it again it'sbeen a good friend to you.""Lucky thing your finding it," said the youth, andthen, with a catch in his voice, he blurted out a word ortwo of thanks and fled headlong in the direction ofKnightsbridge."Poor boy, he as nearly as possible broke down,"said Gortsby to himself. "I don't wonder either; therelief from his quandary must have been acute. It's alesson to me not to be too clever in judging bycircumstances."As Gortsby retraced his steps past the seat wherethe little drama had taken place he saw an elderlygentleman poking and peering beneath it and on all sidesof it, and recognised his earlier fellow occupant."Have you lost anything, sir?" he asked."Yes, sir, a cake of soap."

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Dusk was featured as TheShort Story of the Day on Mon, Sep 02, 2013

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