The Cat and Cupid
IThe secret history of the Ebag marriage is now printed for the firsttime. The Ebag family, who prefer their name to be accented on the firstsyllable, once almost ruled Oldcastle, which is a clean and conceitedborough, with long historical traditions, on the very edge of theindustrial, democratic and unclean Five Towns. The Ebag family stilllives in the grateful memory of Oldcastle, for no family ever did moreto preserve the celebrated Oldcastilian superiority in social, moral andreligious matters over the vulgar Five Towns. The episodes leading tothe Ebag marriage could only have happened in Oldcastle. By which I meanmerely that they could not have happened in any of the Five Towns. Inthe Five Towns that sort of thing does not occur. I don't know why, butit doesn't. The people are too deeply interested in football, startingprices, rates, public parks, sliding scales, excursions to Blackpool,and municipal shindies, to concern themselves with organists as such. Inthe Five Towns an organist may be a sanitary inspector or an auctioneeron Mondays. In Oldcastle an organist is an organist, recognized as suchin the streets. No one ever heard of an organist in the Five Towns beingtaken up and petted by a couple of old ladies. But this may occur atOldcastle. It, in fact, did.The scandalous circumstances which led to the disappearance from theOldcastle scene of Mr Skerritt, the original organist of St Placid, haveno relation to the present narrative, which opens when the ladies Ebagbegan to seek for a new organist. The new church of St Placid owed itsmagnificent existence to the Ebag family. The apse had been givenentirely by old Caiaphas Ebag (ex-M.P., now a paralytic sufferer) at acost of twelve thousand pounds; and his was the original idea ofbuilding the church. When, owing to the decline of the working man'sinterest in beer, and one or two other things, Caiaphas lost nearly thewhole of his fortune, which had been gained by honest labour in mightyspeculations, he rather regretted the church; he would have preferredtwelve thousand in cash to a view of the apse from his bedroom window;but he was man enough never to complain. He lived, after hismisfortunes, in a comparatively small house with his two daughters, MrsEbag and Miss Ebag. These two ladies are the heroines of the tale.Mrs Ebag had married her cousin, who had died. She possessed about sixhundred a year of her own. She was two years older than her sister, MissEbag, a spinster. Miss Ebag was two years younger than Mrs Ebag. Nofurther information as to their respective ages ever leaked out. MissEbag had a little money of her own from her deceased mother, andCaiaphas had the wreck of his riches. The total income of the householdwas not far short of a thousand a year, but of this quite two hundred ayear was absorbed by young Edith Ebag, Mrs Ebag's step-daughter (for MrsEbag had been her husband's second choice). Edith, who was notorious asa silly chit and spent most of her time in London and other absurdplaces, formed no part of the household, though she visited itoccasionally. The household consisted of old Caiaphas, bedridden, andhis two daughters and Goldie. Goldie was the tomcat, so termed by reasonof his splendid tawniness. Goldie had more to do with the Ebag marriagethan anyone or anything, except the weathercock on the top of thehouse. This may sound queer, but is as naught to the queerness about tobe unfolded.
IIIt cannot be considered unnatural that Mrs and Miss Ebag, with theassistance of the vicar, should have managed the affairs of the church.People nicknamed them "the churchwardens," which was not quite nice,having regard to the fact that their sole aim was the truest welfare ofthe church. They and the vicar, in a friendly and effusive way, hatedeach other. Sometimes they got the better of the vicar, and, less often,he got the better of them. In the choice of a new organist they won.Their candidate was Mr Carl Ullman, the artistic orphan.Mr Carl Ullman is the hero of the tale. The son of one of those Germandesigners of earthenware who at intervals come and settle in the FiveTowns for the purpose of explaining fully to the inhabitants howinferior England is to Germany, he had an English mother, and he himselfwas violently English. He spoke English like an Englishman and Germanlike an Englishman. He could paint, model in clay, and play threemusical instruments, including the organ. His one failing was that hecould never earn enough to live on. It seemed as if he was always beingdrawn by an invisible string towards the workhouse door. Now and then hemade half a sovereign extra by deputizing on the organ. In such mannerhad he been introduced to the Ebag ladies. His romantic and gloomyappearance had attracted them, with the result that they had asked himto lunch after the service, and he had remained with them till theevening service. During the visit they had learnt that his grandfatherhad been Court Councillor in the Kingdom of Saxony. Afterwards theyoften said to each other how ideal it would be if only Mr Skerrittmight be removed and Carl Ullman take his place. And when Mr Skerrittactually was removed, by his own wickedness, they regarded it as almostan answer to prayer, and successfully employed their powerful intereston behalf of Carl. The salary was a hundred a year. Not once in his lifehad Carl earned a hundred pounds in a single year. For him the situationmeant opulence. He accepted it, but calmly, gloomily. Romantic gloom washis joy in life. He said with deep melancholy that he was sure he couldnot find a convenient lodging in Oldcastle. And the ladies Ebag thensaid that he must really come and spend a few days with them and Goldieand papa until he was "suited." He said that he hated to plant himselfon people, and yielded to the request. The ladies Ebag fussed around hisdark-eyed and tranquil pessimism, and both of them instantly grewyounger--a curious but authentic phenomenon. They adored his playing,and they were enchanted to discover that his notions about hymn tunesagreed with theirs, and by consequence disagreed with the vicar's. Inthe first week or two they scored off the vicar five times, and theadvantage of having your organist in your own house grew very apparent.They were also greatly impressed by his gentleness with Goldie and byhis intelligent interest in serious questions.One day Miss Ebag said timidly to her sister: "It's just six monthsto-day.""What do you mean, sister?" asked Mrs Ebag, self-consciously."Since Mr Ullman came.""So it is!" said Mrs Ebag, who was just as well aware of the date as thespinster was aware of it.They said no more. The position was the least bit delicate. Carl hadfound no lodging. He did not offer to go. They did not want him to go.He did not offer to pay. And really he cost them nothing exceptlaundry, whisky and fussing. How could they suggest that he should pay?He lived amidst them like a beautiful mystery, and all were seeminglycontent. Carl was probably saving the whole of his salary, for he neverbought clothes and he did not smoke. The ladies Ebag simply did whatthey liked about hymn-tunes.
IIIYou would have thought that no outsider would find a word to say, andyou would have been mistaken. The fact that Mrs Ebag was two years olderthan Miss and Miss two years younger than Mrs Ebag; the fact that oldCaiaphas was, for strong reasons, always in the house; the fact that theladies were notorious cat-idolaters; the fact that the reputation of theEbag family was and had ever been spotless; the fact that the Ebagfamily had given the apse and practically created the entire church; allthese facts added together did not prevent the outsider from finding aword to say.At first words were not said; but looks were looked, and coughs werecoughed. Then someone, strolling into the church of a morning while CarlUllman was practising, saw Miss Ebag sitting in silent ecstasy in acorner. And a few mornings later the same someone, whose curiosity hadbeen excited, veritably saw Mrs Ebag in the organ-loft with Carl Ullman,but no sign of Miss Ebag. It was at this juncture that words began to besaid.Words! Not complete sentences! The sentences were never finished. "Ofcourse, it's no affair of mine, but--" "I wonder that people like theEbags should--" "Not that I should ever dream of hinting that--" "Firstone and then the other--well!" "I'm sure that if either Mrs or MissEbag had the slightest idea they'd at once--" And so on. Intangiblegossamer criticism, floating in the air!
IVOne evening--it was precisely the first of June--when a thunderstorm wasblowing up from the south-west, and scattering the smoke of the FiveTowns to the four corners of the world, and making the weathercock ofthe house of the Ebags creak, the ladies Ebag and Carl Ullman sattogether as usual in the drawing-room. The French window was open, butbanged to at intervals. Carl Ullman had played the piano and the ladiesEbag--Mrs Ebag, somewhat comfortably stout and Miss Ebag spare--weretalking very well and sensibly about the influence of music oncharacter. They invariably chose such subjects for conversation. Carlwas chiefly silent, but now and then, after a sip of whisky, he wouldsay "Yes" with impressiveness and stare gloomily out of the darkeningwindow. The ladies Ebag had a remarkable example of the influence ofmusic on character in the person of Edith Ebag. It appeared that Edithwould never play anything but waltzes--Waldteufel's for choice--and thatthe foolish frivolity of her flyaway character was a direct consequenceof this habit. Carl felt sadly glad, after hearing the description ofEdith's carryings-on, that Edith had chosen to live far away.And then the conversation languished and died with the daylight, and acertain self-consciousness obscured the social atmosphere. For a vaguerumour of the chatter of the town had penetrated the house, and theladies Ebag, though they scorned chatter, were affected by it; CarlUllman, too. It had the customary effect of such chatter; it fixed thethoughts of those chatted about on matters which perhaps would nototherwise have occupied their attention.The ladies Ebag said to themselves: "We are no longer aged nineteen. Weare moreover living with our father. If he is bedridden, what then? Thisgossip connecting our names with that of Mr Ullman is worse thanbaseless; it is preposterous. We assert positively that we have nodesigns of any kind on Mr Ullman."Nevertheless, by dint of thinking about that gossip, the naked idea of amarriage with Mr Ullman soon ceased to shock them. They could gaze at itwithout going into hysterics.As for Carl, he often meditated upon his own age, which might have beenanything between thirty and forty-five, and upon the mysterious ages ofthe ladies, and upon their goodness, their charm, their seriousness,their intelligence and their sympathy with himself.Hence the self-consciousness in the gloaming.To create a diversion Miss Ebag walked primly to the window and cried:"Goldie! Goldie!"It was Goldie's bedtime. In summer he always strolled into the gardenafter dinner, and he nearly always sensibly responded to the call whenhis bed-hour sounded. No one would have dreamed of retiring until Goldiewas safely ensconced in his large basket under the stairs."Naughty Goldie!" Miss Ebag said, comprehensively, to the garden.She went into the garden to search, and Mrs Ebag followed her, and CarlUllman followed Mrs Ebag. And they searched without result, until it wasblack night and the threatening storm at last fell. The vision of Goldieout in that storm desolated the ladies, and Carl Ullman displayed thenicest feeling. At length the rain drove them in and they stood in thedrawing-room with anxious faces, while two servants, under directionsfrom Carl, searched the house for Goldie."If you please'm," stammered the housemaid, rushing ratherunconventionally into the drawing-room, "cook says she thinks Goldiemust be on the roof, in the vane.""On the roof in the vane?" exclaimed Mrs Ebag, pale. "In the vane?""Yes'm.""Whatever do you mean, Sarah?" asked Miss Ebag, even paler.The ladies Ebag were utterly convinced that Goldie was not like othercats, that he never went on the roof, that he never had any wish to doanything that was not in the strictest sense gentlemanly and correct.And if by chance he did go on the roof, it was merely to examine theroof itself, or to enjoy the view therefrom out of gentlemanlycuriosity. So that this reference to the roof shocked them. The nightdid not favour the theory of view-gazing."Cook says she heard the weather-vane creaking ever since she wentupstairs after dinner, and now it's stopped; and she can hear Goldiea-myowling like anything.""Is cook in her attic?" asked Mrs Ebag."Yes'm.""Ask her to come out. Mr Ullman, will you be so very good as to comeupstairs and investigate?"Cook, enveloped in a cloak, stood out on the second landing, while MrUllman and the ladies invaded her chamber. The noise of myowling wasterrible. Mr Ullman opened the dormer window, and the rain burst in,together with a fury of myowling. But he did not care. It lightened andthundered. But he did not care. He procured a chair of cook's and put itunder the window and stood on it, with his back to the window, andtwisted forth his body so that he could spy up the roof. The ladiesprotested that he would be wet through, but he paid no heed to them.Then his head, dripping, returned into the room. "I've just seen by aflash of lightning," he said in a voice of emotion. "The poor animal hasgot his tail fast in the socket of the weather-vane. He must have beenwhisking it about up there, and the vane turned and caught it. The vaneis jammed.""How dreadful!" said Mrs Ebag. "Whatever can be done?""He'll be dead before morning," sobbed Miss Ebag."I shall climb up the roof and release him," said Carl Ullman, gravely.They forbade him to do so. Then they implored him to refrain. But he wasadamant. And in their supplications there was a note of insincerity, fortheir hearts bled for Goldie, and, further, they were not altogetherunwilling that Carl should prove himself a hero. And so, amidapprehensive feminine cries of the acuteness of his danger, Carl crawledout of the window and faced the thunder, the lightning, the rain, theslippery roof, and the maddened cat. A group of three servants werehuddled outside the attic door.In the attic the ladies could hear his movements on the roof, movinghigher and higher. The suspense was extreme. Then there was silence;even the myowling had ceased. Then a clap of thunder; and then, afterthat, a terrific clatter on the roof, a bounding downwards as of a greatstone, a curse, a horrid pause, and finally a terrific smashing offoliage and cracking of wood.Mrs Ebag sprang to the window."It's all right," came a calm, gloomy voice from below. "I fell into therhododendrons, and Goldie followed me. I'm not hurt, thank goodness!Just my luck!"A bell rang imperiously. It was the paralytic's bell. He had beendisturbed by these unaccustomed phenomena."Sister, do go to father at once," said Mrs Ebag, as they both hasteneddownstairs in a state of emotion, assuredly unique in their lives.
VMrs Ebag met Carl and the cat as they dripped into the gas-litdrawing-room. They presented a surprising spectacle, and they were doingdamage to the Persian carpet at the rate of about five shillings asecond; but that Carl, and the beloved creature for whom he had dared somuch, were equally unhurt appeared to be indubitable. Of course, it wasa miracle. It could not be regarded as other than a miracle. Mrs Ebaggave vent to an exclamation in which were mingled pity, pride,admiration and solicitude, and then remained, as it were, spellbound.The cat escaped from those protecting arms and fled away. Instead offollowing Goldie, Mrs Ebag continued to gaze at the hero."How can I thank you!" she whispered."What for?" asked Carl, with laconic gloom."For having saved my darling!" said Mrs Ebag. And there was passion inher voice."Oh!" said Carl. "It was nothing!""Nothing?" Mrs Ebag repeated after him, with melting eyes, as if toimply that, instead of being nothing, it was everything; as if to implythat his deed must rank hereafter with the most splendid deeds ofantiquity; as if to imply that the whole affair was beyond words toutter or gratitude to repay.And in fact Carl himself was moved. You cannot fall from the roof of atwo-story house into a very high-class rhododendron bush, carrying aprize cat in your arms, without being a bit shaken. And Carl was a bitshaken, not merely physically, but morally and spiritually. He could notdeny to himself that he had after all done something rather wondrous,which ought to be celebrated in sounding verse. He felt that he was inan atmosphere far removed from the commonplace.He dripped steadily on to the carpet."You know how dear my cat was to me," proceeded Mrs Ebag. "And yourisked your life to spare me the pain of his suffering, perhaps hisdeath. How thankful I am that I insisted on having those rhododendronsplanted just where they are--fifteen years ago! I never anticipated--"She stopped. Tears came into her dowager eyes. It was obvious that sheworshipped him. She was so absorbed in his heroism that she had nothought even for his dampness. As Carl's eyes met hers she seemed to himto grow younger. And there came into his mind all the rumour that hadvaguely reached him coupling their names together; and also his earlydreams of love and passion and a marriage that would be one longhoneymoon. And he saw how absurd had been those early dreams. He sawthat the best chance of a felicitous marriage lay in a union of matureand serious persons, animated by grave interests and lofty ideals. Yes,she was older than he. But not much, not much! Not more than--how manyyears? And he remembered surprising her rapt glance that very evening asshe watched him playing the piano. What had romance to do with age?Romance could occur at any age. It was occurring now. Her soft eyes, herportly form, exuded romance. And had not the renowned Beaconsfieldespoused a lady appreciably older than himself, and did not thoseespousals achieve the ideal of bliss? In the act of saving the cat hehad not been definitely aware that it was so particularly the cat of thehousehold. But now, influenced by her attitude and her shiningreverence, he actually did begin to persuade himself that anuncontrollable instinctive desire to please her and win her for his ownhad moved him to undertake the perilous passage of the sloping roof.In short, the idle chatter of the town was about to be justified. Inanother moment he might have dripped into her generous arms ... had notMiss Ebag swept into the drawing-room!"Gracious!" gasped Miss Ebag. "The poor dear thing will have pneumonia.Sister, you know his chest is not strong. Dear Mr Ullman, please,please, do go and--er--change."He did the discreet thing and went to bed, hot whisky following him on atray carried by the housemaid.
VIThe next morning the slightly unusual happened. It was the custom forCarl Ullman to breakfast alone, while reading The StaffordshireSignal. The ladies Ebag breakfasted mysteriously in bed. But on thismorning Carl found Miss Ebag before him in the breakfast-room. Sheprosecuted minute inquiries as to his health and nerves. She went outwith him to regard the rhododendron bushes, and shuddered at the sightof the ruin which had saved him. She said, following famousphilosophers, that Chance was merely the name we give to the effect oflaws which we cannot understand. And, upon this high level ofconversation, she poured forth his coffee and passed his toast.It was a lovely morning after the tempest.Goldie, all newly combed, and looking as though he had never seen aroof, strolled pompously into the room with tail unfurled. Miss Ebagpicked the animal up and kissed it passionately."Darling!" she murmured, not exactly to Mr Ullman, nor yet exactly tothe cat. Then she glanced effulgently at Carl and said, "When I thinkthat you risked your precious life, in that awful storm, to save my poorGoldie?... You must have guessed how dear he was to me?... No, really,Mr Ullman, I cannot thank you properly! I can't express my--"Her eyes were moist.Although not young, she was two years younger. Her age was two yearsless. The touch of man had never profaned her. No masculine kiss hadever rested on that cheek, that mouth. And Carl felt that he might bethe first to cull the flower that had so long waited. He did not see,just then, the hollow beneath her chin, the two lines of sinew that,bounding a depression, disappeared beneath her collarette. He saw onlyher soul. He guessed that she would be more malleable than the widow,and he was sure that she was not in a position, as the widow was, tomake comparisons between husbands. Certainly there appeared to be someconfusion as to the proprietorship of this cat. Certainly he could nothave saved the cat's life for love of two different persons. But thatwas beside the point. The essential thing was that he began to be gladthat he had decided nothing definite about the widow on the previousevening."Darling!" said she again, with a new access of passion, kissing Goldie,but darting a glance at Carl.He might have put to her the momentous question, between two bites ofbuttered toast, had not Mrs Ebag, at the precise instant, swum amplyinto the room."Sister! You up!" exclaimed Miss Ebag."And you, sister!" retorted Mrs Ebag.
VIIIt is impossible to divine what might have occurred for the delectationof the very ancient borough of Oldcastle if that frivolous piece ofgoods, Edith, had not taken it into her head to run down from London fora few days, on the plea that London was too ridiculously hot. She was apretty girl, with fluffy honey-coloured hair and about thirty whitefrocks. And she seemed to be quite as silly as her staid stepmother andher prim step-aunt had said. She transformed the careful order of thehouse into a wild disorder, and left a novel or so lying on thedrawing-room table between her stepmother's Contemporary Review andher step-aunt's History of European Morals. Her taste in music wascandidly and brazenly bad. It was a fact, as her elders had stated, thatshe played nothing but waltzes. What was worse, she compelled CarlUllman to perform waltzes. And one day she burst into the drawing-roomwhen Carl was alone there, with a roll under her luscious arm, and said:"What do you think I've found at Barrowfoot's?""I don't know," said Carl, gloomily smiling, and then smiling withoutgloom."Waldteufel's waltzes arranged for four hands. You must play them withme at once."And he did. It was a sad spectacle to see the organist of St Placid'sgalloping through a series of dances with the empty-headed Edith.The worst was, he liked it. He knew that he ought to prefer the highintellectual plane, the severe artistic tastes, of the elderly sisters.But he did not. He was amazed to discover that frivolity appealed morepowerfully to his secret soul. He was also amazed to discover that hisgloom was leaving him. This vanishing of gloom gave him strangesensations, akin to the sensations of a man who, after having worngaiters into middle-age, abandons them.After the Waldteufel she began to tell him all about herself; how shewent slumming in the East End, and how jolly it was. And how she helpedin the Bloomsbury Settlement, and how jolly that was. And, later, shesaid:"You must have thought it very odd of me, Mr Ullman, not thanking youfor so bravely rescuing my poor cat; but the truth is I never heard ofit till to-day. I can't say how grateful I am. I should have loved tosee you doing it.""Is Goldie your cat?" he feebly inquired."Why, of course?" she said. "Didn't you know? Of course you did! Goldiealways belonged to me. Grandpa bought him for me. But I couldn't do withhim in London, so I always leave him here for them to take care of. Headores me. He never forgets me. He'll come to me before anyone. You musthave noticed that. I can't say how grateful I am! It was perfectlymarvellous of you! I can't help laughing, though, whenever I think whata state mother and auntie must have been in that night!"Strictly speaking, they hadn't a cent between them, except his hundred ayear. But he married her hair and she married his melancholy eyes; andshe was content to settle in Oldcastle, where there are almost no slums.And her stepmother was forced by Edith to make the hundred up to fourhundred. This was rather hard on Mrs Ebag. Thus it fell out that MrsEbag remained a widow, and that Miss Ebag continues a flower uncalled.However, gossip was stifled.In his appointed time, and in the fulness of years, Goldie died, and wasmourned. And by none was he more sincerely mourned than by the agedbedridden Caiaphas."I miss my cat, I can tell ye!" said old Caiaphas pettishly to Carl, whowas sitting by his couch. "He knew his master, Goldie did! Edith did herbest to steal him from me when you married and set up house. A nicething considering I bought him and he never belonged to anybody but me!Ay! I shall never have another cat like that cat."And this is the whole truth of the affair.
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