The Tiger and the Baby

by Arnold Bennett

　　IGeorge Peel and Mary, his wife, sat down to breakfast. Their only son,Georgie, was already seated. George the younger showed an astoundingdisregard for the decencies of life, and a frankly gluttonous absorptionin food which amounted to cynicism. Evidently he cared for nothing butthe satisfaction of bodily desires. Yet he was twenty-two months old,and occupied a commanding situation in a high chair! His father andmother were aged thirty-two and twenty-eight respectively. They both hadpale, intellectual faces; they were dressed with elegance, and theirgestures were the gestures of people accustomed to be waited upon and toconsider luxuries as necessaries. There was silver upon the table, andthe room, though small and somewhat disordered, had in it beautifulthings which had cost money. Through a doorway half-screened by aportiere could be seen a large studio peopled with heroic statuary,plaster casts, and lumps of clay veiled in wet cloths. And on the otherside of the great window of the studio green trees waved their foliage.The trees were in Regent's Park. Another detail to show that the Peelshad not precisely failed in life: the time was then ten-thirty o'clock!Millions of persons in London had already been at hard work for hours.And indeed George Peel was not merely a young sculptor of marked talent;he was also a rising young sculptor. For instance, when you mentionedhis name in artistic circles the company signified that it knew whomyou meant, and those members of the company who had never seen his workhad to feel ashamed of themselves. Further, he had lately been awardedthe Triennial Gold Medal of the International Society, an honour that noEnglishman had previously achieved. His friends and himself had, by theway, celebrated this dazzling event by a noble and joyous gathering inthe studio, at which famous personages had been present.Everybody knew that George Peel, in addition to what he earned, hadimportant "private resources." For even rising young sculptors cannotlive luxuriously on what they gain, and you cannot eat gold medals. Norwill gold medals pay a heavy rent or the cost of manual help in marblecutting. All other rising young sculptors envied George Peel, and herather condescended to them (in his own mind) because they had to keepup appearances by means of subterfuges, whereas there was no deceptionabout his large and ample existence.On the table by Mary's plate was a letter, the sole letter. It had comeby the second post. The contents of the first post had been perused inbed. While Mary was scraping porridge off the younger George's bib witha spoon, and wiping porridge out of his eyes with a serviette, Georgethe elder gave just a glance at the letter."So he has written after all!" said George, in a voice that tried to benonchalant."Who?" asked Mary, although she had already seen the envelope, and knewexactly what George meant. And her voice also was unnatural in itsattempted casualness."The old cock," said George, beginning to serve bacon."Oh!" said Mary, coming to her chair, and beginning to dispense tea.She was dying to open the letter, yet she poured out the tea withsuperhuman leisureliness, and then indicated to Georgie exactly where tosearch for bits of porridge on his big plate, while George with a greatappearance of calm unfolded a newspaper. Then at length she did open theletter. Having read it, she put her lips tighter together, nodded, andpassed the letter to George. And George read:"DEAR MARY,--I cannot accede to your request.--Your affectionate uncle,SAMUEL PEEL."P.S.--The expenses connected with my County Council election will beterrible. S.P."George lifted his eyebrows, as if to indicate that in his opinion therewas no accounting for the wild stupidity of human nature, and that he asa philosopher refused to be startled by anything whatever."Curt!" he muttered coldly.Mary uneasily laughed."What shall you do?" she inquired."Without!" replied George, with a curtness that equalled Mary's uncle's."And what about the rent?""The rent will have to wait."A brave young man! Nevertheless he saw in that moment chasms at hisfeet--chasms in which he and his wife and child and his brilliantprospects might be swallowed up. He changed the subject."You didn't see this cutting," he said, and passed a slip from anewspaper gummed to a piece of green paper.George, in his quality of rising young sculptor, received Press cuttingsfrom an agency. This one was from a somewhat vulgar Society journal, andit gave, in two paragraphs, an account of the recent festivity atGeorge's studio. It finished with the words: "Heidsieck flowed freely."He could not guess who had written it. No! It was not in the nicesttaste, but it furnished indubitable proof that George was still rising,that he was a figure in the world. "What a rag!" he observed, with anexplosion of repugnance. "Read by suburban shop-girls, I suppose."IIGeorge had arranged his career in a quite exceptional way. It is truethat chance had served him; but then he had known how to make use ofchance to the highest advantage. The chance that had served him lay inthe facts that Mary Peel had fallen gravely in love with him, that hersole surviving relative was a rich uncle, and that George's surname wasthe same as hers and her uncle's. He had met niece and uncle in Bursleyin the Five Towns, where old Samuel Peel was a personage, and, timidly,a patron of the arts. Having regard to his golden hair andaffection-compelling appearance, it was not surprising that Mary,accustomed to the monotony of her uncle's house, had surrendered herheart to him. And it was not surprising that old Peel had at onceconsented to the match, and made a will in favour of Mary and heroffspring. What was surprising was that old Peel should have begun topart with his money at once, and in large quantities, for he was not ofa very open-handed disposition.