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Manxman, The

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<h2> IX. </h2> Next morning the Deemster was still sleeping while the sun was shining into his room. He was awakened by a thunderous clamour, which came as from a nail driven into the back of his head. Opening his eyes, he realised that somebody was knocking at his door, and shouting in a robustious bass— "Christian, I say! Ever going to get up at all?" It was the Clerk of the Rolls. Under one of his heavy poundings the catch of the door gave way, and he stepped into the room. "Degenerate Manxman!" he roared. "In bed on Tynwald morning. Pooh! this room smells of dead sleep, dead spirits, and dead everything. Let me get at that window—you pitch your clothes all over the floor. Ah! that's fresher! Headache? I should think so. Get up, then, and I'll drive you to St. John's." "Don't think I'll go to-day, sir," said Philip in a feeble whimper. "Not go? Holy saints! Judge of his island and not go to Tynwald! What will the Governor say?" "He said last night he would excuse my absence." "Excuse your fiddlesticks! The air will do you good. I've got the carriage below. Listen! it's striking ten by the church. I'll give you fifteen minutes, and step into your breakfast-room and look over the Times." The Clerk rolled out, and then Philip heard his loud voice through the door in conversation with Jem-y-Lord. "And how's Mrs. Cottier to-day?" "Middling, sir, thank you, sir.'' "You don't let us see too much of her, Jemmy." "Not been well since coming to Douglas, sir." Cups and saucers rattled, the newspaper creaked, the Clerk cleared his throat, and there was silence. Philip rose with a heavy heart, still in the torment of his great temptation. He remembered the vision of the night before, and, broad morning as it was, he trembled. In the Isle of Man such visions are understood to foretell death, and the man who sees them is said to "see his soul." But Philip had no superstitions. He knew what the vision was: he knew what the vision meant. Jem-y-Lord came in with hot water, and Philip, without looking round, said in a low tone as the door closed, "How now, my lad?" "Fretting again, your Honour," said the man, in a half whisper. He busied himself in the room a moment, and then added, "Somehow she gets to know things. Yesterday evening now—I was taking down some of the bottles, and I met her on the stairs. Next time I saw her she was crying." Philip said in a confused way, fumbling the razor. "Tell her I intend to see her after Tynwald." "I have, your Honour. 'It's not that, Mr. Cottier,' she answered me." "My wig and gown to-day, Jemmy," said Philip, and he went out in his robes as Deemster. The day was bright, and the streets were thronged with vehicles. Brakes, wagonettes, omnibuses, private carriages, and cadger's carts all loaded to their utmost, were climbing out of Douglas by way of the road to Peel. The town seemed to shout; the old island rock itself seemed to laugh. "Bless me, Christian," said the Clerk of the Rolls, looking at his watch, "do you know it's half-past ten? Service begins at eleven. Drive on, coachman. You've eight miles to do in half an hour." "Can't go any faster with this traffic on the road, sir," said the coachman over his shoulder. "I got so absorbed in the newspaper," said the Clerk, "that—— Well, if we're late, we're late, that's all." Philip folded his arms across his breast and hung his head. He was fighting a great battle. "No idea that the fisherman affair was going to be so serious," said the Clerk. "It seems the Governor has ordered out every soldier and pensioner. If I know my countrymen, they'll not stand much of that." Philip drew a long breath: there was a cloud of dust; the women in the brakes were laughing. "I hear a whisper that the ringleader is a friend of yours, Christian—'an irregular relative of a high official,' as the reporter says." "He is my cousin, sir," said Philip. "What? The big, curly-pated fellow you took home in the carriage?... I say, coachman, no need to drive quite so fast." Philip's head was still down. The Clerk of the Rolls sat watching him with an anxious face. "Christian, I am not so sure the Governor wasn't right after all. Is this what's been troubling you for a month? You're the deuce for a secret. If there's anything good to tell, you're up like the sun; but if there's bad news going, an owl is a poll-parrot compared with you for talking." Philip made some feeble effort to laugh, and to say his head was still aching. They were on the breast of the steep hill going up to Greeba. The road ahead was like a funnel of dust; the road behind was like the tail of a comet. "Pity a fine lad like that should get into trouble," said the Clerk. "I like the rascal. He got round an old man's heart like a rope round a capstan. One of the big, hearty dogs that make you say, 'By Jove, and I'm a Manxman, too.' He's in the right in this affair, whatever the Governor may say. And the Governor knows it, Christian—that's why he's so anxious to excuse you. He can overawe the Keys; and as for the Council, we're paid our wages, God bless us, and are so many stuffed snipes on his stick. But you—you're different. Then the man is your kinsman, and blood is thicker than water, if it's only—— Why, what's this?" There was some whooping behind; the line of carriages swirled like a long serpent half a yard near the hedge, and through the grey dust a large covered car shot by at the gallop of a fire-engine. The Clerk-sat bolt upright. "Now, what in the name of——" "It's an ambulance waggon," said Philip between his set teeth. A moment later a second waggon went galloping past, then a third, and finally a fourth. "Well, upon my—— Ah! good day. Doctor! Good day, good day!" The Clerk had recognised friends on the waggons, and was returning their salutations. When they were gone, he first looked at Philip, and then shouted, "Coachman, right about face. We're going home again—and chance it." "We can't be turning here, sir," said the coachman. "The vehicles are coming up like bees going a-swarming. We'll have to go as far as Tynwald, anyway." "Go on," said Philip in a determined voice. After a while the Clerk said, "Christian, it isn't worth while getting into trouble over this affair. After all, the Governor is the Governor. Besides, he's been a good friend to you." Philip was passing through a purgatorial fire, and his old master was feeding it with fuel on every side. They were nearing Tynwald, and could see the flags, the tents, and the crowd as of a vast encampment, and hear the deep hum of a multitude, like the murmur of a distant sea. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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