PAGE 6
A Coward
by
Mr. Carstyle’s head sank again.
“You’re wondering what this means,” he began after another pause. “I was a little confused for a moment–must have seemed incoherent.” His voice cleared and he made an effort to straighten himself. “Well, I was a damned coward once and I’ve been trying to live it down ever since.”
Vibart looked at him incredulously and Mr. Carstyle caught the look with a smile.
“Why not? Do I look like a Hercules?” He held up his loose-skinned hand and shrunken wrist. “Not built for the part, certainly; but that doesn’t count, of course. Man’s unconquerable soul, and all the rest of it … well, I was a coward every inch of me, body and soul.”
He paused and glanced up and down the road. There was no one in sight.
“It happened when I was a young chap just out of college. I was travelling round the world with another youngster of my own age and an older man– Charles Meriton–who has since made a name for himself. You may have heard of him.”
“Meriton, the archaeologist? The man who discovered those ruined African cities the other day?”
“That’s the man. He was a college tutor then, and my father, who had known him since he was a boy, and who had a very high opinion of him, had asked him to make the tour with us. We both–my friend Collis and I–had an immense admiration for Meriton. He was just the fellow to excite a boy’s enthusiasm: cool, quick, imperturbable–the kind of man whose hand is always on the hilt of action. His explorations had led him into all sorts of tight places, and he’d shown an extraordinary combination of calculating patience and reckless courage. He never talked about his doings; we picked them up from various people on our journey. He’d been everywhere, he knew everybody, and everybody had something stirring to tell about him. I daresay this account of the man sounds exaggerated; perhaps it is; I’ve never seen him since; but at that time he seemed to me a tremendous fellow–a kind of scientific Ajax. He was a capital travelling-companion, at any rate: good-tempered, cheerful, easily amused, with none of the been-there-before superiority so irritating to youngsters. He made us feel as though it were all as new to him as to us: he never chilled our enthusiasms or took the bloom off our surprises. There was nobody else whose good opinion I cared as much about: he was the biggest thing in sight.
“On the way home Collis broke down with diphtheria. We were in the Mediterranean, cruising about the Sporades in a felucca. He was taken ill at Chios. The attack came on suddenly and we were afraid to run the risk of taking him back to Athens in the felucca. We established ourselves in the inn at Chios and there the poor fellow lay for weeks. Luckily there was a fairly good doctor on the island and we sent to Athens for a sister to help with the nursing. Poor Collis was desperately bad: the diphtheria was followed by partial paralysis. The doctor assured us that the danger was past; he would gradually regain the use of his limbs; but his recovery would be slow. The sister encouraged us too–she had seen such cases before; and he certainly did improve a shade each day. Meriton and I had taken turns with the sister in nursing him, but after the paralysis had set in there wasn’t much to do, and there was nothing to prevent Meriton’s leaving us for a day or two. He had received word from some place on the coast of Asia Minor that a remarkable tomb had been discovered somewhere in the interior; he had not been willing to take us there, as the journey was not a particularly safe one; but now that we were tied up at Chios there seemed no reason why he shouldn’t go and take a look at the place. The expedition would not take more than three days; Collis was convalescent; the doctor and nurse assured us that there was no cause for uneasiness; and so Meriton started off one evening at sunset. I walked down to the quay with him and saw him rowed off to the felucca. I would have given a good deal to be going with him; the prospect of danger allured me.