The Stranger

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-3cbe2c9c9cd048288b6ba41d10971a10
# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 1 / 12
# chapter_page: 1
# language: en
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To the small group on the quay, it seemed that she would never move again. She lay there, enormous and motionless, on the gray, rippled water; a wisp of smoke hovered above her, and a huge flock of seagulls screamed and dived after the galley’s stern-mounted exhaust. Tiny pairs of flies could be seen—tiny flies walking up and down the plate on the gray, wrinkled tablecloth. Other flies gathered and swarmed on the edge. Now a flash of white appeared on the lower deck—perhaps a cook’s or stewardess’s apron. Now a tiny, black spider sped up the ladder toward the bridge.

At the head of the crowd walked back and forth a powerfully built middle-aged man, very well and comfortably dressed in a gray coat, a silk scarf, thick gloves, and a dark felt hat, twirling a folded umbrella. He seemed to be the leader of a small group on the waterfront and at the same time held them together. He was something intermediate between a shepherd dog and a shepherd.

But what a fool he was — what a fool he was, that he didn’t bring any binoculars with him! There wasn’t a single pair of binoculars in the whole group.

“It’s interesting, Mr. Scott, that none of us thought of binoculars. Perhaps we could excite them a little. Perhaps we could organize some kind of signaling. _Don’t hesitate to land. The natives are harmless._ Or: _A welcome awaits you. All is forgiven._ What? Eh?”

Szybkie, pełne zapału spojrzenie pana Hammonda, tak nerwowe, a jednocześnie tak przyjazne i pełne zaufania, objęło wszystkich na nabrzeżu, wciągając w to nawet tych starych facetów, którzy opierali się o pomosty. They knew, every last one of them, that Mrs. Hammond was on that boat, and that he was so tremendously excited that it never entered his head not to believe that this marvellous fact meant something to them too. It warmed his heart towards them. They were, he decided, as decent a crowd of people— Those old chaps over by the gangways, too—fine, solid old chaps. What chests—by Jove! And he squared his own, plunged his thick-gloved hands into his pockets, rocked from heel to toe.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-3cbe2c9c9cd048288b6ba41d10971a10
# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 2 / 12
# chapter_page: 2
# language: en
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"Yes, my wife's been in Europe for the last ten months. On a visit to our eldest girl, who got married last year. I brought her up here, as far as Salisbury, myself. So I thought I'd better come and fetch her back. Yes, yes, yes." The shrewd grey eyes narrowed again and searched anxiously, quickly, the motionless liner. Again his overcoat was unbuttoned. Out came the thin, butter-yellow watch again, and for the twentieth—fiftieth—hundredth time he made the calculation.

"Let me see now. It was two fifteen when the doctor's launch went off. Two fifteen. It is now exactly twenty-eight minutes past four. That is to say, the doctor's been gone two hours and thirteen minutes. Two hours and thirteen minutes! Whee-ooh!" He gave a queer little half-whistle and snapped his watch to again. "But I think we should have been told if there was anything up—don't you, Mr. Gaven?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Hammond! I don't think there's anything to—anything to worry about," said Mr. Gaven, knocking out his pipe against the heel of his shoe. "At the same time—" "Quite so! Quite so!" cried Mr. Hammond. "Dashed annoying!" He paced quickly up and down and came back again to his stand between Mr. and Mrs. Scott and Mr. Gaven. "It's getting quite dark, too," and he waved his folded umbrella as if the dusk at least might have had the decency to stay away for a bit. But the dusk came slowly, spreading like a slow stain over the water. Little Jean Scott tugged at her mother's hand.

"I wan' my tea, mammy!" she wailed.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-3cbe2c9c9cd048288b6ba41d10971a10
# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 3 / 12
# chapter_page: 3
# language: en
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"I expect you do," said Mr. Hammond. "I expect all these ladies want their tea." And his kind, flushed, almost pitiful glance roped them all in again. He wondered whether Janey was having a final cup of tea in the saloon out there. He hoped so; he thought not. It would be just like her not to leave the deck. In that case perhaps the deck steward would bring her up a cup. If he'd been there he'd have got it for her—somehow. And for a moment he was on deck, standing over her, watching her little hand fold round the cup in the way she had, while she drank the only cup of tea to be had on board.... But now he was back here, and only the Lord knew when that cursed Captain would stop hanging about in the stream. He took another turn, up and down, up and down. He walked as far as the cab-stand to make sure his driver hadn't disappeared; back he swerved again to the little flock huddled in the shelter of the banana crates.

Little Jean Scott was still wanting her tea. Poor little beggar! He wished he had a bit of chocolate on him.

"Here, Jean!" he said. "Like a lift up?" And easily, gently, he swung the little girl on to a higher barrel. The movement of holding her, steadying her, relieved him wonderfully, lightened his heart.

"Hold on," he said, keeping an arm around her.

"Oh, don't worry about _Jean_, Mr. Hammond!" said Mrs. Scott.

"That's all right, Mrs. Scott. No trouble. It's a pleasure. Jean's a little pal of mine, aren't you, Jean?"

"Yes, Mr. Hammond," said Jean, and she ran her finger down the dent in his felt hat.

But suddenly she caught him by the ear and gave a loud scream. "Lo-ok, Mr. Hammond! She's moving! Look, she's coming in!"

By Jove! So she was. At last! She was slowly, slowly turning round. A bell sounded far over the water and a great spout of steam gushed into the air. The gulls rose; they fluttered away like bits of white paper. And whether that deep throbbing was her engines or his heart, Mr. Hammond couldn't say. He had to steel himself to bear it, whatever it was. At that moment old Captain Johnson, the harbour-master, came striding down the wharf, a leather portfolio under his arm.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-3cbe2c9c9cd048288b6ba41d10971a10
# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 4 / 12
# chapter_page: 4
# language: en
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"Jean'll be all right," said Mr. Scott. "I'll hold her." He was just in time. Mr. Hammond had forgotten about Jean. He sprang away to greet old Captain Johnson.

"Well, Captain," the eager, nervous voice rang out again, "you've taken pity on us at last."

"It's no good blaming me, Mr. Hammond," wheezed old Captain Johnson, staring at the liner. "You got Mrs. Hammond on board, ain't yer?"

"Yes, yes!" said Hammond, and he kept by the harbour-master's side. "Mrs. Hammond's there. Hul-lo! We shan't be long now!" Hammond took off his hat; he scanned the decks—they were crammed with passengers; he waved his hat and shouted a loud, strange "Hul-lo!" across the water; and then turned round, burst out laughing, and said something—nothing—to old Captain Johnson.

"Seen her?" asked the harbour-master.

"No, not yet. Steady—wait a bit!" And suddenly, between two great clumsy idiots—"Get out of the way there!" he signed with his umbrella—he saw a hand raised—a white glove shaking a handkerchief. Another moment, and—thank God, thank God!—there she was.

There was Janey.

There was Mrs. Hammond, yes, yes, yes—standing by the rail, smiling, nodding, and waving her handkerchief.

"Well, that's first class—first class! Well, well, well!" He positively stamped his foot. Like lightning, he pulled out his cigar-case and offered it to old Captain Johnson. "Have a cigar, Captain! They're pretty good. Have a couple! Here"—and he pressed all the cigars in the case on the harbour-master—"I've a couple of boxes up at the hotel."

"Thanks, Mr. Hammond!" wheezed old Captain Johnson.

Hammond stuffed the cigar-case back. His hands were shaking, but he had regained his composure. He was able to face Janey. There she was, leaning on the rail, talking to some woman and at the same time watching him, ready for him. It struck him, as the gulf of water closed, how small she looked on that huge ship. His heart was wrung with such a spasm that he could have cried out. How little she looked to have come all that long way and back by herself! Just like her, though. Just like Janey. She had the courage of a— And now the crew had come forward and parted the passengers; they had lowered the rails for the gangways.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-3cbe2c9c9cd048288b6ba41d10971a10
# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 5 / 12
# chapter_page: 5
# language: en
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The voices on shore and the voices on board flew to greet each other.

"Everything okay?"

"All well."

"How's mother?"

"Much better."

"Hello, Jean!"

"Hello, Aunt Emily!"

"Had a good voyage?"

"Splendid!"

"Won't be long now!"

"Not long now."

The engines stopped. Slowly she edged towards the wharf.

"Make way there—make way—make way!" And the wharf hands brought the heavy gangways along at a sweeping run. Hammond signed to Janey to stay where she was. The old harbour-master stepped forward; he followed. As for "ladies first," or any rot like that, it never entered his head.

"After you, Captain!" he cried genially.

And, treading on the old man's heels, he strode up the gangway onto the deck in a bee-line to Janey, and Janey was clasped in his arms.

"Well, well, well! Yes, yes! Here we are at last!" he stammered. That was all he could say. And Janey emerged, and her cool little voice—the only voice in the world for him—said, "Well, darling! Have you been waiting long?"

No; not long. Or, at any rate, it didn’t matter. It was over now. But the point was, he had a cab waiting at the end of the wharf. Was she ready to go? Was her luggage ready? In that case they could cut off sharply with her cabin luggage and let the rest hang until tomorrow. He bent over her and she looked up with her familiar half-smile. She was just the same. Not a day had changed. Just as he had always known her. She laid her small hand on his sleeve.

"How are the children, John?" she asked.

(Hang the children!) "Perfectly well. Never better in their lives."

"Haven't they sent me letters?"

"Yes, yes—of course! "I've left them at the hotel for you to digest later on."

"We can't go quite so fast," she said. "I've got people to say good-bye to—and then there's the Captain." As his face fell, she gave his arm a small, understanding squeeze. "If the Captain comes off the bridge, I want you to thank him for having looked after your wife so beautifully." Well, he had got her. If she wanted another ten minutes—As he gave way, she was surrounded. The whole of first class seemed to want to say good-bye to Janey.

"Good-bye, _dear_ Mrs. Hammond! And next time you're in Sydney, I'll _expect_ you."

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-3cbe2c9c9cd048288b6ba41d10971a10
# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 6 / 12
# chapter_page: 6
# language: en
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"Darling Mrs. Hammond! You won't forget to write to me, will you?"

"Well, Mrs. Hammond, what this boat would have been without you!"

It was as plain as a pikestaff that she was by far the most popular woman on board. And she took it all—just as usual. Absolutely composed. Just her little self—just Janey all over; standing there with her veil thrown back. Hammond never noticed what his wife was wearing. It was all the same to him whatever she wore. But today he did notice that she was wearing a black "costume"—didn't they call it?—with white frills, trimmings he supposed they were, at the neck and sleeves. All this while Janey handed him round.

"John, dear!" And then: "I want to introduce you to—" Finally they did escape, and she led the way to her state-room. To follow Janey down the passage that she knew so well—that was so strange to him; to part the green curtains after her and to step into the cabin that had been hers gave him exquisite happiness. But—confound it!—the stewardess was there on the floor, strapping up the rugs.

"That's the last one, Mrs. Hammond," said the stewardess, rising and pulling down her cuffs.

He was introduced again, and then Janey and the stewardess disappeared into the passage. He heard whispers. She was getting the tipping business over, he supposed. He sat down on the striped sofa and took off his hat. There were the rugs she had taken with her; they looked good as new. All her luggage looked fresh, perfect. The labels were written in her beautiful, clear little hand—"Mrs. John Hammond."

"Mrs. John Hammond!" He gave a long sigh of content and leaned back, crossing his arms. The strain was over. He felt he could have sat there forever sighing his relief—the relief at being rid of that horrible tug, pull, grip on his heart. The danger was over. That was the feeling. They were on dry land again.

But at that moment Janey's head came round the corner.

"Darling—do you mind? I just want to go and say good-bye to the doctor."

Hammond started up. "I'll come with you."

"No, no!" she said. "Don't bother. I'd rather not. I won't be a minute."

And before he could answer she was gone. He half thought of running after her; but instead he sat down again.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-3cbe2c9c9cd048288b6ba41d10971a10
# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 7 / 12
# chapter_page: 7
# language: en
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Would she really not be long? What time was it now? Out came the watch; he stared at nothing. That was rather queer of Janey, wasn't it? Why couldn't she have told the stewardess to say good-bye for her? Why did she have to go chasing after the ship's doctor? She could have sent a note from the hotel even if the matter had been urgent. Urgent? Did it—could it mean that she had been ill on the voyage—that she was keeping something from him? That was it! He grabbed his hat. He was going off to find that fellow and wring the truth out of him at all costs. He thought he had noticed something. She was just a touch too calm—too steady. From the very first moment— The curtains rang. Janey was back. He jumped to his feet.

"Janey, have you been ill on this voyage? You have!"

"Ill?" Her airy little voice mocked him. She stepped over the rugs, came up close, touched his breast, and looked up at him.

"Darling," she said, "don't frighten me. Of course I haven't! Whatever makes you think I have? Do I look ill?"

But Hammond didn't see her. He only felt that she was looking at him and that there was no need to worry about anything. She was here to look after things. Everything was fine.

The gentle pressure of her hand was so calming that he put his over hers to hold it there. And she said: "Stand still. I want to look at you. I haven't seen you yet. You've had your beard beautifully trimmed, and you look—younger, I think, and decidedly thinner! Bachelor life agrees with you."

"Agrees with me!" He groaned for love and held her close again. And again, as always, he had the feeling that he was holding something that never was quite his—his. Something too delicate, too precious, that would fly away once he let go.

"For God's sake let's get off to the hotel so that we can be by ourselves!" And he rang the bell hard for someone to look sharp with the luggage.

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# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 8 / 12
# chapter_page: 8
# language: en
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Walking down the wharf together, she took his arm. He had her on his arm again. And what a difference it made to get into the cab after Janey—to throw the red-and-yellow striped blanket around them both—to tell the driver to hurry because neither of them had had any tea. No more going without his tea or pouring out his own. She was back. He turned to her, squeezed her hand, and said gently, teasingly, in the "special" voice he had for her: "Glad to be home again, dearie?" She smiled; she didn't even bother to answer, but gently she drew his hand away as they came to the brighter streets.

"We've got the best room in the hotel," he said. "I wouldn't be put off with another. And I asked the chambermaid to put in a bit of a fire in case you felt chilly. She's a nice, attentive girl. And I thought now we were here we wouldn't bother to go home tomorrow, but spend the day looking round and leave the morning after. Does that suit you? There's no hurry, is there? The children will have you soon enough.... I thought a day's sight-seeing might make a nice break in your journey—eh, Janey?"

"Have you taken the tickets for the day after tomorrow?" she asked.

"I should think I have!" He unbuttoned his overcoat and took out his bulging pocket-book. "Here we are! I reserved a first-class carriage to Cooktown. There it is—'Mr. _and_ Mrs. John Hammond.' I thought we might as well make ourselves comfortable, and we don't want other people butting in, do we? But if you'd like to stay here a bit longer—?"

"Oh, no!" said Janey quickly. "Not for the world! The day after tomorrow, then. And the children—" But they had reached the hotel. The manager was standing in the broad, brilliantly-lit porch. He came down to greet them. A porter ran from the hall to fetch their boxes.

"Well, Mr. Arnold, here's Mrs. Hammond at last!"

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# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 9 / 12
# chapter_page: 9
# language: en
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The manager led them through the hall himself and pressed the elevator bell. Hammond knew that some of his business pals were sitting at the little tables in the hall, having a drink before dinner. But he wasn't going to risk interruption; he looked neither to the right nor to the left. They could think whatever they pleased. If they didn't understand, so much the worse for them—and he stepped out of the lift, unlocked the door of their room, and shepherded Janey in. The door shut.

Now, at last, they were alone together. He turned up the light. The curtains were drawn; the fire blazed. He flung his hat onto the huge bed and went towards her.

But—would you believe it!—they were interrupted again. This time it was the porter with the luggage. He made two trips, leaving the door open in between, taking his time, whistling through his teeth in the corridor. Hammond paced up and down the room, tearing off his gloves, tearing off his scarf. Finally he flung his overcoat onto the bedside.

At last the fool was gone. The door clicked shut. Now they _were_ alone. Said Hammond: "I feel I'll never have you to myself again. These cursed people! Janey"—and he bent his flushed, eager gaze on her—"let's have dinner up here. If we go down to the restaurant we'll be interrupted, and then there's the confounded music" (the music he had praised so highly, applauded so loudly last night!). "We shan't be able to hear each other speak. Let's have something up here in front of the fire. It's too late for tea. Shall I order a little supper?"

"Do, darling!" said Janey. "And while you're away—the children's letters—" "Oh, later will do!" said Hammond.

"But then we'd get it over with," said Janey. "And I'd first have time to—" "Oh, I needn't go down!" explained Hammond. "I'll just ring and give the order... you don't want to send me away, do you?"

Janey shook her head and smiled.

"But you're thinking of something else. You're worrying about something," said Hammond. "What is it? Come and sit here—come and sit on my knee before the fire."

"I'll just unpin my hat," said Janey, and she went over to the dressing-table. "A-ah!" She gave a little cry.

"What is it?"

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# book_title: The Stranger
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# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 10 / 12
# chapter_page: 10
# language: en
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"Nothing, darling. I've just found the children's letters. That's all right! They will keep. No hurry now!" She turned to him, clasping them. She tucked them into her frilled blouse. She cried quickly, gaily: "Oh, how typical this dressing-table is of you!"

"Why? What's the matter with it?" said Hammond.

"If it were floating in eternity I should say 'John!'" laughed Janey, staring at the big bottle of hair tonic, the wicker bottle of eau-de-Cologne, the two hair-brushes, and a dozen new collars tied with pink tape. "Is this all your luggage?"

"Hang my luggage!" said Hammond; but all the same he liked being laughed at by Janey. "Let's talk. Let's get down to things. Tell me"—and as Janey perched on his knees he leaned back and drew her into the deep, ugly chair—"tell me you're really glad to be back, Janey."

"Yes, darling, I am glad," she said.

But just as when he embraced her he felt she would fly away, so Hammond never knew—never knew for dead certain that she was as glad as he was. How could he know? Would he ever know? Would he always have this craving—this pang, like hunger, somehow—to make Janey so much a part of him that there was no way for her to escape? He wanted to blot out everyone, everything. He wished now that he had turned off the light. That might have brought her closer. And now those letters from the children rustled in her blouse. He could have thrown them into the fire.

"Janey," he whispered.

"Yes, dear?" She lay on his chest, but so lightly, so distantly. Their breathing rose and fell together.

"Janey!"

"What is it?"

"Turn to me," he whispered. A slow, deep flush flowed into his forehead. "Kiss me, Janey! You kiss me!"

It seemed to him there was a tiny pause—long enough, though, for him to suffer torture—before her lips touched his, firmly, lightly—kissing him as she always kissed him, as though the kiss—how could he describe it?—confirmed what they were saying, signed the contract. But that wasn't what he wanted; that wasn't at all what he thirsted for. He felt suddenly, horribly tired.

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# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 11 / 12
# chapter_page: 11
# language: en
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"If you knew," he said, opening his eyes, "what it's been like—waiting today. I thought the boat would never come in. There we were, hanging about. What kept you so long?"

She made no answer. She was looking away from him at the fire. The flames hurried—hurried over the coals, flickered, fell.

"Not asleep, are you?" said Hammond, and he bounced her up and down.

"No," she said. And then: "Don't do that, dear. No, I was thinking. As a matter of fact," she said, "one of the passengers died last night—a man. That's what held us up. We brought him in—I mean, he wasn't buried at sea. So, of course, the ship's doctor and the shore doctor—" "What was it?" asked Hammond uneasily. He hated to hear of death. He hated that this had happened. It was, in some queer way, as though he and Janey had met a funeral on their way to the hotel.

"Oh, it wasn't anything in the least infectious!" said Janey. She was speaking scarcely above a whisper. "It was _heart_." A pause. "Poor fellow!" she said. "Quite young." And she watched the fire flicker and fall.

"He died in my arms," said Janey.

The blow was so sudden that Hammond thought he would faint. He couldn't move; he couldn't breathe. He felt all his strength flowing—flowing into the big dark chair, and the big dark chair held him fast, gripped him, forced him to bear it.

"What?" he said dully. "What's that you say?"

"The end was quite peaceful," said the small voice. "He just"—and Hammond saw her lift her gentle hand—"breathed his life away at the end." And her hand fell.

"Who—else was there?" Hammond managed to ask.

"Nobody. I was alone with him."

Ah, my God, what was she saying! What was she doing to him! This would kill him! And all the while she spoke: "I saw the change coming and I sent the steward for the doctor, but the doctor was too late. He couldn't have done anything, anyway."

"But—why _you_, why _you_?" moaned Hammond.

At that Janey turned quickly, quickly searched his face.

"You don't _mind_, John, do you?" she asked. "You don't—It's nothing to do with you and me."

Somehow or other he managed to shake some sort of smile at her. Somehow or other he stammered: "No—go—on, go on! I want you to tell me."

"But, John darling—"

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# book_title: The Stranger
# chapter_id: 1-the-stranger
# chapter_title: The Stranger
# book_page: 12 / 12
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# language: en
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"Tell me, Janey!" I saw he was very ill when he came on board.... But he seemed to be so much better until yesterday. He had a severe attack in the afternoon—excitement—nervousness, I think, about arriving. And after that he never recovered."

"But why didn't the stewardess—" "Oh, my dear—the stewardess!" said Janey. "How would he have felt? And besides... he might have wanted to leave a message... to—" "Didn't he?" muttered Hammond. "Didn't he say anything?"

"No, darling, not a word!" She shook her head softly. "The whole time I was with him, he was too weak... he was too weak even to move a finger...."

Janey was silent. But her words, so light, so soft, so chill, seemed to hover in the air, to rain into his breast like snow.

The fire had turned red. Now it fell with a sharp sound, and the room was colder. Cold crept up his arms. The room was huge, immense, glittering. It filled his whole world. There was the great, blind bed, with his coat flung across it like some headless man saying his prayers. There was the luggage, ready to be carried away again, anywhere—tossed onto trains, carted onto boats.... "He was too weak. He was too weak to move a finger." And yet he died in Janey's arms. She—who had never—never once in all these years—never on a single solitary occasion— No; he must not think of it. Madness lay in thinking of it. No, he would not face it. He could not bear it. It was too much to bear!

And now Janey touched his tie with her fingers. She pinched the edges of the tie together.

"You're not—sorry I told you, John darling? It hasn't made you sad? It hasn't spoilt our evening—our being alone together?"

But at that he had to hide his face.

He put his face into her bosom and his arms enfolded her.

Ruined their evening! Ruined their time alone together! They would never be alone together again.