His Brother's Keeper

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-2e4cafeed9014b8a8dd10682ace47892
# book_title: His Brother's Keeper
# chapter_id: 1-his-brother-s-keeper
# chapter_title: His Brother's Keeper
# book_page: 1 / 9
# chapter_page: 1
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

The heat lay heavy over the Toopare Club's smoking-room. The punkah moved with a lazy, slapping rhythm. Three men, in various states of undress, tried to find ease in long drinks and cigars. A game of cards seemed unlikely.

"Whist?"

"Can't make up a four?"

"Poker, then?"

"Never again with you, Robin. Not good enough, old man."

"Seeking whom he may devour," murmured a voice behind a newspaper. "Stop the punkah, and make him go away."

"Don't talk of it on a night like this. It's enough to give a man fits. You've no enterprise. I've taken the trouble to come over after dinner—"

"On the off-chance of skinning someone. I don't believe you ever crossed a horse for pleasure."

"True, I never did—and there are only two Johnnies in the Club."

"They've all gone off to the Gaff."

"Wah! Wah! They must be hard up for amusement. Help me to a split."

"Split in this weather! Hi, bearer, do burra—burra whiskey-peg lao, and put all the barf into them you can find."

The newspaper rustled as the reader said: "How the deuce d'you expect a man to improve his mind when you two are bukking about drinks? Qui hai! Mera wasti bhi."

"Oh! You're alive, are you? I thought pegs would fetch you out. Game for a little poker?"

"Poker—poker—red-hot poker! Saveloy, you're too generous.

Can't you let a man die in peace?"

"Who's going to die?"

"I am, please the pigs, if it gets much hotter and that bearer doesn't bring the peg quickly."

"All right. Die away, mon ami. Only don't do it in the Club. Can't have it littered up with dead members. Houligan would object."

"By Jove! I can imagine old Houligan doing it. 'Member dead in the ante-room? Good Gud! Bless my soul! Impossible to run a Club this way. Call the Babu and see if his last month's bill is paid. Not paid! Good Gud! Bless my soul! Impossible to run a Club this way. Babu, attach that body till the bill is paid.' Revel, you might hurry up your dying once in a while, just to give us the pleasure of seeing Houligan perform."

"I'll die legitimately," said Revel. "I'm not going to create a fresh scandal in the station. I'll wait for heat-apoplexy, or whatever is going, to come and fetch me."

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-2e4cafeed9014b8a8dd10682ace47892
# book_title: His Brother's Keeper
# chapter_id: 1-his-brother-s-keeper
# chapter_title: His Brother's Keeper
# book_page: 2 / 9
# chapter_page: 2
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

"This is pukka hot-weather talk," said Saveloy. "I come over for a little honest poker, and find two moderately sensible men, Revel and Dallston, talking tombs. I'm sorry I threw away my valuable evening."

"D'you expect us to talk about buttercups and daisies, then?" said Dallston.

"No, but there's some sort of medium between those and Sudden Death."

"There isn't. I haven't seen a daisy for seven years, and now I want to die," said Revel, plunging luxuriously into his peg.

"I knew a Johnnie on the Frontier once who did," began Dallston meditatively.

"Half a minute. Bearer, cherut lao! Tobacco soothes the nerves when a man is expecting a whacker. We know what your Frontier stories are, Martha."

Dallston had once, in a misguided moment, taken the part of Martha in a burlesque of Faust, and the nickname stuck.

"'Tisn't a whacker, it's a fact. He told me so himself."

"They always do, Martha. But what did he tell you?"

"He told me that he had died."

"Was that all? Explain him."

"It was this way. The man went down with a bad go of fever and was off his head. About the second day, in the middle of the night—"

"Steady the Buffs! Martha, you aren't an Irishman yet."

"Never mind. It's too hot to put it correctly. In the middle of the night he woke up quite calm, and it struck him that it would be a good thing to die—just as it might have struck him to put ice on his head. He lay on his bed and thought it over, and the more he thought, the better sort of bundobust it seemed. He was quite calm, you know, and he swore he had no fever on him."

"Well, what happened?"

"Oh, he got up and loaded his revolver—he remembers all this—and let fly, with the muzzle to his temple. The thing didn't go off, so he turned it up and found he'd forgotten to load one chamber."

"Better stop the tale there. We can guess what's coming."

"Hang it! It's a true yarn. Well, he jammed the thing to his head again, and it missed fire, and he said he felt like crying with rage, he was so disgusted. So he took it by the muzzle and hit himself on the head with it."

"Good man! Didn't it go off then?"

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-2e4cafeed9014b8a8dd10682ace47892
# book_title: His Brother's Keeper
# chapter_id: 1-his-brother-s-keeper
# chapter_title: His Brother's Keeper
# book_page: 3 / 9
# chapter_page: 3
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

"No, but the blow knocked him silly, and he thought he was dead. He was awfully pleased, for he had been fiddling over the show for nearly half an hour. He dropped down and died. When he got his wits again, he was shaking with fever worse than ever, but had sense enough to knock up the doctor and give himself into his charge as a lunatic. Then he went clean off his head till the fever wore out."

"That's a good story," said Revel critically. "I didn't think you had it in you at this season."

"I can believe it," said the man they called Saveloy. "Fever makes one do all sorts of queer things. I suppose your friend was mad when he discovered it would be so healthy to die."

"S'pose so. The fever must have been so bad that he felt all right—same way a man nearly mad with drink looks sober. Well, anyhow, there was a man who died."

"Did he tell you what it felt like?"

"He said he was awfully happy until his fever came back. Then he was sick with fear. I don't wonder. He'd had a narrow escape."

"That's nothing," said Saveloy. "I know a man who lived."

"So do I," said Revel. "Lots of 'em, confound 'em."

"Now, this takes Martha's story, and it's quite true."

"They always are," said Martha. "I've noticed that before."

"Never mind, I'll forgive you. But this happened to me. Since you are talking tombs, I'll assist at the séance. It was in '82 or '83, I've forgotten which. I was on the Utamamula Canal Headworks, chumming with a man called Stovey. You've never met him; he belongs to the Bombay side, and if he isn't dead by now, he ought to be somewhere there. He was a pukka sweep, and I hated him. We divided the Canal bungalow between us, kept strictly to our own sides."

"Hold on! I call. What was Stovey like?" said Revel.

"Living picture of the King of Spades—a blackish, greasy ruffian without a shred of manners. He'd dine in the kit he'd been messing about the Canal in all day, and I don't believe he ever washed. He looked after the embankments, and I was in charge of the headworks, but he was always contriving to fall foul of me if he possibly could."

"I know that sort. Mullane of Ghoridasah's built that way."

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-2e4cafeed9014b8a8dd10682ace47892
# book_title: His Brother's Keeper
# chapter_id: 1-his-brother-s-keeper
# chapter_title: His Brother's Keeper
# book_page: 4 / 9
# chapter_page: 4
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

"Don't know Mullane, but Stovey was a sweep. Canal work isn't exactly cheering, and it doesn't take you into much society. We were like a couple of rats in a burrow, grubbing and scooping all day, turning in at night into a barn of a bungalow. Well, Stovey didn't get fever. He was so coated with dirt that I believe the fever couldn't get at him. He just began to go mad."

"Cheerful! What were the symptoms?"

"His naturally vile temper grew infamous. It was unsafe to speak to him, and he seemed always anxious to murder a coolie or two. With me he restrained himself a little, but he sulked like a bear for days. As he was the only European society within sixty miles, you can imagine how nice it was. He'd sit at table and sulk, stare at the wall for hours—instead of doing his work. When I pointed out that the Government didn't send us there to twiddle our thumbs, he glared like a beast. Oh, he was a thorough hog! He had many endearing tricks, but the worst was his praying."

"Began to—how much?"

"Pray. He'd got hold of an old copy of the War Cry and read it at meals. I suppose that, on top of tough goat, disordered his intellect. One night I heard him in his room groaning and talking at a fearful rate. Next morning I asked if he'd been taken worse. 'I've been engaged in prayer,' he said, looking black as thunder. 'A man's spiritual concerns are his own property.' One night—he'd kept up these exercises for about ten days, growing queerer each day—he said 'Good-night' after dinner and shook hands with me."

"Bad sign," said Revel, sucking his cheroot.

"At first I couldn't make out what he wanted. No fellow shakes hands with the fellow he's living with—least of all such a beast as Stovey. I was civil, but the minute he left the room it struck me what he was going to do.

If he hadn't shaken hands I'd have taken no notice. This unusual effusion put me on my guard."

"Curious! You can nearly always tell when a Johnnie means pegging out. He gives himself away by some softening. What did you do?"

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-2e4cafeed9014b8a8dd10682ace47892
# book_title: His Brother's Keeper
# chapter_id: 1-his-brother-s-keeper
# chapter_title: His Brother's Keeper
# book_page: 5 / 9
# chapter_page: 5
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

"Called him back, and asked what he meant by interfering with my coolies. He was generally hampering my men, but I'd never taken notice. In another minute we were arguing hammer and tongs. If it had been any other man I'd have thrown the lamp at his head. He was calling me all the mean names under the sun, accusing me of misusing authority. When he talked himself down, I'd only to say a few words to start him off again. On my word, this jabbering went on for nearly three hours."

"Why didn't you have him tied up, if you thought he was mad?" asked Revel.

"Not safe. Wrongful restraint of a man nearly your own standing looks ugly. Well, Stovey went on bullying and complaining about everything I'd ever said or done, until—he went fast asleep."

"Wha-at?"

"Went off dead asleep, as if drugged. I thought he'd had a fit at first, but there he was, head hanging, mouth open. I knocked up his bearer and told him to take the man to bed. We carried him off and shoved him on his charpoy. He was still asleep, and I didn't think it worth undressing him. The fit had worked itself out; he was limp. But as I was leaving, I looked in the glass and saw he was watching me between his eyelids. When I spun round he seemed asleep. 'That's your game, is it?' I thought, and I stood over him long enough to see he was shamming. Then I cast an eye round and saw his Martini in the corner. We were all bullumteers on the Canal. I couldn't find cartridges, so to make all serene I knocked out the breech-pin with the cleaning-rod and went to my room. I didn't sleep for a while. About one o'clock—our rooms were divided only by a sort of door, my bed close to it—I heard him open a chest of drawers.

Then he went for the Martini. Of course, the breech-block came out with a rattle. Then he went back to bed, and I nearly laughed.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-2e4cafeed9014b8a8dd10682ace47892
# book_title: His Brother's Keeper
# chapter_id: 1-his-brother-s-keeper
# chapter_title: His Brother's Keeper
# book_page: 6 / 9
# chapter_page: 6
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
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"Next morning he was doing the genial hail-fellow-well-met. Said he was afraid he'd lost his temper overnight, apologised. Halfway through breakfast—talking thickly—he said he'd concluded that a beard was a beastly nuisance, made one stuffy. He was going to shave his. Would I lend him my razors? 'Oh, you're a crafty beast,' I said to myself. Told him I'd thrown mine into the Canal the night before, finding them worn out. He gave me one look under his eyebrows and went on with breakfast. I was in a stew lest he cut his throat with a breakfast knife, so I kept one eye on him most of the time.

"Before I left the bungalow I caught old Jeewun Singh, one of the mistries on the gates, and gave him strict orders to keep in sight of the Sahib wherever he went and whatever he did; and if he did or tried to do anything foolish, such as jumping down the well, Jeewun Singh was to stop him. The old man tumbled at once, and I was easier in my mind when I saw how he shadowed Stovey up and down the works. Then I sat down and wrote a letter to old Baggs, the Civil Surgeon at Chemanghath, about sixty miles off, telling him how we stood. The runner left about three o'clock. Jeewun Singh turned up at the end of the day and gave a full, true, and particular account of Stovey's doings. D'you know what the brute had done?"

"Spare us the agony. Kill him straight off, Saveloy!"

"He'd stopped the runner, opened the bag, read my letter, and torn it up! There were only two letters in the bag, both mine. I was pretty average angry, but I lay low. At dinner he said he had a touch of dysentery and wanted chlorodyne. For a man anxious to depart this life, he was about as badly equipped as you could wish. Hadn't even a medicine-chest. He was no more suffering than I, but I said I'd give it—fifteen drops in a wine-glass, and when he asked for the bottle, I said I had no more.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-2e4cafeed9014b8a8dd10682ace47892
# book_title: His Brother's Keeper
# chapter_id: 1-his-brother-s-keeper
# chapter_title: His Brother's Keeper
# book_page: 7 / 9
# chapter_page: 7
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

"That night he began praying again, and I just lay in bed and shuddered. He was invoking the most blasphemous curses on my head—all in a whisper, so as not to wake me—for frustrating what he called his 'great and holy purpose.' You never heard anything like it. But as long as he prayed, I knew he was alive, and he ran his praying half through the night.

"Well, for the next ten days he was apparently quite rational; but I watched him, and told Jeewun Singh to watch him like a cat. He wanted to throw me off my guard, but I wasn't to be thrown. I grew thin watching him. Baggs wrote that he'd gone on tour, couldn't be found for six weeks. It was a ghastly time.

"One day old Jeewun Singh turned up with a bit of paper that Stovey had given to one of the lohars as a naksha. I thought it mean to spy, but when I saw what was on it, I gave old Jeewun Singh a rupee. It was a beautiful little breech-pin. The one-idead idiot had gone back to Martini! I never dreamed of such persistence. 'Tell me when the lohar gives it to the Sahib,' I said, and I felt more comfy for a few days. Even if Jeewun Singh hadn't split, I'd have known when the new breech-pin was made. The brute came in to dinner with a confident, triumphant air, as if he'd done me in the eye at last; and all through dinner he fiddled in his waistcoat pocket. He went to bed early. I went too, and put my head against the door, listening like a woman. I must have shivered in my pyjamas for two hours before my friend went for the dismantled Martini. He couldn't get the breech-pin to fit at first. He rummaged, then I heard a file go.

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-2e4cafeed9014b8a8dd10682ace47892
# book_title: His Brother's Keeper
# chapter_id: 1-his-brother-s-keeper
# chapter_title: His Brother's Keeper
# book_page: 8 / 9
# chapter_page: 8
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

That seemed too noisy, so he opened the door and went out into the compound, and I heard him, fifty yards off, filing in the dark at that breech-pin as if possessed. Well, he was, you know. Then he came back to the light, cursing me for keeping him from his rest and the peace of Abraham's bosom. As soon as I heard him take up the Martini, I ran round to his door and tried to enter gaily, as stage directions say. 'Lend me your gun, old man, if you're awake,' I said. 'There's a howling big brute of a pariah in my room, I want to shoot it.' I pretended not to notice he was standing over the gun, but pranced up and caught hold of it. He turned with a jump: 'I'm sick of this. I'll see that dog, and if it's another of your lies I'll—' You know I'm not a moral man."

"Hear! hear!" drowsily from Martha.

"But I daren't repeat what he said. 'All right!' I said, still hanging on to the gun. 'Come along and we'll bowl him over.' He followed me into my room with a face like a fiend in torment.

And, as truly as I'm yarning here, there was a huge brindled beast of a pariah sitting on my bed!"

"Tall, sir, tall. But go on."

"Hang it! Could I have invented that pariah? Stovey dropped the gun and flopped in a corner and yowled. I went 'ee ki ri ki re!' like a woman in hysterics, pitched the gun forward and loosed off through a window."

"And the pariah?"

"He quitted for the time being. Stovey was awful. He swore the animal hadn't been there when I called him. True enough. I firmly believe Providence put it there to save me from being killed by the infuriated Stovey."

"You've too lively a belief in Providence. What happened?"

"Stovey tried to recover, but he let me keep the gun and went to bed. About two days later old Baggs turned up on tour, and I told him Stovey needed watching—more than I could give. I don't know whether Baggs or the pi did it, but he didn't throw any more suicidal splints. I was transferred soon after."

"Ever meet the man again?"

"Yes; once at Sheik Katan dak bungalow—trailing the big brindle pi after him."

"Oh, it was real, then. I thought it was arranged."

# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-2e4cafeed9014b8a8dd10682ace47892
# book_title: His Brother's Keeper
# chapter_id: 1-his-brother-s-keeper
# chapter_title: His Brother's Keeper
# book_page: 9 / 9
# chapter_page: 9
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose

"Not a bit. It was a pukka pi. Stovey seemed to remember me same way a horse seems to remember. I fancy his brain was cloudy. We tiffined together—after the pi had been fed, if you please—and Stovey said: 'See that dog? He saved my life once. Oh, by the way, I believe you were there, too, weren't you?' I shouldn't care to work with Stovey again."

There was a holy pause in the smoking-room of the Toopare Club.

"What I like about Saveloy's play," said Martha, looking at the ceiling, "is the beautifully artistic way in which he follows up a flush with a full. Go to bed, old man!"