Growing Up In The West. John Muir
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and Tillett’s damn foolishness.’
‘That’s all very well; but who’s fighting for better pay for them, and who’s fighting against it?’
‘I’m for better pay all the time, but—’
‘Wait a minute. What did Ben Tillett mean when he prayed to God to strike Devonport dead? Did he have any ill-will against Devonport? Not at all. He wanted to stop all these men and their families from starving. There’s thousands of women and children starving because of Lord Devonport. You never think of them; you only think of him.’
‘Oh, you can twist anything round,’ said Tom, bending his red face over the shoes. ‘When a Socialist does a damned measly action it’s bound to be right!’
‘I think it was a silly thing to do,’ said Jean. ‘Besides, if you think it was right, God evidently didn’t, for He didn’t answer their prayer.’
Tom laughed. ‘That’s logic for you, Brand,’ he said. ‘See if you can find an answer to that.’ He got up and walked out, and presently the front door slammed.
Brand seemed taken aback. Then he looked across at Mansie again: ‘Well, as I was saying—’
SIX
THOUGH JEAN WAS four years his junior, Mansie had a great respect for her opinion and felt singled out when it supported his; and so her dislike for Bob Ryrie, a dislike which nothing, it seemed, could alter, deeply disappointed him and even shook a little his own regard for his friend, although he would not admit it. After Bob’s first visit to the house – it was a few weeks before Helen broke with Tom – he asked Jean a little uncertainly what she thought of Ryrie. She put her nose in the air and said: ‘You feel he’s offering you a coupon.’ The blood rushed to Mansie’s cheeks; it was as though he himself had been attacked, and he replied: ‘Bob’s a gentleman! And he’s the kindest-hearted fellow you’ll meet.’
‘Well, he can keep his kindness to himself,’ said Jean, and it was clear that she did not consider Bob in the first class.
This was a very small class, but to her a definite one, and indeed the only one she was able to tolerate. She could not have told what qualities people had to possess to belong to it; yet she thought in classes, and so the very first thing that she might be expected to say when asked such a question as Mansie’s was, ‘He’s a pure third-rater,’ or ‘He’s tenth rate.’ But Bob was Mansie’s best friend, and so the exasperated figure of speech escaped her, and she felt irritated at Mansie for forcing her to speak ‘in conundrums’.
Oh, no doubt this Ryrie man was kind-hearted; he let you see that only too clearly; he let you see it in the way he shook hands, in his anxious hopes that you might like Glasgow – as if Glasgow belonged to him! – in his gentlemanly attentiveness, which made you feel that with his eyes he was supporting you in the mere act of living, helpfully assisting you to breathe and endure the immense strain of sitting upright in your chair. And Jean had sat up straighter, had braced her shoulders to hold off this smothering load of solicitude which was about to crush her. No, she could not stand the man, she could not stand his brown eyes with their protective glance, nor his brown moustache waxed at the points, which also seemed in some way an earnest of masculine protection, but became slightly limp, in spite of its waxy rigidity, when the protection was blankly ignored. She could not stand his brown tweed suit, which recapitulated again the note of enveloping protectiveness and gave out the delicatest aroma of tobacco and peat, a faint, pleasant and yet oppressive emanation of somnolence. She wanted to yawn, felt that she would like to go straight to sleep, and her voice when she replied to his polite enquiries sounded remote to her, like a monologue heard when one is half awake. And neither could she stand his neatly shaven face to which the bay rum still clung like a transparent film, making his cheeks look as though they had been iced; nor his scrubbed and manicured hands, nor his pipe for which he apologised, nor the way he inclined his head, like a servant awaiting orders. A fatuous ass, a pure tenth-rater, she told herself, and she was angry with Mansie for having such an acquaintance, and angry too that she could not say so more unequivocally.
But she was quite unequivocal enough for Mansie, and he felt both insulted in his taste and hurt on Bob’s account. For a fellow who made people feel that he was offering them coupons could hardly be considered first rate, and it was a galling reflection that his best friend was not first rate. Of course it was all a misunderstanding of Jean’s, all due to Bob’s kindness of heart; and besides she hadn’t seen him at his best; no, it was a pity, but Bob hadn’t been at his best. All the same the coupon stuck, and now Mansie could not help remembering that when he met Bob first he too had been a trifle nonplussed, maybe a little put off even. They had met at the Baptist Chapel a little after Mansie’s conversion. Bob had begun to pour out information on him right off in the helpful voice of someone directing you to a strange address, saying, ‘You should go there,’ or ‘You should join them, a nice set of fellows.’ Mansie had felt quite rushed. Yes, it seemed impossible for Bob to say anything at all without making you think that he was lending you a helping hand; even when he told a funny story he seemed to be making you a present of it, so that you might win social credit for yourself by telling it to someone else; well, perhaps a fellow who was so genuinely anxious to help as Bob got into the habit of talking in that way and just couldn’t help it. But later Mansie had stopped thinking about it, and especially after Bob had taken him to that church soirée where all those Boy Scouts were. For they were exactly the same, all eager to help; he couldn’t make them out at first, thought they were dashed forward; but then he saw it was all quite genuine: when you lived in a big place like Glasgow you had to be on the look-out for opportunities to help people, that is if you had any decency in you at all; you might need a helping hand some time yourself. Jean didn’t realise that yet; she was new to Glasgow and didn’t know how hard life might be for a girl there, not to speak of temptations. He didn’t care whether Bob was first rate according to her silly notions or not. She could dash well think what she liked.
But in the ensuing months Jean showed no sign of getting over her aversion; it became more frank, and so it was no wonder if Bob didn’t do himself justice; he hadn’t a dog’s chance. All the same he was a dashed sight too anxious. After all, had he any need to go to such pains to please Jean? He actually seemed to be quite put out because Jean didn’t take to him, and he couldn’t help trying again, getting more and more red in the face every time; no, he didn’t show to advantage then.
Nevertheless when one evening after Bob had left Jean turned to Mansie and said: ‘I object to people making eyes at me because I’m your cousin,’ Mansie flared up and shouted, ‘He’s too dashed good for you!’ He had had no intention of saying such a thing; it just jumped out, and for a moment he felt quite taken aback.
‘Well, you’d better tell him so,’ replied Jean. ‘He bores me stiff.’
‘Everybody else in the house gets on with Bob. Why shouldn’t you?’
‘He doesn’t make eyes at them.’
‘You flatter yourself if you fancy he’s making eyes at you!’ Mansie became angry again. ‘He’s only trying to be humanly decent.’
‘I prefer people to keep their distance.’
There was no use talking to her, that was clear, and when a few evenings later Bob said with a slight catch in his voice, ‘Mansie, I’m afraid I’m making no headway with your cousin; I’ve done my best to be nice to her, but it’s no use,’ Mansie replied, ‘Don’t you bother, Bob. You’ve been too dashed considerate to her. Yes, by gum!’ But then he suddenly felt embarrassed; they walked on without looking at each other; and when Bob broke the silence it was to speak of something quite different.
After this Bob was careful to treat Jean with distant politeness, and the change in fact seemed to take her somewhat aback. Mansie decided that Bob had got the better of the exchanges after all; but that was nothing to be surprised at, for Bob could be quite the man of the world when he chose to take the trouble. And Bob’s superiority remained unchallenged until David Brand appeared. By bad luck Bob happened to drop in that evening after Brand had been holding forth for more than an hour,