His Wedded Wife

: A. Conan Doyle

Cry "Murder!" in the market-place, and each

Will turn upon his neighbor anxious eyes

That ask:--"Art thou the man?" We hunted Cain

Some centuries ago, across the world,

That bred the fear our own misdeeds maintain

To-day.



--Vibart's Moralities.





Shakespeare says something about worms, or it may be giants or beetles,

> turning if you tread on them too severely. The safest plan is never to

tread on a worm--not even on the last new subaltern from Home, with his

buttons hardly out of their tissue paper, and the red of sappy English

beef in his cheeks. This is the story of the worm that turned. For the

sake of brevity, we will call Henry Augustus Ramsay Faizanne, "The Worm,"

although he really was an exceedingly pretty boy, without a hair on his

face, and with a waist like a girl's, when he came out to the Second

"Shikarris" and was made unhappy in several ways. The "Shikarris" are a

high-caste regiment, and you must be able to do things well--play a banjo,

or ride more than little, or sing, or act--to get on with them.



The Worm did nothing except fall off his pony, and knock chips out of gate

posts with his trap. Even that became monotonous after a time. He objected

to whist, cut the cloth at billiards, sang out of tune, kept very much to

himself, and wrote to his Mamma and sisters at Home. Four of these five

things were vices which the "Shikarris" objected to and set themselves to

eradicate. Everyone knows how subalterns are, by brother subalterns,

softened and not permitted to be ferocious. It is good and wholesome, and

does no one any harm, unless tempers are lost; and then there is trouble.

There was a man once--but that is another story.



The "Shikarris" shikarred The Worm very much, and he bore everything

without winking. He was so good and so anxious to learn, and flushed so

pink, that his education was cut short, and he was left to his own devices

by everyone except the Senior Subaltern who continued to make life a

burden to The Worm. The Senior Subaltern meant no harm; but his chaff was

coarse, and he didn't quite understand where to stop. He had been waiting

too long for his Company; and that always sours a man. Also he was in

love, which made him worse.



One day, after he had borrowed The Worm's trap for a lady who never

existed, had used it himself all the afternoon, had sent a note to The

Worm, purporting to come from the lady, and was telling the Mess all about

it, The Worm rose in his place and said, in his quiet, ladylike

voice:--"That was a very pretty sell; but I'll lay you a month's pay to a

month's pay when you get your step, that I work a sell on you that you'll

remember for the rest of your days, and the Regiment after you when you're

dead or broke." The Worm wasn't angry in the least, and the rest of the

Mess shouted. Then the Senior Subaltern looked at The Worm from the boots

upward, and down again and said: "Done, Baby." The Worm took the rest of

the Mess to witness that the bet had been taken, and retired into a book

with a sweet smile.



Two months passed, and the Senior Subaltern still educated The Worm, who

began to move about a little more as the hot weather came on. I have said

that the Senior Subaltern was in love. The curious thing is that a girl

was in love with the Senior Subaltern. Though the Colonel said awful

things, and the Majors snorted, and married Captains looked unutterable

wisdom, and the juniors scoffed, those two were engaged.



The Senior Subaltern was so pleased with getting his Company and his

acceptance at the same time that he forgot to bother The Worm. The girl

was a pretty girl, and had money of her own. She does not come into this

story at all.



One night, at beginning of the hot weather, all the Mess, except The Worm

who had gone to his own room to write Home letters, were sitting on the

platform outside the Mess House. The Band had finished playing, but no one

wanted to go in. And the Captains' wives were there also. The folly of a

man in love is unlimited. The Senior Subaltern had been holding forth on

the merits of the girl he was engaged to, and the ladies were purring

approval, while the men yawned, when there was a rustle of skirts in the

dark, and a tired, faint voice lifted itself.



"Where's my husband?"



I do not wish in the least to reflect on the morality of the "Shikarris";

but it is on record that four men jumped up as if they had been shot.

Three of them were married men. Perhaps they were afraid that their wives

had come from Home unbeknownst. The fourth said that he had acted on the

impulse of the moment. He explained this afterwards.



Then the voice cried: "Oh Lionel!" Lionel was the Senior Subaltern's name.

A woman came into the little circle of light by the candles on the peg

tables, stretching out her hands to the dark where the Senior Subaltern

was, and sobbing. We rose to our feet, feeling that things were going to

happen and ready to believe the worst. In this bad, small world of ours,

one knows so little of the life of the next man--which, after all, is

entirely his own concern--that one is not surprised when a crash comes.

Anything might turn up any day for anyone. Perhaps the Senior Subaltern

had been trapped in his youth. Men are crippled that way occasionally. We

didn't know; we wanted to hear; and the Captains' wives were as anxious as

we. If he had been trapped, he was to be excused; for the woman from

nowhere, in the dusty shoes and gray traveling dress, was very lovely,

with black hair and great eyes full of tears. She was tall, with a fine

figure, and her voice had a running sob in it pitiful to hear. As soon as

the Senior Subaltern stood up, she threw her arms round his neck, and

called him "my darling" and said she could not bear waiting alone in

England, and his letters were so short and cold, and she was his to the

end of the world, and would he forgive her? This did not sound quite like

a lady's way of speaking. It was too demonstrative.



Things seemed black indeed, and the Captains' wives peered under their

eyebrows at the Senior Subaltern, and the Colonel's face set like the Day

of Judgment framed in gray bristles, and no one spoke for a while.



Next the Colonel said, very shortly: "Well, sir?" and the woman sobbed

afresh. The Senior Subaltern was half choked with the arms round his neck,

but he gasped out: "It's a d----d lie! I never had a wife in my life!"

"Don't swear," said the Colonel. "Come into the Mess. We must sift this

clear somehow," and he sighed to himself, for he believed in his

"Shikarris," did the Colonel.



We trooped into the anteroom, under the full lights, and there we saw how

beautiful the woman was. She stood up in the middle of us all, sometimes

choking with crying, then hard and proud, and then holding out her arms to

the Senior Subaltern. It was like the fourth act of a tragedy. She told us

how the Senior Subaltern had married her when he was Home on leave

eighteen months before; and she seemed to know all that we knew, and more

too, of his people and his past life. He was white and ashy gray, trying

now and again to break into the torrent of her words; and we, noting how

lovely she was and what a criminal he looked, esteemed him a beast of the

worst kind. We felt sorry for him, though.



I shall never forget the indictment of the Senior Subaltern by his wife.

Nor will he. It was so sudden, rushing out of the dark, unannounced, into

our dull lives. The Captains' wives stood back; but their eyes were

alight, and you could see that they had already convicted and sentenced

the Senior Subaltern. The Colonel seemed five years older. One Major was

shading his eyes with his hand and watching the woman from underneath it.

Another was chewing his mustache and smiling quietly as if he were

witnessing a play. Full in the open space in the center, by the whist

tables, the Senior Subaltern's terrier was hunting for fleas. I remember

all this as clearly as though a photograph were in my hand. I remember the

look of horror on the Senior Subaltern's face. It was rather like seeing a

man hanged; but much more interesting. Finally, the woman wound up by

saying that the Senior Subaltern carried a double F.M. in tattoo on his

left shoulder. We all knew that, and to our innocent minds it seemed to

clinch the matter. But one of the Bachelor Majors said very politely: "I

presume that your marriage certificate would be more to the purpose?"



That roused the woman. She stood up and sneered at the Senior Subaltern

for a cur, and abused the Major and the Colonel and all the rest. Then she

wept, and then she pulled a paper from her breast, saying imperially:

"Take that! And let my husband--my lawfully wedded husband--read it

aloud--if he dare!"



There was a hush, and the men looked into each other's eyes as the Senior

Subaltern came forward in a dazed and dizzy way, and took the paper. We

were wondering, as we stared, whether there was anything against any one

of us that might turn up later on. The Senior Subaltern's throat was dry;

but, as he ran his eye over the paper, he broke out into a hoarse cackle

of relief, and said to the woman: "You young blackguard!"



But the woman had fled through a door, and on the paper was written: "This

is to certify that I, The Worm, have paid in full my debts to the Senior

Subaltern, and, further, that the Senior Subaltern is my debtor, by

agreement on the 23d of February, as by the Mess attested, to the extent

of one month's Captain's pay, in the lawful currency of the India Empire."



Then a deputation set off for The Worm's quarters and found him, betwixt

and between, unlacing his stays, with the hat, wig, serge dress, etc., on

the bed. He came over as he was, and the "Shikarris" shouted till the

Gunners' Mess sent over to know if they might have a share of the fun. I

think we were all, except the Colonel and the Senior Subaltern, a little

disappointed that the scandal had come to nothing. But that is human

nature. There could be no two words about The Worm's acting. It leaned as

near to a nasty tragedy as anything this side of a joke can. When most of

the Subalterns sat upon him with sofa cushions to find out why he had not

said that acting was his strong point, he answered very quietly: "I don't

think you ever asked me. I used to act at Home with my sisters." But no

acting with girls could account for The Worm's display that night.

Personally, I think it was in bad taste. Besides being dangerous. There is

no sort of use in playing with fire, even for fun.



The "Shikarris" made him President of the Regimental Dramatic Club; and,

when the Senior Subaltern paid up his debt, which he did at once, The Worm

sank the money in scenery and dresses. He was a good Worm; and the

"Shikarris" are proud of him. The only drawback is that he has been

christened "Mrs. Senior Subaltern"; and, as there are now two Mrs. Senior

Subalterns in the Station, this is sometimes confusing to strangers.



Later on, I will tell you of a case something like this, but with all the

jest left out and nothing in it but real trouble.



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