Chapter XIX The First Victim
When Weldon woke he did one of the three things of which only gentlemen of the finest sensitiveness are capable. He gave me one quick, laughing glance, but perceiving in my solemn visage a predisposition to resent badinage, he immediately said, "Good-morning, old chap. Hope you rested well. As usual, I slept like a log—all night." Now, who could help liking a man of that stamp? Not I, most certainly. And not satisfied with pretending to have forgotten everything, he resolutely refrained from so much as glancing at his treasured sword, which I had broken. My heart went out to him in such a flood of feeling that in order to conceal how fond of him I was and how grateful, I simply had to be insulting.
"You needn't tell me you slept," I growled. "You snored like a whole sty-full of hogs" (which was a lie). "It's a wonder to me you did not wake yourself."
"Why didn't you shy a boot at my head?" he asked. "I'm awfully sorry, Pinsent. I can see I kept you awake. You look quite washed out."
"Oh! I'm alright, or will be after a hot bath," I replied ungraciously, and left the room.
When I returned he had a bottle of champagne ready for me, as a pick-me-up; and he was hard at work polishing my boots—all this by way of apology. I swallowed some wine and allowed myself to unbend. I suggested a ride to work up an appetite for breakfast. He joyously agreed, so we dressed and went out. A gallop in the park made us as jolly as a pair of sand boys. We had déjeuner at Verrey's, and then went to call on Miss Ottley. She was out, however, so I dragged my charge to an eye specialist in Harley Street. I pretended an eyeache and had my eyes thoroughly examined. The specialist could find nothing wrong with them. On the contrary, he congratulated me on a singularly perfect vision. After that we went to Weldon's club, dawdled there for a hour and then on the suggestion of Lord William Hurlingham, commonly known as "Bill," we ran down to Maidenhead for a row on the river. It was a perfect day and we enjoyed ourselves amazingly, so much so that we lost count of time and were obliged to dine at a Maidenhead hotel. It thus came about that it was after nine when we strolled to the station to return to town. There was a considerable crowd of holiday-makers on the platform, and one party gave us much amusement. These details are important to explain what followed. The party consisted of half a dozen Jews and as many Jewesses. They were all as gorgeously attired as if they had been attending a regal audience. But their conversation, conducted in tones loud enough to provoke general attention, informed us that they had been spending the day on the houseboat of a certain well-known nobleman of notorious impecuniousness.
Lord Bill, a bit of a wag, made a remark that I did not catch, about the Jews and their nobleman, which sent Weldon into a convulsion of laughter. He then turned to me and began to repeat it for my benefit. Just at that moment the train came rushing into the station. Weldon stood near the edge of the platform with his back to the line, glancing sideways at the Jews and trying to restrain his mirth. I had bent my head the better to hear Lord Bill, who was a short man, but my eyes were on Weldon. Conceive my surprise to observe him stagger backwards of a sudden, as though he had been struck on the forehead. He uttered a startled cry and clawed the air with both hands. For a brief second he tottered at an angle as though he held on to something which supported him. But next instant, as if carried off his feet by a great rush of wind, he went back, back—over the edge of the platform, and before I could move a muscle or utter a word he had fallen and was lying on the rails under the very wheels of the onrushing engine. Men shouted, women shrieked. I sprang forward, and hardly aware of the peril would have leaped upon the line, but that a dozen hands restrained me. It would have meant infallibly my death as well as Weldon's, for the train was not more than a dozen feet off. But I was incapable of reasoning at the moment. I struggled like a madman with my captors and broke away from them at last—to stand dazedly staring at the engine for some horrid seconds. It had stopped. But had it——? With a great effort I dragged myself forward. The edge of the platform was lined with a crowd of white-faced, silent people. They made room for me. Several railway officials were stooping over a frightful object lying between the pavement and the nearest iron rail. One of them shouted for a doctor, and there was an immediate movement in the crowd. Two or three men set off through the station at a run. I closed my eyes. I had never been so shaken in my life. I had never lost my self-control so utterly. The wheels of the engine had completely amputated both poor Weldon's legs midway between the knee and trunk. There followed a hiatus in my reckoning. When I came properly to my senses I was hard at work tying up the arteries, assisted by a medical student who had been a passenger in the fatal train, and a nurse who had apparently been holiday-making on the river. I remember how anxious she was to save her pretty muslin gown from the spouting blood. Presently a surgeon who had been called, appeared armed with proper instruments. With his aid I hastily replaced the imperfect tourniquets I had improvised out of kerchiefs and neckcloths with gutta percha bandages, and we removed poor Weldon from the station to the villa of a gentleman who had charitably placed his house at our disposal. From the very first I felt that there was no hope. Not only had my luckless friend lost his limbs and an immense quantity of blood, but he had suffered internal injuries and a severe occipital concussion. Within an hour, in spite of all we could do, symptoms of lung congestion supervened. When it became manifest that no human skill could save, I wrote a note to Miss Ottley and sent Lord Bill to London to escort her to her lover's bedside.
After that there was nothing to do but wait. Weldon was deep in a state of coma. I sat down beside him and watched his poor, wan face. Every few minutes I administered a stimulant, yet each time asked myself what use? And were it not better to let him cross the bar in painless sleep than try to bring him back for a few moments to the agony of suffering and hopeless separation? Yet I was plagued with the most hateful doubts and ideas, and so, beyond expression miserable that when two hours had gone and I marked his pulse failing visibly with the fleeting minutes, I did that at length which, perhaps, I should have postponed till Miss Ottley's arrival. But then, it might have been too late. Who knows? He opened his eyes and looked at me. I could hardly see for sudden womanish tears.