A Little Cloud

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Story eight of Double Nurse. This LibriVox recording is in
the public domain. A little cloud eight years before he
had seen his friend off at the North Wall and
wished him God's speed. Galaher had got on. You could
tell that at once by his travel aire, his well
cut tweed suit and fearless accent. Few fellows had talents

(00:24):
like his, and fewer still could remain unspoiled by such success.
Galler's heart was in the right place, and he had
deserved to win. It was something to have a friend
like that. Little Chandler's thoughts ever since lunch time had
been of his meeting with Gallaher, of Gallaher's invitation, and
of the great city London, where Galaher lived. He was

(00:49):
called Little Chandler because though he was but slightly under
the average stature, he gave one the idea of being
a little man. His hands were white and small, his
frame was file, his voice was quiet, and his manners
were refined. He took the greatest care of his fair,
silken hair and mustache, and used perfume discreetly on his handkerchief.

(01:12):
The half moons of his nails were perfect, and when
he smiled, he caught a glimpse of a row of
childish white teeth. As he sat at his desk in
the King's Ends, he thought what changes those eight years
had brought. The friend whom he had known under a
shabby and necessitous guise, had become a brilliant figure on
the London press. He turned often from his tiresome writing

(01:35):
to gaze out of the office window. The glow of
a late autumn sunset covered the grass plots and walks.
It cast a shower of kindly golden dust on the
untidy nurses and decrepit old men who drowsed on the benches.
It flickered upon all the moving figures, on the children
who ran screaming along the gravel paths, and on every

(01:57):
one who passed through the gardens. He watched the scene
and thought of life, and as always happened, when he
thought of life, he became sad. A gentle melancholy took
possession of him. He felt how useless it was to
struggle against fortune, this being the burden of wisdom which
the ages had bequeathed to him. He remembered the books

(02:19):
of poetry upon his shelves at home. He had bought
them in his bachelor days, and many an evening as
he sat in the little room off the hall, he
had been tempted to take one down from the book
shelf and read out something to his wife, But shyness
had always held him back, and so the books had
remained on their shelves. At times he repeated lines to himself,

(02:41):
and this consoled him. When his hour had struck, he
stood up and took leave of his desk and of
his fellow clerks. Punctiliously, he emerged from under the few
larch of the King's inns a neat, modest figure, and
walked swiftly down Henrietta Street. The golden sunset was waning,
and the air had grown sharp. A horde of grimy

(03:03):
children populated the street. They stood or ran in the roadway,
or crawled up the steps before the gaping doors, or
squatted like mice upon the thresholds. Little Chandler gave him
no thought. He picked his way deftly through all that minute,
vermin like life, and under the shadow of the gaunt
spectral mansions in which the old nobility of Dublin had roistered,

(03:26):
no memory of the past touched him, for his mind
was full of a present joy. He had never been
in Corliss's, but he knew the value of the name.
He knew that people went there after the theater to
eat oysters and drink li cures, and he had heard
that the waiters there spoke French and German. Walking swiftly

(03:46):
by at night, he had seen cabs drawn up before
the door, and richly dressed ladies escorted by cavaliers alight
and enter quickly. They wore noisy dresses and many wraps.
Their faces were power and they caught up their dresses
when they touched earth, like alarmed atlantis. He had always
passed without turning his head to look. It was his

(04:08):
habit to walk swiftly in the street, even by day,
and whenever he found himself in the city late at night,
he hurried on his way apprehensively and excitedly. Sometimes, however,
he courted the causes of his fear. He chose the
darkest and narrowest streets, and as he walked boldly forward,
the silence that was spread about his footsteps troubled him.

(04:30):
The wandering, silent figures troubled him, and at times a
sound of low, fugitive laughter made him tremble like a leaf.
He turned to the right towards Capel Street, Ignacious Gallaher
on the London press. Who would have thought it possible
eight years before. Still, now that he reviewed the past,

(04:50):
little Chandler could remember many signs of future greatness in
his friend. People used to say that Ignacious Gallaher was wild.
Of course, he did mix with a rakish out of
fellows at that time, drank freely and borrowed money on
all sides. In the end he had got mixed up
in some shady affair, some money transaction. At least, that

(05:11):
was one version of his flight. But nobody denied him talent.
There was always a certain something in Ignacious Gallaher that
impressed you in spite of yourself. Even when he was
out at elbows and at his wits end for money,
he kept up a bold face. Little Chandler remembered, and
the remembrance brought a slight flush of pride to his cheek.

(05:32):
One of Ignacious Gallaher's sayings when he was in a
tight corner halftime, now, boys, he used to say, lightheartedly,
where's my considered cap That was Ignacious Galaher all out man,
damn it you couldn't but admire him for it. Little
Chandler quickened his pace. For the first time in his life,
he felt himself superior to the people he passed. For

(05:56):
the first time, his soul revolted against the dull inelegance
of Cable Street. There was no doubt about it. If
you wanted to succeed, you had to go away. You
could do nothing in Dublin. As he crossed Gratton Bridge,
he looked down the river towards the lower Keys and
pitied the poor, stunted houses. They seemed to him a

(06:16):
band of tramps huddled together along the river banks, their
old coats covered with dust and sut stupefied by the
panorama of sunset and waiting for the first chill of night.
Bid them arise, shake themselves and be gone. He wondered
whether he could write a poem to express his idea.
Perhaps Galaar might be able to get it into some

(06:37):
London paper for him. Could he write something original? He
was not sure what idea he wished to express, but
the thought that a poetic moment had touched him took
life within him like an infant hope. He stepped onward bravely,
every step brought him nearer to London, farther from his
own sober in artistic life. A light began to tremble

(06:59):
on the Hurrah and of his mind. He was not
so old thirty two. His temperament might be said to
be just at the point of maturity. There were so
many different moods and impressions that he wished to express
in verse. He felt them within him. He tried to
weigh his soul to see if it was a poet's soul.
Melancholy was the dominant note of his temperament, he thought,

(07:21):
But it was a melancholy tempered by recurrences of faith
and resignation and simple joy. If he could give expression
to it in a book of poems, perhaps men would listen.
He would never be popular. He saw that he could
not sway the crowd, but he might appeal to a
little circle of kindred minds. The English critics perhaps would

(07:42):
recognize him as one of the Celtic school by reason
of the melancholy tone of his poems. Besides that he
would put in illusions. He began to invent sentences and
phrases from the notice which his book would get. Mister
Chandler has the gift of easy and graceful verse with
till sadness pervades these poems. The Celtic note it was

(08:04):
a pity his name was not more irish looking. Perhaps
it would be better to insert his mother's name before
the surname Thomas Malone Chandler, or better still, Team alone Chandler.
He would speak to Galagher about it. He pursued his
revery so ardently that he passed his street and had
to turn back. As he came near Corliss's. His former

(08:25):
agitation began to overmaster him, and he halted before the
door in indecision. Finally, he opened the door and entered.
The light and noise of the bar held him at
the doorways for a few moments. He looked about him,
but his sight was confused by the shining of many
red and green wine glasses. The bar seemed to him

(08:46):
to be full of people, and he felt that the
people were observing him curiously. He glanced quickly to right
and left, frowning slightly to make his errand appear serious.
But when his sight cleared a little, he saw that
nobody had turned to look at him, and there, sure
enough was ignacious Gallaher, leaning with his back against the
counter and his feet planted far apart. Hello, Tommy, old hero,

(09:11):
here you are. What's it to be? What do you have?
I'm taking whiskey, better stuff than we get across the water, soda, lydia,
no mineral. I'm the same, spoils the flavor. Here, Garson,
bring us two halves of malt whiskey like a good fella. Well,
and how have you been pulling along since I saw

(09:32):
you last? Dear God? How old we're getting? Do you
see any signs of aging in me? Eh? What? A
little gray and thin at the top? What? Ignacious Gallaher
took off his hat and displayed a large, closely cropped head.
His face was heavy, pale, and clean shaven. His eyes,
which were of bluish slate color, relieved his unhealthy pallor

(09:53):
and shone out plainly above the vivid orange tie he wore.
Between these rival features, his lips appeared very and shapeless
and colorless. He bent his head and felt with two
sympathetic fingers the thin hair at the crown. Little Chandler
shook his head as a denial. Ignacious Gallagher put on
his hat again. They pulled you down, he said. Press life.

(10:16):
Always hurry and scurry looking for copy and sometimes not
finding it, and then always have something new in your stuff.
Damn proof some printers, I say, for a few days.
I'm just glad I can tell you to get back
to the old country. Does a fella good a bit
of a holiday. I feel a ton better since I
landed again in dear dirty Dublin. Here are Tommy Water say,

(10:40):
when Little Chandler allowed his whisky to be very much diluted,
you don't know what's good for you, my boy, said
Ignacious Gallaher. I drink mine neat. I drink very little
as a rule, said little Chandler, modestly, and not half
one or so. When I meet any of the old crowd.
That's all now well, said Ignacious Galaher, cheerfully. Here's to

(11:03):
us and to old times and old acquaintance. They clinked
glasses and drank the toast. I met some of the
old gang today, said Ignacious Galaher. O'Hara seems to be
in a bad way. What's he doing? Nothing, said little Chandler.
He's gone to the dogs. But Hogan has a good

(11:24):
sit hasn't he yes, he's in the Land Commission. I
met him one night in London and he seemed to
be very flush. Poor O'Hara boose. I suppose other things too,
said Little Chandler. Shortly, Ignacious Galagher laughed, notmy, he said,
I see you haven't changed in atom. You're the very

(11:45):
same serious person that used to lecture me on Sunday
mornings when he had a sore head and a four
on me tongue. You'd want to knock about a bit
in the world. Have you ever been anywhere even for
a trip? I've been to the other man, said Little Chandler.
Ignacious Galagher laughed. The oil o man, he said, go
to London on Paris, Paris for choice? Did it do

(12:08):
you good? Have you seen Paris? I should think I have.
I've knocked about there in a little And is it
really so beautiful as they say? Asked Little Chandler. He
sipped a little of his drink while Ignacius Gallaher finished
his boldly beautiful, said Ignacius Gallaher, pausing on the word

(12:29):
and on the flavor of his drink. It's not so beautiful,
you know, of course, it is beautiful, but it's the
life of Paris. That's the thing. Ah, They're no city
like Paris for gaiety, movement, excitement. Little Chandler finished his whiskey, and,
after some trouble, succeeded in catching the barman's eye. He

(12:49):
ordered the same again. I've been to the Moulon Rouge, ignacious,
Gallaher continued, when the barman had removed their glasses, and
I've been to all the bohemian cafes. Stuff not for
a pious chaplain you, tommy. Little Chandler said nothing until
the barman returned with two glasses. Then he touched his
friend's glass lightly and reciprocated the former toast. He was

(13:13):
beginning to feel somewhat disillusioned. Gallaher's accent and way of
expressing himself did not please him. There was something vulgar
in his friend which he had not observed before, but
perhaps it was only the result of living in London
amid the bustle and competition of the press. The old
personal charm was still there under this new gaudy manner,

(13:34):
and after all Gallaher had lived, he had seen the world.
Little Chandler looked at his friend enviously. Everything in Paris
is gay, said Ignacious Gallaher. They believe in enjoyant life,
and don't you think they're right? If you want to
enjoy yourself properly, you must go to Paris. And mind you,

(13:54):
they have a great feeling for the Irish there. When
they heard I was from Irlin, they were ready to
eat me. Man. Little Chandler took four or five SIPs
from his glass. Tell me, he said, is it true
that Paris is so immoral as they say? Ignacious Gallaher
made a Catholic gesture with his right arm. Every place

(14:14):
is a moral he said. Of course you do find
spicy bits in Paris. Go to one of the student's balls,
for instance. That's lively if you like. When the Cocotts
begin to let themselves loose, you know what they are.
I suppose I've heard of them, said little Chandler. Ignacious
Gallaher drank off his whiskey and shook his head. Ah.

(14:35):
He said, you may say what you like. There's no
woman like the Parisian for style, for go. Then it
is an a moral city, said little Chandler, with timid insistence.
I mean compared with London or Dublin. London, said Ignacious Gallaher.
It'd six o one and half a dozen of the other.

(14:56):
You ask Hogan, my boy. I showed him a bit
about London when he was over there. He'd open your eye.
Oh say, Tommy, don't make punch of that whiskey. Lick
her up? No really, Oh come on, another one? Won't
do you any harm. What is it the same again?
I suppose? Well, all right, francois the same again? Will

(15:17):
you smoke Tommy? Ignacious Gallagher produced his cigar case. The
two friends lit their cigars and puffed at them in
silence until their drinks were served. I'll tell you my opinion,
said Ignacious Gallaher, emerging after some time from the clouds
of smoke in which he had taken refuge. It's a
rum world, talk of immorality. I've heard the cases. What

(15:40):
I'm saying, I've known them, cases of immorality. Ignacious Gallaher
puffed thoughtfully at a cigar, and then, in a calm
historian's tone, he proceeded to sketch for his friends some
pictures of a corruption which was rife abroad. He summarized
the vices of many capitals, and seen inclined to award
the Palm to Berlin. Some things he could not vouch

(16:02):
for his friends had told him, but of others he
had had personal experience. He spared neither rank nor cast.
He revealed many of the secrets of religious houses on
the continent, and described some of the practices which were
fashionable in high society, and ended by telling with details
a story about an English dutchess, a story which he

(16:24):
knew to be true. Little Chandler was astonished. Ah well,
said Ignacius gallaher. Here we are in old jog along Dublin,
where nothing is known as such things. How dull you
must find it, said little Chandler. After all the other
places you've seen, well, said Ignacius Gallagher. It's a relaxation

(16:47):
to come over here, you know. And after all, it's
the old country, as they say, isn't it. You can't
help having a certain feeling for it. That's human nature.
But tell me something about yourself. Hagan told me you
had that tasted the joys of connubial bliss two years ago,
wasn't it. Little Chandler blushed and smiled. Yes, he said,

(17:09):
I was married last May, twelve months. I hope it's
not too late. In the day to offer my best wishes,
said Ignacious Gallagher. I didn't know your address, or I'd
have done so at the time. He extended his hand,
which little Chandler took. Well, Tommy, he said, I wish
you and yours every joy in life, old Chap, and
tons of money, and maya never died till I shoot yet.

(17:32):
And that's the wish of a sincere friend, an old friend.
You know that, I know that, said little Chandler. Any youngsters,
said Ignacious Galaher. Little Chandler blushed again. We have one child,
he said, son or daughter, a little boy. Ignacious Gallaher

(17:54):
slapped his friend sonorously on the back. Bravo, he said,
or he wouldn't doubt you, tommy. Little Chandler smiled, looked
confusedly at his glass, and bit his lower lip with
three childishly white front teeth. I hope you'll spend an
evening with us, he said, Before you go back, My
wife will be delighted to meet you. We can have

(18:16):
a little music and thanks. Off the old Chap, said
Ignacious Gallagher. I'm sorry we didn't meet earlier, but I
must leave tomorrow night tonight. Perhaps I'm offy sorry, Old man.
You see, I'm over here with another fellow, clever young
chappyears too, and we arranged to go to a little
card party only for that oh in that case, but

(18:39):
who knows, said Ignacious Gallaher considerately. Next year I may
take a little skip over here, now that I've broken
the ice. It's only a pleasure, defaired very well, said
little Chandler. The next time you come, we must have
an evening together. That's agreed, now, isn't it. Yes, that's agreed,
said Ignacious Gallaher. Next time if I come, prowled an our,

(19:03):
and to clinch the bargain, said little Chandler, We'll just
have one more now. Ignacious Gallagher took out a large
gold watch and looked at it. Is it to be
the last? He said, because you know I have an
ap Oh? Yes, positively, said little Chandler. Very well, then
said Ignacius Gallaher, let us have another one as a

(19:25):
juke on durus. That's good vernacular for a small whiskey,
I believe, Little Chandler ordered the drinks. The blush which
had risen to his face a few moments before, was
establishing itself a trifle made him blush at any time,
and now he felt warm and excited. Three small whiskies
had gone to his head, and Gallaher's strong cigar had

(19:47):
confused his mind, for he was a delicate and abstinent person.
The adventure of meeting Gallagher after eight years not finding
himself with Gallaher in corlesses, surrounded by lights and noise,
of listening to Galahaer's stories, and of sharing for a
brief space, Galaher's vagrant and triumphant life upset the equipoise

(20:07):
of his sensitive nature. He felt acutely the contrast between
his own life and his friends, and it seemed to
him unjust. Gallaher was his inferior in birth and education.
He was sure that he could do something better than
his friend had ever done, or could ever do something
higher than mere tawdry journalism, if he only got the chance.

(20:29):
What was it that stood in his way? His unfortunate timidity.
He wished to vindicate himself in some way, to assert
his manhood. He saw behind Galaher's refusal of his invitation,
Galaher was only patronizing him by his friendliness, just as
he was patronizing Ireland by his visit the barman brought
their drinks. Little Chandler pushed one glass towards his friend

(20:53):
and took up the other boldly. Who knows, he said,
as they lifted their glasses. When you come next, I
may have the pleasure of wishing long life and happiness
to mister and missus Ignacious Gallaher. Ignacious Gallaher, in the
act of drinking, closed one eye expressively over the rim
of his glass. When he had drunk, he smacked his

(21:13):
lips decisively, set down his glass, and said, no blooming
feared at me. Boy, I'm going to have my fling
forced and see a bit of life in the world
before I put my head in the sack. If I
ever do, some day, you will, said Little Chandler, calmly.
Ignacious Gallagher turned his orange tie and slate blue eyes

(21:34):
full upon his friend. You think so, he said, You'll
put your head in the sack, repeated Little Chandler, stoutly,
like everyone else, if you can find the girl. He
had slightly emphasized his tone, and he was aware that
he had betrayed himself, But though the color had heightened
in his cheek, he did not flinch from his friend's gaze.

(21:57):
Ignacious Gallagher watched him for a few moments and then said,
if ever it occurs, you may bet your bottom dollar
there'll be no mooning and spooning about it. I mean
to marry money. She have a good, fat account at
the bank, or she won't do for me. Little Chandler
shook his head. Why man alive? Said ignacious gallaher vehemently.

(22:18):
Do you know what it is? I've only to say
the word, and tomorrow I can have the woman and
the cash. You don't believe it, well I know it.
There are hundreds What am I saying? Thousands of rich
Germans and Jews rotten with money that'd only be too glad.
You right have woil me by see if I don't
play my cards properly when I go about it in

(22:40):
I mean business, I tell you you just wait. He
tossed his glass to his mouth, finished his drink, and
laughed loudly. Then he looked thoughtfully before him and said,
in a calmer tone, but I'm in no hurry. Make
him wait. I don't fancy tying myself up to one woman.
You know. He imitated with his mouth the act of

(23:00):
tasting and made him wry face. Must get a bit stale,
I should think, he said. Little Chandler sat in the
room off the hall, holding a child in his arms.
To save money, they kept no servant, but Annie's young sister, Monica,
came for an hour or so in the morning and
an hour or so in the evening to help. But

(23:21):
Monica had gone home long ago. It was a quarter
to nine. Little Chandler had come home late for tea,
and moreover, he had forgotten to bring Annie home the
parcel of coffee from Beauley's. Of course, she was in
a bad humor and gave him short answers. She said
she would do without any tea, But when it came
near the time at which the shop at the corner closed,

(23:43):
she decided to go out herself for a quarter pound
of tea and two pounds of sugar. She put the
sleeping child deftly in his arms and said, here, don't
waken him. A little lamp with a white china shade
stood upon the table, and its light fell over a
photo which was enclosed in a frame of crumpled horn.

(24:03):
It was Annie's photograph. Little Chandler looked at it, pausing
at the thin, tight lips she wore. The pale blue
summer blouse which he had brought her home as a
present one Saturday. It had cost him ten and elevenpence,
but what an agony of nervousness it had cost him.
How he had suffered that day, waiting at the shop
door until the shop was empty, standing at the counter

(24:26):
and trying to appear at his ease while the girl
piled ladies blouses before him, paying at the desk, and
forgetting to take up the odd penny of his change,
being caught back by the cashier, and finally striving to
hide his blushes as he left the shop by examining
the parcel to see if it was securely tied. When
he brought the blouse home, Annie kissed him and said

(24:47):
it was very pretty and stylish, but when she heard
the price, she threw the blouse on the table and
said it was a regular swindle to charge ten and
elevenpence for it. At first she wanted to take it back,
but when she tried it on, she was delighted with it,
especially with the make of the sleeves, and kissed him
and said he was very good to think of her. Ah.

(25:09):
He looked coldly into the eyes of the photograph, and
they answered coldly. Certainly they were pretty, and the face
itself was pretty. But he found something mean in it.
Why was it so unconscious and ladylike? The composure of
the eyes irritated him. They repelled him and defied him.
There was no passion in them, no rapture. He thought

(25:31):
of what Galaher had said about rich jewesses, those dark
orient lies. He thought, how full they are of passion,
a voluptuous longing. Why had he married the eyes in
the photograph? He caught himself up at the question, and
glanced nervously round the room. He found something mean in
the pretty furniture which he had bought for his house

(25:53):
on the higher system. Annie had chosen it herself, and
it reminded him of her. It was too prim and prey.
A dull resentment against his life awoke within him. Could
he not escape from his little house? Was it too
late for him to try to live bravely like Gallaher?
Could he go to London? There was the furniture still

(26:13):
to be paid for. If he could only write a
book and get it published, that might open the way
for him. A volume of Byron's poems lay before him
on the table. He opened it cautiously with his left hand,
lest he should waken the child, and began to read
the first poem in the book. Hushed at the winds
and still the evening gloom. Not he in a zephyr

(26:35):
wanders through the grove, whilst I returned to view my
Margaret's tomb and scatter flowers on the dust I love.
He paused. He felt the rhythm of the verse about
him in the room. How melancholy it was? Could he
too write like that? Express the melancholy of his soul?
And verse? There were so many things he wanted to describe,

(26:59):
his sensation of a few hours before on Gratton Bridge,
for example, if he could get back again into that mood.
The child awoke and began to cry. He turned from
the page and tried to hush it, but it would
not be hushed. He began to rock it to and
fro in his arms, but its wailing cry grew keener.
He rocked it faster while his eyes began to read

(27:21):
the second stanza. Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,
that clay were once it was useless. He couldn't read,
He couldn't do anything. The wailing of the child pierced
the drum of his ear. It was useless, useless, He
was a prisoner for life. His arms trembled with anger,
and suddenly bending to the child's face, he shouted stop.

(27:44):
The child stopped for an instant, had a spasm of fright,
and began to scream. He jumped up from his chair
and walked hastily up and down the room with the
child in his arms. It began to sob piteously, losing
its breath for four or five seconds, and then bursting
out anew. The thin walls of the room echoed the sound.
He tried to soothe it, but it sobbed more convulsively.

(28:05):
He looked at the contracted and quivering face of the
child and began to be alarmed. He counted seven sobs
without a break between them, and caught the child to
his breast in fright. If it died. The door was
burst open, and a young woman ran in, panting, what
is it? What is it? She cried. The child, hearing
its mother's voice, broke out into a paroxysm of sobbing.

(28:28):
It's nothing, Annie, it's nothing, it began to cry. She
flung her parcels on the floor and snatched the child
from him. What have you done to him? She cried,
glaring into his face. Little Chandler sustained for one moment
the gaze of her eyes and his heart closed together
as they met the hatred in them. He began to stammer, Eh,

(28:49):
it's nothing he he began to cry, I couldn't I
didn't do anything. What Giving no heed to him, she
began to walk up and down the room, clasping the
child tightly in her arm and murmuring, my little man,
my little manny was who frightened love? There now love
there now, Lama bonn, Mamma's little lamb of the world.

(29:10):
There now. Little Chanderer felt his cheek suffused with shame,
and he stood back out of the lamp light. He
listened while the paroxysm of the child's sobbing grew less
and less, and tears of remorse started to his eyes.
End of Story eight. A Little Cloud