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deceived them； and put the very worst construction upon everything。
Even now I writhe impotently at times； and my cheeks smart and tingle
with humiliation； as I recall that scenethe colonel's very plain
speaking； Lilian's passionate reproaches and contempt； and her aunt's
speechless prostration of disappointment。
I made no attempt to defend myself； I was not； perhaps； the complete
villain they deemed me； but I felt dully that no doubt it all served
me perfectly right。
Still I do not think I am under any obligation to put their remarks
down in black and white here。
Travers had vanished at the first opportunitywhether out of
delicacy； or the fear of breaking out into unseasonable mirth； I
cannot say； and shortly afterward the others came to where I sat
silent with bowed head； and bade me a stern and final farewell。
And then； as the last gleam of Lilian's white dress vanished down the
garden path； I laid my head down on the table among the coffee…cups；
and cried like a beaten child。
I got leave as soon as I could； and went abroad。 The morning after my
return I noticed； while shaving； that there was a small square marble
tablet placed against the wall of the colonel's garden。 I got my
opera…glass and readand pleasant reading it wasthe following
inscription：
IN AFFECTIONATE MEMORY
OF
B I N G O；
SECRETLY AND CRUELLY PUT TO DEATH；
IN COLD BLOOD；
BY A
NEIGHBOUR AND FRIEND。
JUNE； 1881。
If this explanation of mine ever reaches my neighbours' eyes； I humbly
hope they will have the humanity either to take away or tone down that
tablet。 They cannot conceive what I suffer when curious visitors
insist； as they do every day； on spelling out the words from our
windows； and asking me countless questions about them！
Sometimes I meet the Curries about the village； and as they pass me
with averted heads I feel myself growing crimson。 Travers is almost
always with Lilian now。 He has given her a dog；a fox…terrier；and
they take ostentatiously elaborate precautions to keep it out of my
garden。
I should like to assure them here that they need not be under any
alarm。 I have shot one dog。
THAT BRUTE SIMMONS
BY
ARTHUR MORRISON
Simmons's infamous behaviour toward his wife is still matter for
profound wonderment among the neighbours。 The other women had all
along regarded him as a model husband； and certainly Mrs。 Simmons was
a most conscientious wife。 She toiled and slaved for that man； as any
woman in the whole street would have maintained； far more than any
husband had a right to expect。 And now this was what she got for it。
Perhaps he had suddenly gone mad。
Before she married Simmons； Mrs。 Simmons had been the widowed Mrs。
Ford。 Ford had got a berth as donkeyman on a tramp steamer； and that
steamer had gone down with all hands off the Cape： a judgment； the
widow woman feared； for long years of contumacy； which had culminated
in the wickedness of taking to the sea； and taking to it as a
donkeymanan immeasurable fall for a capable engine…fitter。 Twelve
years as Mrs。 Ford had left her still childless； and childless she
remained as Mrs。 Simmons。
As for Simmons； he； it was held； was fortunate in that capable wife。
He was a moderately good carpenter and joiner； but no man of the
world； and he wanted one。 Nobody could tell what might not have
happened to Tommy Simmons if there had been no Mrs。 Simmons to take
care of him。 He was a meek and quiet man； with a boyish face and
sparse； limp whiskers。 He had no vices （even his pipe departed him
after his marriage）； and Mrs。 Simmons had ingrafted on him divers
exotic virtues。 He went solemnly to chapel every Sunday； under a tall
hat； and put a pennyone returned to him for the purpose out of his
week's wagesin the plate。 Then； Mrs。 Simmons overseeing； he took off
his best clothes； and brushed them with solicitude and pains。 On
Saturday afternoons he cleaned the knives； the forks； the boots； the
kettles； and the windows； patiently and conscientiously； on Tuesday
evenings he took the clothes to the mangling； and on Saturday nights
he attended Mrs。 Simmons in her marketing； to carry the parcels。
Mrs。 Simmons's own virtues were native and numerous。 She was a
wonderful manager。 Every penny of Tommy's thirty…six or thirty…eight
shillings a week was bestowed to the greatest advantage； and Tommy
never ventured to guess how much of it she saved。 Her cleanliness in
housewifery was distracting to behold。 She met Simmons at the front
door whenever he came home； and then and there he changed his boots
for slippers； balancing himself painfully on alternate feet on the
cold flags。 This was because she scrubbed the passage and door…step
turn about with the wife of the downstairs family； and because the
stair…carpet was her own。 She vigilantly supervised her husband all
through the process of 〃cleaning himself〃 after work； so as to come
between her walls and the possibility of random splashes； and if； in
spite of her diligence； a spot remained to tell the tale； she was at
pains to impress the fact on Simmons's memory； and to set forth at
length all the circumstances of his ungrateful selfishness。 In the
beginning she had always escorted him to the ready…made clothes shop；
and had selected and paid for his clothes； for the reason that men are
such perfect fools； and shopkeepers do as they like with them。 But she
presently improved on that。 She found a man selling cheap remnants at
a street…corner； and straightway she conceived the idea of making
Simmons's clothes herself。 Decision was one of her virtues； and a suit
of uproarious check tweeds was begun that afternoon from the pattern
furnished by an old one。 More： it was finished by Sunday； when
Simmons； overcome by astonishment at the feat； was endued in it； and
pushed off to chapel ere he could recover his senses。 The things were
not altogether comfortable； he found： the trousers hung tight against
his shins； but hung loose behind his heels； and when he sat； it was on
a wilderness of hard folds and seams。 Also； his waistcoat collar
tickled his nape； but his coat collar went straining across from
shoulder to shoulder； while the main garment bagged generously below
his waist。 Use made a habit of his discomfort； but it never reconciled
him to the chaff of his shopmates； for； as Mrs。 Simmons elaborated
successive suits； each one modelled on the last； the primal accidents
of her design developed into principles； and grew even bolder and more
hideously pronounced。 It was vain for Simmons to hintas hint he did
that he shouldn't like her to overwork herself； tailoring being bad
for the eyes； and there was a new tailor's in the Mile End Road； very
cheap； where 。 。 。 〃Ho yus；〃 she retorted； 〃you're very consid'rit I
dessay sittin' there actin' a livin' lie before your own wife Thomas
Simmons as though I couldn't see through you like a book a lot you
care about overworkin' me as long as /your/ turn's served throwin'
away money like dirt in the street on a lot o' swindlin' tailors an'
me workin' and' slavin' 'ere to save a 'a'penny an' this is my return
for it any one 'ud think you could pick up money in the 'orse…road an'
I b'lieve I'd be thought better of if I laid in bed all day like some
would that I do。〃 So that Thomas Simmons avoided the subject； nor even
murmured when she resolved to cut his hair。
So his placid fortune endured for years。 Then there came a golden
summer evening when Mrs。 Simmons betook herself with a basket to do
some small shopping； and Simmons was left at home。 He washed and put
away the tea…things； and then he fell to meditating on a new pair of
trousers； finished that day； and hanging behind the parlour door。
There they hung； in all their decent innocence of shape in the seat；
and they were shorter of leg； longer of waist； and wilder of pattern
than he had ever worn before。 And as he looked on them the small devil
of Original Sin awoke and clamoured in his breast。 He was ashamed of
it； of course； for well he knew the gratitude he owed his wife for
those same trousers； among other blessings。 Still； there the small
devil was； and the small devil was fertile in base suggestions； and
could not be kept from hinting at the new crop of workshop gibes that
would spring at Tommy's first public appearance in such things。
〃Pitch 'em in the dust…bin！〃 said the small devil at last。 〃It's all
they're fit for。〃
Simmons turned away in sheer horror of his wicked self； and for a
moment thought of washing the tea…things over again by way of
discipline。 Then he made for the back room； but saw from the landing
that the front door was standing open； probably the fault of the child
downstairs。 Now a front door standing open was a thing that Mrs。
Simmons would /not/ abide： it looked low。 So Simmons went down； that
she might not be wroth with him for the