Chapter VIII: Part 8

I heard what followed from Corkey minimus, who was Milly's spy and carrier, for which he got a peach from the Doctor's orchard-house now and again in summer; but only ones that fell off. He told me that Milly received no less than three letters from Vernon Vere before he'd been at Merivale a month. And the third she answered.

So we knew that Tinned Cow was done for; and very soon he found it out himself, and then he turned several shades yellower and moped in the gymnasium for hours together, and lost all hope of doing any good at work, and sank down to the bottom of the lower fourth and spent all his spare time doing impositions. He went about like a dog that's frightened of being kicked; and many chaps did kick him, out of sheer cheerfulness, because he seemed as if he only wanted a kick to complete the picture. Then, one day, very civilly, he asked Freckles for his celebrated bowie-knife, that he goes bush-ranging with on half-holidays, and Freckles very kindly lent it, after Tinned Cow had promised not to cut anything harder than wood with it. Then Tinned Cow thanked him and went into the gym., saying that he only wanted to cut something soft. He didn't come back, and when the bell rang, Freckles and I--he being rather anxious about his bowie-knife--went up to the gym. to see what Tinned Cow was after. Suddenly Freckles shouted out from the shower-bath room, and, hearing him yell, I rushed in. And there was the wretched Tinned Cow in a most horrible mess. He'd taken off his shirt and given himself a dig in the ribs, or possibly two, and he was lying in a comfortable position bleeding to death. At least, so he hoped; and he begged us earnestly to mind our own business and leave him to 'salute the world,' as he said, without any bother. But we hooked it for Thwaites and Browne and Mannering; and they came and carried him in; and ruined their clothes with Chinese gore.

Of course we all thought Tinned Cow was booked, and Freckles, knowing the deadly sharpness of his knife, said the kid must kick to a certainty if he'd used the knife with proper care. Yet, strange to relate, he didn't die, but lived; which seemed to show that the knife of Freckles wasn't nearly such a fine one as he fancied. But he said that it only showed Tinned Cow had lost his nerve, and funked what he was doing at the critical moment.

Two mornings afterwards Dr. Dunstan told us all about it after prayers.

"This unhappy Asiatic," he said, "this young Celestial, from the pagan fastnesses of his native land, despite months not a few of tuition in this our manly and civilized atmosphere of Merivale, has relapsed upon the degraded and barbaric customs of a great but benighted country--a proof of the natural cowardice and baseness of the human heart when unillumined by the light of Christianity. The vain folly, which led him to his rash act is not for your ears. Let it suffice that Tin Lin Chow in a fit of mental infirmity, not to say active insanity, sought to deliver himself from imaginary miseries by the act of self-destruction--the 'hari-kari,' or 'happy dispatch,' as we translate it, of the Chinese. Thanks to fear at the crucial moment, or an ignorance of his own anatomy, or, as we should rather believe, the direct interposition of a merciful Providence that still has work for him to do, Tin Lin Chow failed of his fearful project and is now out of danger. For the rest, I may inform you that your comrade, when fit to travel, will return to his native land, and I can only hope and pray that the traditions of Merivale, its teaching and its tone, will cleave to him and leave their mark upon his character."

Of course the thing that was not for our ears was the reason why this little Chinese idiot had tried to kill himself. And that was because Milly Dunstan and everybody else had chucked him, but especially Milly. Anyway, his vitals healed up in a fortnight, and after six weeks or so had passed by, he was back at school again. But only for a few days. Then a ship sailed from London for China and, as Steggles very truly said, the only 'happy dispatch' that Tinned Cow got was a dispatch back to his native land. And probably he liked it better than England, when all was said and done; because the schools out there have got no sixth forms, so he told us. Therefore he'll be all right very likely--and live to thank his stars that he didn't kill himself after all. Though myself, I think he honestly tried and the fault was in the knife. Still, after two such sickening failures--I mean Milly Dunstan, and the attempt to hari-kari himself--I expect the kid won't ever want to make friends with girls again, or try to gash open his stomach, but just lead an ordinary sort of life without fuss, like other people do.

I made it up with him in a sort of way after his attempt to kill himself failed; and he explained to me how he ought to have done it; but the details were no use to me, because I wouldn't do it myself for all the girls in the world. Then Tinned Cow left, and he seemed sorry to go at the last moment; and he promised to send me some chopsticks and some chrysanthemum and other flower seeds of beautiful plants--knowing how frightfully keen I was about flowers--and materials for birds'-nest soup and other interesting things. But he never sent one of them; and I never thought he would, and didn't count upon it in the least, because, once back in his own country, where everybody tells lies from morning till night, simply from the habit of centuries and centuries, owing to China being the birthplace of civilization, you couldn't expect the beggar to keep his word.

And I expect nobody in this country will ever hear of him again. Not that that matters. But if I ever go to China, which I very likely shall do when I have time, I may look him up, I think--just to see if he got any good from coming over here. But I shouldn't think he really did.

THE END

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