Dusk Page #2

"Dusk" is a short story by Hector Hugh Munro, better known by his pen name Saki. Set in the early 20th century, the narrative unfolds in a park during the twilight hours, where a woman observes a group of people engaging in leisure activities. The story explores themes of social class, the nature of human relationships, and the irony of appearances. Through sharp wit and a twist ending, Saki critiques the pretensions of society while highlighting the darker aspects of human behavior that emerge in the fading light of day.

• Short story

								

with all the solicitude of the chemist’s counter, he would have been a
genius in his particular line.  In his particular line genius certainly
consists of an infinite capacity for taking precautions.”

With that reflection Gortsby rose to go; as he did so an exclamation of
concern escaped him.  Lying on the ground by the side of the bench was a
small oval packet, wrapped and sealed with the solicitude of a chemist’s
counter.  It could be nothing else but a cake of soap, and it had
evidently fallen out of the youth’s overcoat pocket when he flung himself
down on the seat.  In another moment Gortsby was scudding along the
dusk-shrouded path in anxious quest for a youthful figure in a light
overcoat.  He had nearly given up the search when he caught sight of the
object of his pursuit standing irresolutely on the border of the carriage
drive, evidently uncertain whether to strike across the Park or make for
the bustling pavements of Knightsbridge.  He turned round sharply with an
air of defensive hostility when he found Gortsby hailing him.

“The important witness to the genuineness of your story has turned up,”
said Gortsby, holding out the cake of soap; “it must have slid out of
your overcoat pocket when you sat down on the seat.  I saw it on the
ground after you left.  You must excuse my disbelief, but appearances
were really rather against you, and now, as I appealed to the testimony
of the soap I think I ought to abide by its verdict.  If the loan of a
sovereign is any good to you—”

The young man hastily removed all doubt on the subject by pocketing the
coin.

“Here is my card with my address,” continued Gortsby; “any day this week
will do for returning the money, and here is the soap—don’t lose it again
it’s been a good friend to you.”

“Lucky thing your finding it,” said the youth, and then, with a catch in
his voice, he blurted out a word or two of thanks and fled headlong in
the direction of Knightsbridge.

“Poor boy, he as nearly as possible broke down,” said Gortsby to himself.
“I don’t wonder either; the relief from his quandary must have been
acute.  It’s a lesson to me not to be too clever in judging by
circumstances.”

As Gortsby retraced his steps past the seat where the little drama had
taken place he saw an elderly gentleman poking and peering beneath it and
on all sides of it, and recognised his earlier fellow occupant.

“Have you lost anything, sir?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, a cake of soap.”
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