Kitabı oku: «Aileen Aroon, A Memoir», sayfa 17

Chapter Twenty Seven.
The Story of Aileen’s Husband, Nero – Continued

 
“His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,
Showed he was none o’ Scotland’s dogs.”
 

Burns.

“You see, dear,” I continued, “that Nero had even in his younger days a very high sense of humour and fun, and was extremely fond of practical joking, and this trait of his character sometimes led his master into difficulties, but the dog and I always managed to get over them. At a very early age he learned to fetch and carry, and when out walking he never seemed happy unless I gave him something to bring along with him. Poor fellow, I daresay he thought he was not only pleasing me, but assisting me, and that he was not wrong in thinking so you will readily believe when told that, in his prime, he could carry a large carpet bag or light portmanteau for miles without the least difficulty. He was handy, therefore, when travelling, for he performed the duties of a light porter, and never demanded a fee.

“He used to carry anything committed to his charge, even a parcel with glass in it might be safely entrusted to his care, if you did not forget to tell him to be very cautious with it.

“I was always very careful to give him something to carry, for if I did not he was almost sure to help himself. When going into a shop, for instance, to make a purchase, he was exceedingly disappointed if something or other was not bought and handed to him to take home. Once I remember going into a news-agent’s shop for something the man did not happen to have. I left shortly, taking no thought about my companion, but had not gone far before Nero went trotting past me with a well-filled paper bag in his mouth, and after us came running, gasping and breathless, a respectable-looking old lady, waving aloft a blue gingham umbrella. ‘The dog, the dog,’ she was bawling, ‘he has run off with my buns! Stop thief!’

“I stopped the thief, and the lady was gracious enough to accept my apologies.

“Not seeing me make any purchase, Nero had evidently said to himself – ‘Why, nothing to carry? Well, I don’t mean to go away without anything, if my master does. Here goes.’ And forthwith he had pounced upon the paper bag full of buns, which the lady had deposited on the counter.

“At Sheerness, bathers are in the habit of leaving their boots on the beach while they enjoy the luxury of a dip in the sad sea waves. They usually put their stockings or socks in the boots. When quite a mile away from the bathing-place, one fine summer’s day, I happened to look round, and there was Nero walking solemnly after me with a young girl’s boot, with a stocking in it, in his mouth. We went back to the place, but I could find no owner for the boot, though I have no doubt it had been missed. Don’t you think so, birdie?”

“Yes,” said Ida; “only fancy the poor girl having to go home with one shoe off and one shoe on. Oh! Nero, you dear old boy, who could have thought you had ever been so naughty in the days of your youth!”

“Well, another day when travelling, I happened to have no luggage. This did not please Master Nero, and in lieu of something better, he picked up a large bundle of morning papers, which the porter had just thrown out of the luggage van. He ran out of the station with them, and it required no little coaxing to make him deliver them up, for he was extremely fond of any kind of paper to carry.

“But Nero was just as honest, Ida, when a young dog as he is now. Nothing ever could tempt him to steal. The only thing approaching to theft that could be laid to his charge happened early one morning at Boston, in Lincolnshire. I should tell you first, however, that the dog’s partiality for rabbits as playmates was very great indeed. He has taken more to cats of late, but when a young dog, rabbits were his especial delight.

“We had arrived at Boston by a very early morning train, our luggage having gone on before, the night before, so that when I reached my journey’s end, I had only to whistle on my dog, and, stick in hand, set out for my hotel. It was the morning of an agricultural show, and several boxes containing exhibition rabbits lay about the platform.

“Probably the dog had reasoned thus with himself: —

“‘Those boxes contain rabbits; what a chance to possess myself of a delightful pet! No doubt they belong to my master, for almost everything in this world does, only he didn’t notice them; but I’m sure he will be as much pleased as myself when he sees the lovely rabbit hop out of the box; so here goes. I’ll have this one.’

“The upshot of Nero’s cogitations was that, on looking round when fully a quarter of a mile from the station, to see why the dog was not keeping pace with me, I found him marching solemnly along behind with a box containing a live rabbit in his mouth. He was looking just a little sheepish, and he looked more so when I scolded him and made him turn and come back with it.

“Dogs have their likes and dislikes to other animals and to people, just as we human beings have. One of Nero’s earliest companions was a beautiful little pure white Pomeranian dog, of the name of ‘Vee-Vee.’ He was as like an Arctic fox – sharp face, prick ears, and all – as any dog could be, only instead of lagging his tail behind him, as a fox does, the Pomeranian prefers to curl it up over his back, probably for the simple reason that he does not wish to have it soiled. Vee-Vee was extremely fond of me, and although, as you know, dear Nero is of a jealous temperament, he graciously permitted Vee-Vee to caress me as much as he pleased, and me to return his caresses.

“It was a sight to see the two dogs together out for a ramble – Nero with his gigantic height, his noble proportions, and long flat coat of jetty black, and Vee-Vee, so altogether unlike him in every way, trotting along by his side in jacket of purest snow!

“Vee-Vee’s jacket used to be whiter on Saturday than on any other day, because it was washed on that morning of the week, and to make his personal beauties all the more noticeable he always on that day and on the next wore a ribbon of blue or crimson.

“Now, mischievous Nero, if he got a chance, was sure to tumble Vee-Vee into a mud-hole just after he was nearly dried and lovely. I am sure he did it out of pure fun, for when Vee-Vee came downstairs to go out on these occasions, Nero would meet him, and eye him all over, and walk round him, and snuff him, and smell at him in the most provoking teasing manner possible.

“‘Oh! aren’t you proud!’ he would seem to say, and ‘aren’t you white and clean and nice, and doesn’t that bit of blue ribbon, suit you! What do you think of yourself, eh? My master can’t wash me white, but I can wash you black, only wait till we go out and come to a nice mud-heap, and see if I don’t change the colour of your jacket for you.’

“Vee-Vee, though only a Pomeranian, learned a great many of Nero’s tricks; this proves that one dog can teach another. He used to swim along with Nero, although when first going into the water he sometimes lost confidence, and got on to his big friend’s shoulders, at which Nero used to seem vastly amused. He would look up at me with a sparkle of genuine mirth in his eye as much as to say —

“‘Only look, master, at this little fool of a Vee-Vee perched upon my shoulder, like a fantail pigeon on top of a hen-house. But I don’t mind his weight, not in the slightest.’

“Vee-Vee used to fetch and carry as well as Nero, in his own quiet little way. One day I dropped my purse in the street, and was well-nigh home before I missed it. You may judge of my joy when on looking round I found Vee-Vee coming walking along with the purse in his mouth, looking as solemn as a little judge. Vee-Vee, I may tell you, was only about two weeks old when I first had him; he was too young to wean, and the trouble of spoon-feeding was very great. In my dilemma, a favourite cat of mine came to my assistance. She had recently lost her kittens, and took to suckling young Vee-Vee as naturally as if she had been his mother.”

“How strange,” said Ida, “for a cat to suckle a puppy.”

“Cats, Ida,” I replied, “have many curious fancies. A book⁵ that I wrote some little time since gives many very strange illustrations of the queer ways of these animals. Cats have been known to suckle the young of rats, and even of hedgehogs, and to bring in chickens and ducklings, and brood over them. This only proves, I think, that it is cruel to take a cat’s kittens away from her all at once.”

“Yes, it is,” Ida said, thoughtfully; “and yet it seems almost more cruel to permit her to rear a large number of kittens that you cannot afterwards find homes for.”

“A very sensible remark, birdie. Well, to return to our mutual friend Nero: about the same time that he had as his bosom companion the little dog Vee-Vee, he contracted a strange and inexplicable affection for another tiny dog that lived quite a mile and a half away, and for a time she was altogether the favourite. The most curious part of the affair was this: Nero’s new favourite was only about six or seven inches in height, and so small that it could easily have been put into a gentleman’s hat, and the hat put on the gentleman’s head without much inconvenience to either the gentleman or the dog.

“When stationed at Sheerness, we lived on board H.M.S. P – , the flagship there. On board were several other dogs. The captain of marines had one, for example, a large, flat-coated, black, saucy retriever, that rejoiced in the name of ‘Daidles’; the commander had two, a large fox-terrier, and a curly-coated retriever called ‘Sambo.’ All were wardroom dogs – that is, all belonged to the officers’ mess-room – and lived there day and night, for there were no fine carpets to spoil, only a well-scoured deck, and no ladies to object. Upon the whole, it must be allowed that there was very little disagreement indeed among the mess dogs. The fox-terrier was permitted to exist by the other three large animals, and sometimes he was severely chastised by one of the retrievers, only he could take his own part well enough. With the commander’s curly retriever, Nero cemented a friendship, which he kept up until we left the ship, and many a romp they had together on deck, and many a delightful cruise on shore. But Daidles, the marine Officer’s dog, was a veritable snarley-yow; he therefore was treated by Nero to a sound thrashing once every month, as regularly as the new moon. It is but just to Nero to say that Daidles always commenced those rows by challenging Nero to mortal combat. Wild, cruel fights they used to be, and much blood used to be spilled ere we could part them. As an instance of memory in the dog, I may mention that two years after Nero and I left the ship, we met Captain L – and his dog Daidles by chance in Chatham one day. Nero knew Daidles, and Daidles knew Nero, long before the captain and I were near enough to shake hands.

“‘Hullo!’ cried Nero; ‘here we are again.’

“‘Yes,’ cried Daidles; ‘let us have another fight for auld lang syne.’

“And they did, and tore each other fearfully.

“Nero’s life on board this particular ship was a very happy one, for everybody loved him, from the captain downwards to the little loblolly boy who washed the bottles, spread the plasters, and made the poultices.

“The blue-jackets all loved Nero; but he was more particularly the pet of the marine mess. This may be accounted for from the fact that my servant was a marine.

“But every day when the bugle called the red-coats to dinner —

“‘That calls me,’ Master Nero would say; then off he would trot.

“His plan was to go from one table to another, and it would be superfluous to say that he never went short.

“Nero had one very particular friend on board – dear old chief engineer C – . Now my cabin was a dark and dismal one down in the cockpit, I being then only junior surgeon; the engineer’s was on the main deck, and had a beautiful port. As Mr C – was a married man, he slept on shore; therefore he kindly gave up his cabin to me – no, not to me, as he plainly gave me to understand, but to Nero.

“Nero liked his comforts, and it was C – ’s delight of a morning after breakfast to make Nero jump on top of my cot, and put his head on my pillow. Then C – would cover him over with a rug, and the dog would give a great sigh of satisfaction and go off to sleep, and all the din and all the row of a thousand men at work and drill, could not waken Nero until he had his nap out.

“On Sunday morning the captain went round all the decks of the ship inspecting them – the mess places, and the men’s kits and cooking utensils, everything, in fact, about the ship was examined on this morning. He was followed by the commander, the chief surgeon, and by Nero.

“The inspection over, the boats were called away for church on shore. Having landed, the men formed into marching order, band first, then the officers, and next the blue-jackets. Nero’s place was in front of the band, and from the gay and jaunty way he stepped out, you might have imagined that he considered himself captain of all these men.

“Sometimes a death took place, and the march to the churchyard was a very solemn and imposing spectacle. The very dog seemed to feel the solemnity of the occasion; and I have known him march in front all the way with lowered head and tail, as if he really felt that one of his poor messmates was like Tom Bowling, ‘a sheer hulk,’ and that he would never, never see him again. You remember the beautiful old song, Ida, and its grand, ringing old tune —

 
“‘Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling,
    The darling of our crew;
No more he’ll hear the billows howling,
    For death has broached him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,
    His heart was pure and soft;
Faithful below he did his duty,
    And now he has gone aloft.’
 

“It was on board this ship that Nero first learned that graceful inclination of the body we call making a bow, and which Aileen Aroon there has seen fit to copy.

“You see, on board a man-o’-war, Ida, whenever an officer comes on the quarter-deck, he lifts his hat, not to any one, remember, but out of respect to Her Majesty the Queen’s ship. The sailors taught Nero to make a bow as soon as he came upstairs or up the ship’s side, and it soon came natural to him, so that he really was quite as respectful to Her Majesty as any officer or man on board.

“My old favourite, Tyro, was so fond of music that whenever I took up the violin, he used to come and throw himself down at my feet. I do not think Nero was ever fond of music, and I hardly know the reason why he tolerated the band playing on the quarter-deck, for whenever on shore if he happened to see and hear a brass band (a German itinerant one, I mean), he flew straight at them, and never failed to scatter them in all directions. I am afraid I rather encouraged him in this habit of his; it was amusing and it made the people laugh. It did not make the German fellows laugh, however – at least, not the man with the big bassoon – for Nero always singled him out, probably because he was making more row than the others. A gentleman said one day that Nero ought to be bought by the people of Margate, and kept as public property to keep the streets clear of the German band element.

“But Nero never attempted to disperse the ship’s band – he seemed rather to like it. I remember once walking in a city up North, some years after Nero left the service, and meeting a band of volunteers.

“‘Oh,’ thought Nero, ‘this does put me in mind of old times.’

“I do not know for certain that this was really what the dog thought, but I am quite sure about what he did, and that was, to put himself at the head of that volunteer regiment and march in front of it. As no coaxing of mine could get the dog away, I was obliged to fall in too, and we had quite a mile of a march, which I really had not expected, and did not care for.

“Nero’s partiality for marines was very great; but here is a curious circumstance: the dog knows the difference between a marine and a soldier in the street, for even a year after he left garrison, if he saw a red-jacket in the street, he would rush up to its owner. If a soldier, he merely sniffed him and ran on; if a marine, he not only sniffed him, but jumped about him and exhibited great joy, and perhaps ended by taking the man’s cap in a friendly kind of a way, and just for auld lang syne.

“Nero’s life on board ship would have been one of unalloyed happiness, except for those dreadful guns. The dog was not afraid of an ordinary fowling-piece, but a cannon was another concern, and as we were very often at general quarters, or saluting other ships, Nero had more than enough of big guns. Terrible things he must have thought them – things that went off when a man pulled a string, that went off with fire and smoke, and a roar louder than any thunder; things that shook the ship and smashed the crockery, and brought his master’s good old fiddle tumbling down to the deck – terrible things indeed. Even on days when there was no saluting or firing, there was always that eight o’clock gun.

“As soon as the quartermaster entered the wardroom, a few seconds before eight in the evening, and reported the hour to the commander, poor Nero took refuge under the sofa.

“He knew the man’s knock.

“‘Eight o’clock, sir, please,’ the man would say.

“‘Make it so,’ the commander would reply, which meant, ‘Fire the gun.’

“This was enough for Nero; he was in hiding a full minute before they could ‘make it so.’”

“Is that the reason,” asked Ida, “why you sometimes say eight o’clock to him when you want him to go and lie down?”

“Yes, birdie,” I replied. “He does not forget it, and never will as long as he lives. If you look at him even now, you will see a kind of terror in his eye, for he knows what we are talking about, and he is not quite sure that even here in this peaceful pine wood some one might not fire a big gun and make it eight o’clock.”

“No, no, no,” cried Ida, throwing her arms around the dog, “don’t be afraid, dear old Nero. It shan’t be eight o’clock. It will never, never be eight o’clock any more, dearest doggie.”

Chapter Twenty Eight.
The Story of Aileen’s Husband, Nero – Continued

 
“His locked and lettered braw brass collar
Showed him the gentleman and scholar.”
 

“You promised,” said my little companion the very next evening, “to resume the thread of Nero’s narrative.”

“Very prettily put, birdie,” I said; “resume the thread of Nero’s narrative. Did I actually make use of those words? Very well, I will, though I fear you will think the story a little dull, and probably the story-teller somewhat prosy.

“Do you know, then, Ida, that I am quite convinced that Providence gave mankind the dog to be a real companion to him, and I believe that this is the reason why a dog is so very, very faithful, so long-suffering under trial, so patient when in pain, and so altogether good and kind. When I look at poor old Nero, as he lies beside you there, half asleep, yet listening to every word we say, my thoughts revert to many a bygone scene in which he and I were the principal actors. And many a time, Ida, when in grief and sorrow, I have felt, rightly or wrongly, that I had not a friend in the world but himself.

“Well, dear, I had learned to love Nero, and love him well, when I received an appointment to join the flagship at Sheerness. The fact is I had been a whole year on sick leave, and Nero and I had been travelling for the sake of my health. There was hardly a town in England, Ireland, or Scotland we had not visited, and I always managed it so that the dog should occupy the same room as myself. By the end of a twelvemonth, Nero had got to be quite an old and quite a wise traveller. His special duty was to see after the luggage – in other words, Master Nero was baggage-master. When I left a hôtel, my traps were generally taken in a hand-cart or trolly. Close beside the man all the way to the station walked my faithful friend, he himself in all probability carrying a carpet bag, and looking the very quintessence of seriousness and dignified importance. As soon as he saw the porter place the luggage in the van, then back he would come to me, with many a joyous bark and bound, quite regardless of the fact that he sometimes ran against a passenger, and sent him sprawling on the platform.

“When we arrived at our journey’s end, Nero used to be at the luggage van before me. And here is something worth recording: as we usually came out at a door on the opposite side of the train to that at which we had entered, I was apt for a moment or two to forget the position of the luggage van. Nero never made a mistake, so I daresay his scent assisted him. As soon as the luggage was put on the trolly, and the man started with it, the dog went with him, but as the man often went a long way ahead of me, Nero was naturally afraid of losing sight of me; therefore if the porter attempted to turn a corner the dog invariably barked, not angrily, but determinedly, till he stopped. As soon as I came up, then the procession went on again, till we came to another corner, when the man had to stop once more. I remember he pulled a man down, because he would not stop, but he did not otherwise hurt him at all.

“In the train, he either travelled in the same carriage with myself, or in cases where the guard objected to this, I travelled in the van with the dog, so we were not separated.

“If a man is travelling much by train or by steamboat, he need never feel lonely if he has as splendid a dog as the Champion Theodore Nero with him; for the dog makes his master acquaintances.

“When Nero was with me, I could hardly stand for a moment at a street corner or to look in at a shop window without attracting a small crowd. I was never half an hour on the deck of a steamer without some one coming up and saying —

“‘Excuse me, sir, but what a noble-looking dog you have! What breed is he? Pure Newfoundland, doubtless.’

“This would in all probability lead to conversation, and many an acquaintance I have thus formed, which have ripened into friendships that last till this day.

“Well, Ida, when I received my appointment to the flagship, my very first thoughts were about my friend the dog, and with a sad feeling of sinking at my heart, I asked myself the question – ‘Will Nero be permitted to live on board?’ To part with the dear fellow would have been a grief I could not bear to contemplate.

“An answer to the question, however, could not be obtained until I joined my ship, that was certain; so I started.

“It was in the gloaming of a blustering day in early spring that the train in which we travelled, slowly, and after much unseemly delay, rolled rattling into the little station at Sheerness, and after a shoulder-to-shoulder struggle between half a dozen boatmen, who wished to take me, bag and baggage, off somewhere, and the same number of cabbies, who wished to carry me anywhere else, I was lucky enough to get seated in a musty conveyance that smelt like the aroma of wet collie-dogs and stale tobacco, with a slight suspicion of bad beer. Against the windows of this rattletrap beat the cold rain, and the mud flew from the wheels as from a wet swab. Lights were springing up here and there in the street under the busy fingers of a lamp-lighter, who might have been mistaken for a member of the monkey tribe, so nimbly did he glide up and down his skeleton ladder, and hurry along at his task. The wind, too, was doing all in its power to render his work abortive, and the gas-lights burned blue under the blast.

“We were glad when we reached the hotel, but I was gladder still when, on making some inquiries about the ship I was about to join, I was told that the commander was extremely fond of dogs, and that he had two of his own.

“I slept more soundly after that.

“Next day, leaving my friend carefully under lock and key in charge of the worthy proprietor of the Fountain Hotel, I got into uniform, and having hired a shore boat, went off to my ship to report myself. To my joy I found Commander C – to be as kind and jovial a sailor as any one could wish to see and talk to. I was not long before I broached the subject nearest to my heart.

“‘Objection to your dog on board?’ he said, laughing. ‘Bring him, by all means; he won’t kill mine, though, I hope.’

“‘That I’m sure he won’t,’ I replied, feeling as happy as if I had just come into a fortune.

“I went on shore with a light heart, and hugged the dog.

“‘We’re not going to be parted, dear old boy,’ I said. ‘You are going on board with me to-morrow.’

“The evening before my heart was as gloomy as the weather; to-day the sun shone, and my heart was as bright as the sky was blue. Nero and I set out after luncheon to have a look at the town.

“Sheerness on two sides is bounded by the dockyard, which divides it from the sea. Indeed, the dockyard occupies the most comfortable corner, and seems to say to the town, ‘Stand aside; you’re nobody.’ The principal thoroughfare of Sheerness has on one side of it the high, bleak boundary wall, while on the other stands as ragged-looking a line of houses as one could well imagine, putting one in mind of a regiment of militia newly embodied and minus uniform. As you journey from the station, everything reminds you that you are in a naval seaport of the lowest class. Lazy watermen by the dozen loll about the pier-head with their arms, to say nothing of their hands, buried deeply in their breeches-pockets, while every male you meet is either soldier or sailor, dockyard’s man or solemn-looking policeman. Every shop that isn’t a beer-house, is either a general dealer’s, where you can purchase anything nautical, from a sail-needle to sea boots, or an eating house, in the windows of which are temptingly exposed joints of suspiciously red corned-beef, soapy-looking mutton and uninviting pork, and where you are invited to partake of tea and shrimps for ninepence.

“So on the whole the town of Sheerness itself is by no means a very inviting one, nor a very savoury one either.

“But away out beyond the dockyard and over the moat, and Sheerness brightens up a little, and spreads out both to left and right, and you find terraces with trim little gardens and green-painted palings, while instead of the odour of tar and cheese and animal decay, you can breathe the fresh, pure air from over the ocean, and see the green waves come tumbling in and break in soft music on the snowy shingle.

“Here live the benedicts of the flagship. At half-past seven of a fine summer morning you may see them, hurried and hungry, trotting along towards the dockyard, looking as if another hour’s sleep would not have come amiss to them. But once they get on board their ships, how magic-like will be the disappearance of the plump soles, the curried lobster, the corned-beef, and the remains of last night’s pigeon-pie, while the messman can hardly help looking anxious, and the servants run each other down in their hurry to supply the tea and toast!

“Of the country immediately around this town of Sheerness, the principal features are open ditches, slimy and green, evolving an effluvium that keeps the very bees at bay, encircling low flat fields and marshy moors, affording subsistence only to crazy-looking sheep and water rats. The people of Sheerness eat the sheep; I have not been advised as to their eating the rats.

“But, and if you are young, and your muscles are well developed, and your tendo Achillis wiry and strong, then when the summer is in its prime and the sun is brightly shining, shall you leave the odoriferous town and its aguish surroundings, and like ‘Jack of the bean-stalk,’ climb up into a comparative fairyland. At the top of the hill stands the little village of Minster, its romantic old church and ivied tower begirt with the graves of generations long since passed and gone, the very tombstones of which are mouldering to dust. The view from here well repays the labour of climbing the bean-stalk. But leave it behind and journey seaward over the rolling tableland. Rural hamlets; pretty villages; tree-lined lanes and clovery fields with grazing kine – you shall scarcely be tired of such quiet and peaceful scenery when you arrive at the edge of the clayey cliff, with the waves breaking among the boulders on the beach far beneath you, and the sea spreading out towards the horizon a vast plain of rippling green, crowded with ships from every land and clime. Heigho! won’t you be sorry to descend your bean-stalk and re-enter Sheerness once again?

“I do not think, Ida, that ship dogs’ lives are as a rule very happy ones. They get far too little exercise and far too much to eat, so they grow both fat and lazy. But in this particular flagship neither I nor my friend Nero had very much to grumble about. The commander was as good as he looked, and there was not an officer in the ship, nor a man either, that had not a kind word for the dog.

“The great event of the day, as far as Nero and I were concerned, was going on shore in the afternoon for a walk, and a dip in the sea when the weather was warm. Whether the weather was warm or not, Nero always had his bath, for the distance to the shore being hardly half a mile, no sooner had the boat left the vessel’s side than there were cries from some of us officers of the vessel —

“‘Hie over, you dogs, hie over, boys.’

“The first to spring into the sea would be Nero, next went his friend Sambo, and afterwards doggie Daidles. The three black heads in the water put one in mind of seals. Although the retrievers managed to keep well up for some time, gradually the Newfoundland forged ahead, and he was in long before the others, and standing very anxiously gazing seawards to notice how Sambo was getting on; for the currents run fearfully strong there. Daidles always got in second. Of Daidles Nero took not the slightest notice; even had he been drowning he would have made no attempt to save him; but no sooner did Sambo approach the stone steps than with a cry of fond anxiety, the noble Newfoundland used to rush downwards, seize Sambo gently by the neck, and help him out.