Complete works of samuel.., p.32
Complete Works of Samuel Butler, page 32
“Do I understand, then,” said Yram, as I suppose we may as well call her, “that you were out all last night? How tired you must be! But I hope you had enough provisions with you?”
“Indeed we were out all night. We staid by the ranger’s fire till midnight, and then tried to find our way down, but we gave it up soon after we had got out of the forest, and then waited under a large chestnut tree till four or five this morning. As for food, we had not so much as a mouthful from about three in the afternoon till we got to our inn early this morning.”
“Oh, you poor, poor people! how tired you must be.”
“No; we made a good breakfast as soon as we got in, and then went to bed, where we staid till it was time for us to come to your house.”
Here Panky gave his friend a significant look, as much as to say that he had said enough.
This set Hanky on at once. “Strange to say, the ranger was wearing the old Erewhonian dress. It did me good to see it again after all these years. It seems your son lets his men wear what few of the old clothes they may still have, so long as they keep well away from the town. But fancy how carefully these poor fellows husband them; why, it must be seventeen years since the dress was forbidden!”
We all of us have skeletons, large or small, in some cupboard of our lives, but a well regulated skeleton that will stay in its cupboard quietly does not much matter. There are skeletons, however, which can never be quite trusted not to open the cupboard door at some awkward moment, go down stairs, ring the hall-door bell, with grinning face announce themselves as the skeleton, and ask whether the master or mistress is at home. This kind of skeleton, though no bigger than a rabbit, will sometimes loom large as that of a dinotherium. My father was Yram’s skeleton. True, he was a mere skeleton of a skeleton, for the chances were thousands to one that he and my mother had perished long years ago; and even though he rang at the bell, there was no harm that he either could or would now do to her or hers; still, so long as she did not certainly know that he was dead, or otherwise precluded from returning, she could not be sure that he would not one day come back by the way that he would alone know, and she had rather he should not do so.
Hence, on hearing from Professor Hanky that a man had been seen between the statues and Sunch’ston wearing the old Erewhonian dress, she was disquieted and perplexed. The excuse he had evidently made to the Professors aggravated her uneasiness, for it was an obvious attempt to escape from an unexpected difficulty. There could be no truth in it. Her son would as soon think of wearing the old dress himself as of letting his men do so; and as for having old clothes still to wear out after seventeen years, no one but a Bridgeford Professor would accept this. She saw, therefore, that she must keep her wits about her, and lead her guests on to tell her as much as they could be induced to do.
“My son,” she said innocently, “is always considerate to his men, and that is why they are so devoted to him. I wonder which of them it was? In what part of the preserves did you fall in with him?”
Hanky described the place, and gave the best idea he could of my father’s appearance.
“Of course he was swarthy like the rest of us?”
“I saw nothing remarkable about him, except that his eyes were blue and his eyelashes nearly white, which, as you know, is rare in Erewhon. Indeed, I do not remember ever before to have seen a man with dark hair and complexion but light eyelashes. Nature is always doing something unusual.”
“I have no doubt,” said Yram, “that he was the man they call Blacksheep, but I never noticed this peculiarity in him. If he was Blacksheep, I am afraid you must have found him none too civil; he is a rough diamond, and you would hardly be able to understand his uncouth Sunch’ston dialect.”
“On the contrary, he was most kind and thoughtful — even so far as to take our permit from us, and thus save us the trouble of giving it up at your son’s office. As for his dialect, his grammar was often at fault, but we could quite understand him.”
“I am glad to hear he behaved better than I could have expected. Did he say in what part of the preserves he had been?”
“He had been catching quails between the place where we saw him and the statues; he was to deliver three dozen to your son this afternoon for the Mayor’s banquet on Sunday.”
This was worse and worse. She had urged her son to provide her with a supply of quails for Sunday’s banquet, but he had begged her not to insist on having them. There was no close time for them in Erewhon, but he set his face against their being seen at table in spring and summer. During the winter, when any great occasion arose, he had allowed a few brace to be provided.
“I asked my son to let me have some,” said Yram, who was now on full scent. She laughed genially as she added, “Can you throw any light upon the question whether I am likely to get my three dozen? I have had no news as yet.”
“The man had taken a good many; we saw them but did not count them. He started about midnight for the ranger’s shelter, where he said he should sleep till daybreak, so as to make up his full tale betimes.”
Yram had heard her son complain that there were no shelters on the preserves, and state his intention of having some built before the winter. Here too, then, the man’s story must be false. She changed the conversation for the moment, but quietly told a servant to send high and low in search of her son, and if he could be found, to bid him come to her at once. She then returned to her previous subject.
“And did not this heartless wretch, knowing how hungry you must both be, let you have a quail or two as an act of pardonable charity?”
“My dear Mayoress, how can you ask such a question? We knew you would want all you could get; moreover, our permit threatened us with all sorts of horrors if we so much as ate a single quail. I assure you we never even allowed a thought of eating one of them to cross our minds.”
“Then,” said Yram to herself, “they gorged upon them.” What could she think? A man who wore the old dress, and therefore who had almost certainly been in Erewhon, but had been many years away from it; who spoke the language well, but whose grammar was defective — hence, again, one who had spent some time in Erewhon; who knew nothing of the afforesting law now long since enacted, for how else would he have dared to light a fire and be seen with quails in his possession; an adroit liar, who on gleaning information from the Professors had hazarded an excuse for immediately retracing his steps; a man, too, with blue eyes and light eyelashes. What did it matter about his hair being dark and his complexion swarthy — Higgs was far too clever to attempt a second visit to Erewhon without dyeing his hair and staining his face and hands. And he had got their permit out of the Professors before he left them; clearly, then, he meant coming back, and coming back at once before the permit had expired. How could she doubt? My father, she felt sure, must by this time be in Sunch’ston. He would go back to change his clothes, which would not be very far down on the other side the pass, for he would not put on his old Erewhonian dress till he was on the point of entering Erewhon; and he would hide his English dress rather than throw it away, for he would want it when he went back again. It would be quite possible, then, for him to get through the forest before the permit was void, and he would be sure to go on to Sunch’ston for the night.
She chatted unconcernedly, now with one guest now with another, while they in their turn chatted unconcernedly with one another.
Miss La Frime to Mrs. Humdrum: “You know how he got his professorship? No? I thought every one knew that. The question the candidates had to answer was, whether it was wiser during a long stay at a hotel to tip the servants pretty early, or to wait till the stay was ended. All the other candidates took one side or the other, and argued their case in full. Hanky sent in three lines to the effect that the proper thing to do would be to promise at the beginning, and go away without giving. The King, with whom the appointment rested, was so much pleased with this answer that he gave Hanky the professorship without so much as looking . . .”
Professor Gabb to Mrs. Humdrum: “Oh no, I can assure you there is no truth in it. What happened was this. There was the usual crowd, and the people cheered Professor after Professor, as he stood before them in the great Bridgeford theatre and satisfied them that a lump of butter which had been put into his mouth would not melt in it. When Hanky’s turn came he was taken suddenly unwell, and had to leave the theatre, on which there was a report in the house that the butter had melted; this was at once stopped by the return of the Professor. Another piece of butter was put into his mouth, and on being taken out after the usual time, was found to shew no signs of having . . .”
Miss Bawl to Mr. Principal Crank: . . . “The Manager was so tall, you know, and then there was that little mite of an assistant manager — it was so funny. For the assistant manager’s voice was ever so much louder than the . . .”
Mrs. Bawl to Professor Gabb: . . . “Live for art! If I had to choose whether I would lose either art or science, I have not the smallest hesitation in saying that I would lose . . .”
The Mayor and Dr. Downie: . . . “That you are to be canonised at the close of the year along with Professors Hanky and Panky?”
“I believe it is his Majesty’s intention that the Professors and myself are to head the list of the Sunchild’s Saints, but we have all of us got to . . .”
And so on, and so on, buzz, buzz, buzz, over the whole table. Presently Yram turned to Hanky and said —
“By the way, Professor, you must have found it very cold up at the statues, did you not? But I suppose the snow is all gone by this time?”
“Yes, it was cold, and though the winter’s snow is melted, there had been a recent fall. Strange to say, we saw fresh footprints in it, as of some one who had come up from the other side. But thereon hangs a tale, about which I believe I should say nothing.”
“Then say nothing, my dear Professor,” said Yram with a frank smile. “Above all,” she added quietly and gravely, “say nothing to the Mayor, nor to my son, till after Sunday. Even a whisper of some one coming over from the other side disquiets them, and they have enough on hand for the moment.”
Panky, who had been growing more and more restive at his friend’s outspokenness, but who had encouraged it more than once by vainly trying to check it, was relieved at hearing his hostess do for him what he could not do for himself. As for Yram, she had got enough out of the Professor to be now fully dissatisfied, and mentally informed them that they might leave the witness-box. During the rest of dinner she let the subject of their adventure severely alone.
It seemed to her as though dinner was never going to end; but in the course of time it did so, and presently the ladies withdrew. As they were entering the drawing-room a servant told her that her son had been found more easily than was expected, and was now in his own room dressing.
“Tell him,” she said, “to stay there till I come, which I will do directly.”
She remained for a few minutes with her guests, and then, excusing herself quietly to Mrs. Humdrum, she stepped out and hastened to her son’s room. She told him that Professors Hanky and Panky were staying in the house, and that during dinner they had told her something he ought to know, but which there was no time to tell him until her guests were gone. “I had rather,” she said, “tell you about it before you see the Professors, for if you see them the whole thing will be reopened, and you are sure to let them see how much more there is in it than they suspect. I want everything hushed up for the moment; do not, therefore, join us. Have dinner sent to you in your father’s study. I will come to you about midnight.”
“But, my dear mother,” said George, “I have seen Panky already. I walked down with him a good long way this afternoon.”
Yram had not expected this, but she kept her countenance. “How did you know,” said she, “that he was Professor Panky? Did he tell you so?”
“Certainly he did. He showed me his permit, which was made out in favour of Professors Hanky and Panky, or either of them. He said Hanky had been unable to come with him, and that he was himself Professor Panky.”
Yram again smiled very sweetly. “Then, my dear boy,” she said, “I am all the more anxious that you should not see him now. See nobody but the servants and your brothers, and wait till I can enlighten you. I must not stay another moment; but tell me this much, have you seen any signs of poachers lately?”
“Yes; there were three last night.”
“In what part of the preserves?”
Her son described the place.
“You are sure they had been killing quails?”
“Yes, and eating them — two on one side of a fire they had lit, and one on the other; this last man had done all the plucking.”
“Good!”
She kissed him with more than even her usual tenderness, and returned to the drawing-room.
During the rest of the evening she was engaged in earnest conversation with Mrs. Humdrum, leaving her other guests to her daughters and to themselves. Mrs. Humdrum had been her closest friend for many years, and carried more weight than any one else in Sunch’ston, except, perhaps, Yram herself. “Tell him everything,” she said to Yram at the close of their conversation; “we all dote upon him; trust him frankly, as you trusted your husband before you let him marry you. No lies, no reserve, no tears, and all will come right. As for me, command me,” and the good old lady rose to take her leave with as kind a look on her face as ever irradiated saint or angel. “I go early,” she added, “for the others will go when they see me do so, and the sooner you are alone the better.”
By half an hour before midnight her guests had gone. Hanky and Panky were given to understand that they must still be tired, and had better go to bed. So was the Mayor; so were her sons and daughters, except of course George, who was waiting for her with some anxiety, for he had seen that she had something serious to tell him. Then she went down into the study. Her son embraced her as she entered, and moved an easy chair for her, but she would not have it.
“No; I will have an upright one.” Then, sitting composedly down on the one her son placed for her, she said —
“And now to business. But let me first tell you that the Mayor was told, twenty years ago, all the more important part of what you will now hear. He does not yet know what has happened within the last few hours, but either you or I will tell him to-morrow.”
CHAPTER IX: INTERVIEW BETWEEN YRAM AND HER SON
“What did you think of Panky?”
“I could not make him out. If he had not been a Bridgeford Professor I might have liked him; but you know how we all of us distrust those people.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“About two hours lower down than the statues.”
“At what o’clock?”
“It might be between two and half-past.”
“I suppose he did not say that at that hour he was in bed at his hotel in Sunch’ston. Hardly! Tell me what passed between you.”
“He had his permit open before we were within speaking distance. I think he feared I should attack him without making sure whether he was a foreign devil or no. I have told you he said he was Professor Panky.”
“I suppose he had a dark complexion and black hair like the rest of us?”
“Dark complexion and hair purplish rather than black. I was surprised to see that his eyelashes were as light as my own, and his eyes were blue like mine — but you will have noticed this at dinner.”
“No, my dear, I did not, and I think I should have done so if it had been there to notice.”
“Oh, but it was so indeed.”
“Perhaps. Was there anything strange about his way of talking?”
“A little about his grammar, but these Bridgeford Professors have often risen from the ranks. His pronunciation was nearly like yours and mine.”
“Was his manner friendly?”
“Very; more so than I could understand at first. I had not, however, been with him long before I saw tears in his eyes, and when I asked him whether he was in distress, he said I reminded him of a son whom he had lost and had found after many years, only to lose him almost immediately for ever. Hence his cordiality towards me.”
“Then,” said Yram half hysterically to herself, “he knew who you were. Now, how, I wonder, did he find that out?” All vestige of doubt as to who the man might be had now left her.
“Certainly he knew who I was. He spoke about you more than once, and wished us every kind of prosperity, baring his head reverently as he spoke.”
“Poor fellow! Did he say anything about Higgs?”
“A good deal, and I was surprised to find he thought about it all much as we do. But when I said that if I could go down into the hell of which Higgs used to talk to you while he was in prison, I should expect to find him in its hottest fires, he did not like it.”
“Possibly not, my dear. Did you tell him how the other boys, when you were at school, used sometimes to say you were son to this man Higgs, and that the people of Sunch’ston used to say so also, till the Mayor trounced two or three people so roundly that they held their tongues for the future?”
“Not all that, but I said that silly people had believed me to be the Sunchild’s son, and what a disgrace I should hold it to be son to such an impostor.”
“What did he say to this?”
“He asked whether I should feel the disgrace less if Higgs were to undo the mischief he had caused by coming back and shewing himself to the people for what he was. But he said it would be no use for him to do so, inasmuch as people would kill him but would not believe him.”
“And you said?”
“Let him come back, speak out, and chance what might befall him. In that case, I should honour him, father or no father.”
“And he?”
“He asked if that would be a bargain; and when I said it would, he grasped me warmly by the hand on Higgs’s behalf — though what it could matter to him passes my comprehension.”
