8070
I do not know whether Lumme quite understood this to be a jest. He took me to three sets of apartments, and at each asked first to be shown the bathroom, and then the servant, after which he inquired the price, and whether a tenant was at liberty to introduce any guest at any hour.
Finally, to end the story of that day, which began in jail and ended so merrily, I found myself the tenant of a highly comfortable set of apartments, with everything but the valet supplied at an astonishingly high price.
“However,” I said to myself, “it may be expensive, but it is better than ten years' transportation for burgling Fisher!”
8000
“Little, cheerful, and honest—do you not know the species?”
—Kovaleffski.
9072
HAD left my hotel and settled in my apartments; the labels with “Nelson Bunyan” were removed from my luggage; I had been assured that so long as I remained on English soil I was safe. Next thing I must find a servant; one who should “know the ropes” of an English life. Lumme had promised to make inquiries for me, and I had impressed upon him that the following things were essential—in fact, I declared that without them I should never entertain an application for one instant. First, he must be of such an appearance as would do me credit, whether equipped in the livery I had already designed for him, in the cast-off suits I should provide him with, or in the guise of an attendant at the chase or upon the moors. Then, that he must be honest enough to trust in the room with a handful of mixed change, sober enough to leave alone with a decanter, discerning enough to arrange an odd lot of sixteen boots into eight pairs, cleanly enough to pack collars without soiling them. Finally, he must be polite, obliging, industrious, discreet, and, if possible, a little religious—not sufficiently so to criticise my conduct, but enough to regulate his own.
I wrote this list down and handed it to the obliging Teddy.
“You will procure him by this afternoon?” I said.
“I know a man who keeps a Methodist footman in his separate establishment,” answered Lumme, after a moment's reflection. “That's the kind of article you require, I suppose. If you get 'em too moral there's apt to be a screw loose somewhere, and if you get 'em the other way the spoons go. Well, I can't promise, but I'll do my best.”
So this amiable young man departed, and I, to pass the time, walked into Piccadilly, and there took my seat once more upon the top of an omnibus to enjoy the sunshine, and be for a time a spectator of the life in the streets. To obtain a better view I sat down on the front bench close to the driver's elbow, and we had not gone very far before this individual turned to me and remarked with a cordiality that pleased me infinitely, and a perspicacity that astonished me:
“Been long in London, sir?”
“You perceive that I am a stranger, then?” I asked.
“Well,” said the man, as he cracked his whip and drove his lumbering coach straight at an orifice between two cabs just wide enough, it seemed to me, for a wheelbarrow, “I'm a observer, I am. When I sees that speckled tie droopin' from a collar of unknown horigin, and them rum kind of boots, I says to myself a Rooshian, for 'alf a sovereign. Come from Rooshia, sir?”
The man's naïveté delighted me.
“I belong to an allied power,” I replied, wondering if his powers of observation would enable him to decide my nationality now.
He seemed to debate the question as, with an apropos greeting to each cabman, his 'bus bumped them to the side and sailed down the middle of the street.
“Native o' Manchuria, perhaps?” he hazarded.
“Not quite; try again.”
“Siberia?” he suggested next.
Seeing that either his imagination or my appearance confined his speculations to Asia, I told him forthwith that I was French.
“French?” he said. “Well, now I'm surprised to 'ear it, sir. If you'll excuse me saying so, you don't look like no Frenchman.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“I always thought they was little chaps, no bigger than a monkey. Why, you're quite as tall as most Englishmen.”
Considering that my friend could not possibly have measured more than five feet, two inches, and that I am five feet, nine inches, in my socks, I was highly diverted by this.
“Have you seen many Frenchmen?” I asked him. “I knew one once,” he replied, after a minute or two's thought, and a brief interruption to invite some ladies on the pavement to enter his 'bus. “'E was a waiter at the Bull's 'Ead, 'Ighbury. I drove a 'bus that way then, and there was a young lady served in the bar 'im and me was both sweet on. Nasty, greasy little man 'e was—meaning no reflection on you, sir. They couldn't make out where the fresh butter went, and when 'e left—which 'e 'ad to for kissing the missis when she wasn't 'erself, 'aving 'ad a drop more than 'er usual—do you know what they found, sir?”
I confessed my inability to guess this secret. “Why, 'e'd put it all on 'is beastly 'air, two pounds a week, sir, of the very best fresh butter in 'Ighbury. Perhaps, sir, I've been prejudiced against Frenchmen in consequence.”
I admitted that he had every excuse, and asked him whether my buttered compatriot had won the maiden's affections in addition to his other offences.
“No, sir,” said he, “I'm 'appy to say she 'ad more sense. More sense than to take either of us,” he added, with a deep sigh, and then, as if to quench melancholy reflections, hailed another driver who was passing us in the most hilarious fashion.
“'Old your 'at on, ole man!” he shouted. “Them opera-'ats is getting scarce, you know!”
8076
The other driver, a bottle-nosed man, redeemed only from unusual shabbiness by the head-gear in question, winked, leered, and made some reply about “not 'aving such a fat head underneath it as some people.”
My friend turned to me with a confidential air. “You saw that gentleman as I addressed?” he said, in an impressive voice. “Well, that man was driving 'is own kerridge not five years ago. On the Stock Exchange 'e was, and worth ten thousand a year if 'e was worth a penny; 'ouse in Park Lane, and married to the daughter of a baronite. 'E's told me all that 'isself, so it's true and no 'umbug.
“'Ow did 'e lose 'is money? Hunfortunit speculations and consols goin' down; but you, being a furriner, won't likely understand.”
Looking as unsophisticated as possible, I pressed my friend for an explanation of these mysteries.
9077
“Well,” said he, “it's something like this: If you goes on the Stock Exchange you buys what they calls consols—that's stocks and shares of various sorts and kinds, but principally mines in Australia, and inventions for to make things different from what they is at present. That's what's called makin' a corner, which ain't a corner exactly in the usual sense—not as used in England, that's to say, but a kind o' American variety.
“What, O Bill! Bloomin', thank you. 'Ow's yourself?” (This to another driver passed upon the road.)
“As I was savin', sir, this 'ere pore friend o' mine speculated in consols, and prices being what they calls up, and then shiftin', he loses and the bank wins. Inside o' twenty-four hours that there gentleman was changed from one of the richest men in the city into a pore cove a-looking out for a job like you and me.”
“And he chose driving an omnibus?” I asked. “'Adn't got no choice. He was too much of a gentleman to sink to a ordinary perfession, and drivin' a pair o' 'orses seems to 'im more in keepin' with 'is position than drivin' one 'orse in a cab, which was the only thing left.”
He paused, and then shaking his head with an air of sentiment, continued:
“Wunderful 'ow sensitive he is, sir. He wouldn't part with that there hopera-'at, not if you give him five 'undred pounds; yet he can't a-bear to 'ear it chipped, not except in a kind o' delicate way, same as I did just now. You 'eard me, sir? 'Hop-era-'ats is scarce,' says I; but I dursn't sail closer to the wind nor that. 'E'd say, “Old your jaw, Halfred,' or words to that effec', quick enough. Comes o' being bred too fine for the job, I tells 'im often; I says it to 'im straight, sir.' Comes o' being bred too fine for the job,' says I.”
At this point my friend's attention was called from the romantic history of his fellow-driver to the exigencies of their common profession, and I had an opportunity of studying more attentively this entertaining specimen of the cockney.
He was, as I have said, a very short man, from thirty to thirty-five years of age, I judged, redcheeked and snub-nosed, with a bright, cheerful eye, and the most friendly and patronizing manner. Yet he was perfectly respectful and civil, despite his knowledge of my unfortunate nationality. In fact, it seemed his object to place me as far as possible at my ease, and enable me to forget for a space the blot upon my origin.
“There's some quite clever Frenchmen, I' ve 'eard tell,” he said, presently. “That there 'idro-phobia man—and Napoleon Bonyparty, in his way, too, I suppose, though we don't think so much of 'im over 'ere.”
“I am sorry to hear that, I said.
“Well, sir,” he explained, “we believes in a man 'aving his fair share of what's goin'. Like as if me and a friend goes inter a public 'ouse, and another gentleman he comes in and he says, 'What's it going to be this time?' or, 'Name your gargle, gents,' or words to some such effec'; and we says, 'Right you are, old man,' and 'as a drink at his expense. Now it wouldn't be fair if I says to the young lady, 'I'll 'ave a 'ole bottle of Scotch whiskey, miss, and what I can't drink I'll take 'ome in a noospaper,' and I leaves 'im to pay for all that; would it, sir? Well, that's what Bonyparty done; 'e tried to get more nor his share o' what was goin' in Europe. Not that it affec's us much, we being able to take care of ourselves, but we don't like to see it, sir. That's 'ow it is.”
All this time we had been going eastward into the city of London, and now we were arrived at the most extraordinary scene of confusion you can possibly imagine. I should be afraid to say how many 'buses and cabs were struggling and surging in a small open space at the junction of several streets. Foot-passengers in hundreds bustled along the pavements or dodged between the horses, and, immobile in the midst of it, the inevitable policeman appeared actually to be sifting this mob according to some mysterious scheme.
“Cheer-O,” cried my friend upon the box. “'Ow's the price o' lime-juice this morning?
“That there's wot we calls the Bank, sir, where the Queen keeps 'er money, and the Rothschilds and the like o' them; guarded by seven 'undred of the flower o' the British army, it is, the hofficer bein' hinvariably a millionaire hisself, in case he's tempted to steal. Garn yerself and git yer face syringed with a fire-'ose. You can't clean it no 'ow else. The 'andsome hedifice to your right, sir, is the Mansion 'Ouse; not the station of that name, but the 'ome of the Lord Mayor; kind o' governor of the city, 'e is; 'as a hextraordinary show of 'is own on taking the hoath of hofflce; people comes all the way from Halgiers and San Francisco to see it; camels and 'orses got up like chargers of the holden time, and men disguised so as their own girls wouldn't know 'em. Representing harts, hindustries, and hempire, that's their game. Pleeceman, them there bloomin' whiskers of yours will get mowed off by a four-wheel cab some day, and then 'ow'll you look? Too bloomin' funny, am I? More'n them whiskers is, hinterfering with the traffic like that.”
“Yes, sir, we 'as a rest 'ere for a few minutes; we ain't near at the end yet, though.”
9081
I shall leave it to your judgment to guess which of these remarks were addressed to me and which to various of his countrymen in this vortex of wheels and human beings. For a few minutes he now sat at ease in a quieter street (though, my faith! no street in this city of London but would seem busy in most towns), apparently deliberating what topic to enter upon next. I say apparently deliberating, but on further acquaintance with my good “Halfred,” as he called himself (the aspirated form of “Alfred” used by the cockney Alfred being the name of England's famous monarch), I came to the conclusion that his mind never was known to go through any such process. What came first into his head flew straight to his tongue, till by constant use that organ had got into a state of unstable equilibrium, like the tongue of a toy mandarin, that oscillates for five minutes if you move him ever so gently.
In a word, Halfred was an inveterate chatterbox.
Even had I been that very compatriot of mine who had so deeply, and, I could not but admit, so justly, roused his ire, he would, I am sure, have chattered just as hard.
By the time we were under way again and threading the eastern alleys of the city—for they are called streets only by courtesy—his tongue had started too, and he was talking just as hard as ever. Now, however, his conversation took a more reminiscent and a more personal turn, and this led to such sweeping consequences that I shall keep the last half of our journey together for a separate chapter.
8000
“Your valet? Pardon; I thought he had come to measure the gas!”
—Hercule d'Enville.
9083
UT of the limits of this city of Lon-don we drove into the beginnings of the east. Not the Orient of the poet and the traveller, the land of the thousand-and-one nights, but the miles and miles of brick where some millions of Londoners pass an existence that ages me to think of. Picture to yourself a life more desolate of joys than the Arctic, more crowded with fellow-animals than any ant-heap, uglier than the Great Desert, as poor and as diseased as Job. Not even the wealthy there to gossip about and gape at, no great house to envy and admire, no glitter anywhere to distract, except in the music-halls of an evening. Yet they work on and do not hang themselves—poor devils!
But I grow serious where I had set out to be gay, and thoughtful when you are asking for a somersault. Worse still, I am solemn, sitting at the elbow of my cheerful Halfred.
That genial driver of the omnibus was not one whit depressed upon coming into this region, nor, to tell the truth, was I that morning, for I could not see the backward parts, but only the wide main road, very airy after the lanes of the city, and crowded with quite a different population. No longer the business-man with shining hat, hands in pockets, quick step, and anxious face; no longer the well-dressed woman hurrying likewise through the throng; no longer the jingling hansom; but, instead, the compatriot of the prophets, the costermonger with his barrow, the residue of Hungary and Poland, the pipe of the British workman. Wains of hay in the midst of the road, drays and lorries, and an occasional omnibus jolting at the sides; to be sure there was life enough to look at.
As for my friend, his talk began to turn more upon his own private affairs. Apparently there was less around to catch his attention, and, as I have said, he had to talk, and so spoke of himself. As I sat on the top of that 'bus listening with continuous amusement to his candid reminiscences and naïve philosophy, I studied him more attentively than ever, for, as you shall presently hear, I had more reason. His dress, I noticed, was neat beyond the average of drivers; a coat of box-cloth, once light yellow, now of various shades, but still quite respectable; a felt hat with a flat top, glazed to throw off the rain; a colored scarf around his neck, whether concealing a collar or not I could not say; and something round his knees that might once have been a rug or a horse-cloth, or even a piece of carpet.
“Yus,” said Halfred, meditatively, as he cracked his whip and urged his 'bus at headlong speed through a space in the traffic, “it's some rum changes o' luck I've 'ad in my day.
9085
My father he give me a surprisin' good eddication for a hembyro 'bus-driver, meaning me to go into the stevedore business in Lime-'ousc basin, same as 'e was 'imself, but my 'ead got swelled a-talkin' to a most superior policeman what 'ad come down in the world, and nothing would sat-ersfy me but mixin' in 'igh life. So our rector 'e gives me a introduction to a bloomin' aunt o' his in the country what wanted a boy in buttons, and into buttons I goes, and I says to myself, says I, 'Halfred, you're goin' to be a credit to your fam'ly, you are'; that's what I says. Blimy, I often larf now a-thinkin' of it!”
He paused to blow his nose in a primitive but effective fashion, and smiled gently to himself at these recollections of his youthful optimism.
“How long did you remain in these buttons?” I asked him.
“Till I outgrowed them,” said Halfred.
“And after that?”
“I was servant to a gentleman what hadvertised for a honest young man, hexperience bein' no hobject.”
I asked him how he liked that.
“I was comfertable enough; that I can't deny,” said Halfred.
“And why, then, did you leave?”
“The heverlastin' reason w'y I does most foolish things, sir. My 'eart is too suscepterble, and the ladies'-maid was too captivatin'. She wouldn't 'ave nothin' to do with me, so I chucks the 'ole thing up, and, says I, 'I'll be hinderpendent, I will.' 'Ence I'm a-drivin' a 'bus.”
“Are you happy now?” I inquired.
“Well,” said he, candidly, “I couldn't say as I was exactly 'umped; but it ain't all bottled beer sittin' in this bloomin' arm-chair with your whiskers froze stiff, and the 'orses' ears out o' sight in the fog. And there ain't much variety in it, nor much chance of becomin' a millionaire. Hoften and hoften I thinks to myself, 'What O for a pair o' trousers to fold, and a good fire in the servants' 'all, and hinderpendence be blowed!'”
9087
I think it was at this moment that an inspiration came into my head. It was rash, you will doubtless think.
“I 'ope so, sir,” said he, with becoming modesty and evident surprise.
“And now you are experienced?”
“Well, sir,” he said, “you've 'ad threepence worth o' this 'ere 'bus, and you 'aven't seed me scrape off no paint yet.”
“But, I mean, you are experienced in folding trousers, in packing shirts, in varnishing boots, in all the niceties of your old profession, are you not? You would do credit to a gentleman if he should engage you?”
It was certainly sudden, but then, as perhaps you have discovered ere now, I am not the most prudent of men. This little, cheerful Halfred had taken my fancy enormously, and my heart was warmed towards him.
“Halfred,” I asked, abruptly, “are you still an honest young man?”
Halfred looked at me sharply, with a true cockney's suspicion of what he feared might be “chaff.”
“You ain't a-pulling my leg, sir?” he inquired, guardedly.
“On the contrary, I am taking your hand as an honest and experienced valet, Halfred.”
“You knows of a gentleman as wants one?” said he.
“I do,” I answered, with conviction.
“It ain't yourself, sir?”
“It is,” said I.
“Blimy!” exclaimed Halfred, in an audible aside.
“What about references?” said he.
“Oh, references; yes, I suppose you had better have some references,” I replied, though, to tell the truth, I had not thought of them before.
He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand and screwed his rosy face into a deliberative expression, while his eyes twinkled cheerfully.
“I don't mind 'aving a go at the job,” he remarked, after a couple of minutes' reflection.
“Apply this evening,” I said. “Bring a reference if you have one, and I shall engage you, Halfred!”
For the rest of our journey together his gratitude and pleasure, his curiosity, and his qualms as to how much he remembered and how much he had forgotten of a man-servant's duties, delighted me still further, and made me congratulate myself upon my discrimination and judgment.
We parted company among the docks and shipping of the very far east of London, and after rambling for a time by the busy wharves and breezy harbor basins, and, marvelling again at the vastness and variety of this city, I mounted another omnibus and drove back to my rooms.
“A man to see you, sir,” said the maid.
Could it be Halfred, already? No, it was a very different individual; a tall and stately man, with a prim mouth and an eye of unfathomable discretion. He stood in an attitude denoting at once respect for me and esteem for himself, and followed me to my room upon a gently creaking boot.
“Well,” said I, at a loss to know whether he came to collect a tax or induce me to order a coffin, “what can I do for you?”
“Mr. Lumme, sir,” said he, in a mincing voice, “has informed me that you was requiring a manservant. Enclosed you will find Air. Lumme's recommendation.”
He handed me a letter which ran as follows:
Dear Monsieur,—I have found the very man you want. He was valet to Lord Pluckham for five years, and could not have learned more from any one. Pluck-ham was very particular as to dress, and had many affairs requiring a discreet servant. He only left when P. went bankrupt, and has had excellent experience since. Been witness in two divorce cases, and is highly recommended by all; also a primitive Wesleyan by religion, and well educated. You cannot find a better man in London, nor as good, I assure you. His name is John Mingle. Don't lose this chance. I have had some trouble, but am glad to have found the very article.
“Yours truly,
“Edward Lumme.”
This was a pretty dilemma! The industrious and obliging Lumme had found one jewel, and in the meanwhile I had engaged another. I felt so ungrateful and guilty that I was ashamed to let my good Teddy discover what I had done. So instead of telling Mr. Mingle at once that the place was filled, I resolved to find him deficient in some important point, and decline to engage him on these grounds. Easier said than done.
“Your experience has been wide?” I asked, looking critical and feeling foolish.
“If I may say so, sir, it has,” said he, glancing down modestly at the hat he held in his hands.
“You can iron a hat?” I inquired, casting round in my mind for some task too heavy for this Hercules.
He smiled with, I thought, a little pity.
“Oh, certingly, sir.”
“Can you cook?”
“I have hitherto stayed at houses where separate cooks was kept,” said he; “but if we should happen to be a-camping out in Norway, sir, there isn't nothing but French pastry I won't be happy to oblige with—on a occasion, that's to say, sir.”
Not only were Mr. Alingle's accomplishments comprehensive, but he evidently looked upon himself as already engaged by me. Internally cursing his impudence, I asked next if he could sew.
“At a pinch, sir,” said he. “That is,” he added, correcting this vulgar expression, “if the maids is indisposed, or like as if we was on board your yacht, sir, and there was no hother alternative.”
“We” again—and it seemed Mr. Alingle expected me to keep a yacht!
Could he load and clean a gun, saddle a horse, ride a bicycle, oil a motor-car, read a cipher, and manage a camera? Yes; in the absence of the various officials which “our” establishment maintained for these purposes, Mr. Mlingle would be able and willing to oblige.
Moreover, he talked with a beautiful accent, and only very occasionally misused an aspirate; and there could be no doubt he would make an impressive appearance in any livery I could design. Even as a Pierrot he would have looked dignified. On what pretext could I reject this paragon?
“Can you drive an omnibus?” I demanded, at last, with a flash of genius.
This time Mr. Alingle looked fairly disconcerted.
“Drive a homnibus!” said he. “No, sir; my position and prospec's have always been such that I am happy to say I have never had the opportunity of practising.”
9092
I shook my head.
“I am afraid,” I said, “that you won't suit me, Mingle. It is my amusement to keep a private omnibus.”
“Oh, private,” said Mr. Mingle, as though that might make a difference.
But quickly I added:
“It is painted and upholstered just like the others. In fact, I buy them secondhand when beyond repair. Also I take poor people from the work-house for a drive. And you must drive it in all weathers.”
That was the end of Mr. Mingle. In fact, I think he was glad to find himself safely out of my room again, and what he thought of my tastes, and even of my sanity, I think I can guess.
That evening my friend Halfred appeared, bringing a testimonial to his honesty and sobriety from the proprietor of the stables, and a brief line of eulogy from the official who collected the pence and supplied the tickets upon his own “bus. This last certificate ran thus—I give it exactly as it stood:
“certtifieing alfred Winkes is I of The best obligging and You will find him kind to animils yours Sinseerly P. Widdup.”
As Halfred explained to me, this was entirely unsolicited, and Mr. Widdup, he was sure, would feel hurt if he learned that it had not been presented.
“You can tell him,” I said, “that it has secured the situation for you.”
I had just told him that I should expect him to begin his duties upon the following morning, and he was inspecting my apartment with an air of great interest and satisfaction, when there came a knock upon the door, and in walked Sir. Teddy Lumme himself. He was in evening-dress, covered by the most recent design in top-coats and the most spotless of white scarfs. On his head he wore a large opera-hat, tilted at the same angle, and on his feet small and shiny boots.
“Hullo,” said he. “Sorry; am I interrupting? Came to see if you'd booked Mingle. I suppose you have.'”
“A thousand thanks, my friend, for your trouble.”
I replied, with an earnestness proportionate to my feeling of compunction. “Mingle was, indeed, admirable—exquisite. In fact, he was perfect in every respect save one.”
“What's that?” said Teddy, looking a little surprised.
“He could not drive an omnibus.”
I am afraid my friend Teddy thought that I was joking. He certainly seemed to have difficulty in finding a reply to this. Then an explanation struck him.
“You mean what we call a coach,” he suggested. “Thing with four horses and a toot-toot-toot business—post-horn, we call it. What?”
“I mean an omnibus,” I replied. “The elegant, the fascinating, British 'bus. And here I have found a man who can drive me. This is my new servant, Halfred Winkles.”
Lumme stared at him, as well he might, for my Halfred cut a very different figure from the grave, polished, quietly attired Mingle. To produce the very best impression possible, he had dressed himself in a suit of conspicuously checkered cloth, very tight in the leg and wide at the foot, and surmounted by a very bright-blue scarf tightly knotted round his neck. In his button-hole was an artificial tulip, in his pocket a wonderful red-and-yellow handkerchief. His ruddy face shone so brightly that I shrewdly suspected his friend Wid-dup had scrubbed it with a handful of straw, and he held in his hand, pressed against his breast, the same shining waterproof hat beneath which he drove the 'bus.
“Left your last place long?” asked Lumme, of this apparition.
“Gave 'em notice this arternoon, sir,” said Halfred.
“Who were you with?”
9095
“London General,” replied Halfred.
“I hope you'll turn out all right, and do my friend, the monsieur here, credit.”
As he turned to go he added to me, aside:
“Rum-looking chap, he seems to me. Keep an eye on him, I'd advise you. Personally, I'd have chosen Mingle, but o' course you know best. Good-night.”
And I was left with the faithful Halfred.
“A London general?” said Teddy. “Sounds all right. He gave you a good character, I sup——”
I interposed.
“Well,” said Lumme, dubiously,
8000
“I often envy the snail. Mon Dieu, think of at ways travelling beneath the comfortable roof of one's own house!”
—Maxime Argon.
9096
ND now I must tell you something about my rooms, the little ledge in London in which I rested, and flapped my wings and preened my feathers. The door of the house rented by Mr. and Mrs. Titch, and disposed of piece-meal to unmarried gentlemen, looked upon a very tiny square opening off a busy street. But my two chambers were at the back, and from their windows I saw nothing of square or street, or any house at all. The green Hyde Park with its trees and grass, and the wide drive where carriages and people aired themselves and lingered, that was what I saw; and often I could fancy myself in the woods and the gardens about a certain house in another land, and then I would shut my eyes and let the picture grow and grow, till I could hear known voices and look upon old faces that perhaps I should never again hear or see in any other fashion. Yes, the exile may be very gay, and jingle the foreign coins in his pocket, and whistle the airs of alien songs, and afterwards write humorously of his adventures; but there are many moments when he and the canary in the cage are very near together.
For myself, I am best, my friends say, when I am laughing at the world and playing somewhat the buffoon. And, of course, I am naturally anxious to appear at my best. Besides, I must confess that I do not think this world is an affair to be treated with a too great gravity; not, at least, if one can help it. Frequently it makes itself ridiculous even in the partial eyes of its own inhabitants. How much more frequently if one could sit outside—upon a passing shower, for instance—and see it as we look upon a play? Ten to one, some of our most sententious friends would seem no different from those amusing sparrows discussing the law of property in a bread-crumb, or from my dog playing the solemn comedy of the buried bone. Therefore I always think it safer to assume that there is some unseen cynic, some creature in the fourth dimension, looking over my shoulder as I write, and exclaiming, when I grow too sensible, “Oh, the wise fool!”
Yet for all this excellent philosophy, and in spite of a most reasonable desire to say those things that are instantly rewarded by a smile, rather than those an audience receives in silence, and perhaps approves, perhaps condemns—despite all this, the rubbing of the world upon a set of nerves does not always make one merry; and in that humor I should sometimes like to perpetrate a serious sentence. If ever I succumb to this temptation of the writer's devil, please turn the page and do not linger over the indiscretion.
Therefore I shall pass quickly over the thin ice of sentiment, the days when I felt lonely on my comfortable ledge, the hours I spent looking at the fire. More amusing to tell you of the bright lining to my clouds; of the sitting-room, for instance, low in the ceiling, commodious, and shaped, I think, to fit the chimneys or the stairs or the water-butt outside; at any rate, to suit something that required two unequal recesses and three non-rectangular corners. It was on the ground-floor, and had two French windows (of which the adjective cheered me, I think, as much as the noun). These opened upon a little, stone-paved space, shaded by a high tree in the park, and which I called my garden.
Rejecting some articles of my landlord's furniture as too splendid for an untitled tenant—a plush-covered settee, for instance, and an alabaster tea-table, adorned with cut-glass trophies from the drawing-room of a bankrupt alderman—I replaced them by a bookcase, three easy-chairs, and an inviting sofa of my own; I bought substitutes for the engravings of “The Child's First Prayer” and “The Last Kiss,” and the colored plates representing idyllic passages from the lives of honest artisans, which had regaled my predecessor; I recurtained the dear French windows.
Neither Mr. Titch nor his good wife entirely approved of these changes. In fact, I suspect they would have given such a Goth notice to quit in a month had it not been for the reflection that, after all, such eccentricities were only to be expected of a foreigner. The English have a most amusing contempt for the rest of mankind, accompanied by an equally amusing toleration for the peculiarities that are naturaly associated with such degenerates. The Chinese, I understand, have an equal national modesty, but their contempt for the foreigner finds expression in a desire to decapitate his mangled remains. John Bull, on the other hand, will not only allow but expect you to walk upon your head, eat rats and mice, maintain a staff of poisonous serpents, and even play the barrel-organ. This goes to such a length that supposing you beat him at something he most prides himself upon, such as rowing, boxing, or manufactures, he will but smile and shake his head and say, “These are, indeed, most remarkable animals.”
Mr. and Mrs. Titch were no exceptions to this rule, and I think that in time they even came to have an affection for and a pride in their preposterous tenant, much like an enthusiastic savant who handicaps himself with a half-tamed cobra.
Mr. Titch was a little, gray-haired man, with a respectful manner overlaid upon a consequential air. He had enjoyed varied experience as footman and butler in several families of distinction, and my Halfred had been but a short time in the house before he became tremendously impressed by Mr. Titch's reminiscences of the great, and his vast knowledge of Halfred's own profession.
“Wonderful man, Mr. Titch, sir,” he would say to me. “What 'e don't know about our Henglish haristocracy ain't worth knowing. You'd 'ardly believe it, sir, but he seed the Dook of Balham puttin' his arm round Lady Sarah Elcey's waist three months before their engagement was in the papers, and the Dook 'e says to 'im, 'Titch,' says he, ''ere's a five-pun' note; you're a man of discretion, you are, and what you sees you keeps to yourself, don't you? I mean no 'arm,' he says. 'I'll hundertake to marry the lady if you only gives me time.' And Mr. Titch, he lay low three 'ole months a-knowing a secret like that.”
Mr. Titch's caution and advice were certainly serviceable to Halfred, who was rapidly becoming transformed from the cheerful 'bus-driver into the obliging valet. Whether the world did not lose more than I gained by this change I shall not undertake to say; but I can always console myself for depriving society of a friend, and Halfred of his “hinderpendence,” by picturing the little man, poorly protected by his nondescript rug, driving his 'bus all day through the wind and the rain, he, at least, enjoyed the transformation; and one result is worth a hundred admirable theories. Besides, the virtues of Halfred remained the virtues of Halfred through all the polishings of circumstances and Mr. Titch.
For the good Mrs. Titch, my discerning servant expressed a respect only a shade less profound than his homage to her spouse. Now this excellent lady, though motherly in appearance and wonderfully dignified in the black silk in which she rustled to church of a Sunday, was not remarkable either for acuteness of mind or that wide knowledge of the world enjoyed by Mr. Titch. She knew little of the aristocracy except through his reminiscences, though I am bound to say her respect for that august institution was as profound as Major Pendennis himself could have desired. Also her observations on that portion of the world she had met were distinguished by an erroneous and solemn foolishness that cannot have passed unnoticed by Halfred.
Yet he quoted and reverenced her with an inexplicable lack of discrimination.
“Mrs. Titch is what I calls, sir, a genuwine lady in a 'umble sphere,” he once remarked to me. “Her delicacy is surprisin'.”
Yes, there must be some mysterious glamour about these worthy people, and this glamour I began to have dark suspicions was none other than Miss Aramatilda Titch, daughter of the ex-butler and his genuine lady.
At first I saw this maiden seldom, and then only by glimpses. As more than one of these revealed her in curl-papers, and as I do not appreciate woman thus decked out, I paid her but little attention. But after a week or two had passed I surprised her one afternoon conversing in my sitting-room with the affable Halfred.
“Miss Titch is a-lookin' to see if the windows want cleaning,” he explained. Though, as they were standing in the recess farthest removed from the windows, I came to the conclusion that other matters also were being discussed.
It was about this time that I had hired a piano to console my solitude, and a day or two later, as I came towards my room, I heard a tinkle of music. Pushing the door gently open, I saw Miss Aramatilda picking out the air of a polka, and Halfred listening to this melody with the most undisguised admiration.
This time his explanation was more lamely delivered, while Aramatilda showed the liveliest confusion and dismay.
“My dear Miss Titch,” I assured her, “by all means practise my piano while I am out—provided, of course, that Mr. Winkles gives you permission. She asked you, no doubt, if she might play it, Halfred?”
This did not diminish their confusion, I am afraid, and after that their concerts were better protected against surprise.
Not that I should have objected very strongly to take Halfred's place as audience one day, for these further opportunities of seeing Miss Titch roused in me some sympathy with my valet. Aramatilda was undoubtedly attractive with her hair freed from a too severe restraint, a plump, brown-eyed young woman, smiling in the most engaging fashion when politely addressed. Indeed, I should have addressed her more frequently had not Halfred shown such evident interest in her himself. In these matters I have always held it better that master and man should be separately apportioned.
There remains but one other inhabitant of this house who comes into my story and that was a certain old gentleman living in the rooms immediately over mine. In fact, we two were the only lodgers, and so, having few friends as yet, I began to feel some interest in him.
I had heard him referred to always as “the General,” and the few glimpses I had had of him confirmed this title. Figure to yourself an erect man of middle height, white-mustached, quick in his step, with an eye essentially military—that is to say, expressionless in repose, keen when aroused—and do you not allow that, if he is not a general, he at least ought to be?
“Who is this general?” I asked Halfred one day.
“As rummy a old customer as ever was, sir,” said Halfred. “Been here for three years and never 'ad a visitor inside his room all that time, exceptin' one lady.”
“A lady?” I said. “His—”
“Don't know, sir. Some says one thing, some says another. Kind o' a hexotic, I calls 'im, sir. Miss Titch she thinks he's 'ad a affair of the 'eart; I think he booses same as a old pal o' mine what kept a chemist's shop in Stepney used to. My friend he locks 'isself up in the back room and puts away morphine and nicotine and strychnine and them things by the 'alf-pint. 'Ole days at it he were, sir, and all the time the small boys a-sneak-ing cough-drops, and tooth-brushes for to make feathers for their 'ats when playin' at soldiers, and when the doctor he sees 'im at last he says nothing but a hepileptic 'ome wouldn't do 'im any good.”
“You think, then, the General drinks?” I said.
“Either that or makes counterfeit coins, sir,” said Halfred, with an ominous shake of his bullet head.
I was quite aware of my Halfred's partiality for the melodramatic. Nevertheless there was certainly something unusual in my neighbor's conduct that excited my interest considerably. For I confess I am one of those who are apt to be blind towards the mysteries of the obvious and the miracles of every day, and to revel in the romance of the singular.