บทที่ บทที่ 10 · MR. MARVEL’S VISIT TO IPING

. MR. MARVEL’S VISIT TO IPING

After the first gusty panic had spent itself Iping became

argumentative. Scepticism suddenly reared its head—rather nervous

scepticism, not at all assured of its back, but scepticism

nevertheless. It is so much easier not to believe in an invisible man;

and those who had actually seen him dissolve into air, or felt the

strength of his arm, could be counted on the fingers of two hands. And

of these witnesses Mr. Wadgers was presently missing, having retired

impregnably behind the bolts and bars of his own house, and Jaffers was

lying stunned in the parlour of the “Coach and Horses.” Great and

strange ideas transcending experience often have less effect upon men

and women than smaller, more tangible considerations. Iping was gay

with bunting, and everybody was in gala dress. Whit Monday had been

looked forward to for a month or more. By the afternoon even those who

believed in the Unseen were beginning to resume their little amusements

in a tentative fashion, on the supposition that he had quite gone away,

and with the sceptics he was already a jest. But people, sceptics and

believers alike, were remarkably sociable all that day.

Haysman’s meadow was gay with a tent, in which Mrs. Bunting and other

ladies were preparing tea, while, without, the Sunday-school children

ran races and played games under the noisy guidance of the curate and

the Misses Cuss and Sackbut. No doubt there was a slight uneasiness in

the air, but people for the most part had the sense to conceal whatever

imaginative qualms they experienced. On the village green an inclined

strong [rope?], down which, clinging the while to a pulley-swung

handle, one could be hurled violently against a sack at the other end,

came in for considerable favour among the adolescents, as also did the

swings and the cocoanut shies. There was also promenading, and the

steam organ attached to a small roundabout filled the air with a

pungent flavour of oil and with equally pungent music. Members of the

club, who had attended church in the morning, were splendid in badges

of pink and green, and some of the gayer-minded had also adorned their

bowler hats with brilliant-coloured favours of ribbon. Old Fletcher,

whose conceptions of holiday-making were severe, was visible through

the jasmine about his window or through the open door (whichever way

you chose to look), poised delicately on a plank supported on two

chairs, and whitewashing the ceiling of his front room.

About four o’clock a stranger entered the village from the direction of

the downs. He was a short, stout person in an extraordinarily shabby

top hat, and he appeared to be very much out of breath. His cheeks were

alternately limp and tightly puffed. His mottled face was apprehensive,

and he moved with a sort of reluctant alacrity. He turned the corner of

the church, and directed his way to the “Coach and Horses.” Among

others old Fletcher remembers seeing him, and indeed the old gentleman

was so struck by his peculiar agitation that he inadvertently allowed a

quantity of whitewash to run down the brush into the sleeve of his coat

while regarding him.

This stranger, to the perceptions of the proprietor of the cocoanut

shy, appeared to be talking to himself, and Mr. Huxter remarked the

same thing. He stopped at the foot of the “Coach and Horses” steps,

and, according to Mr. Huxter, appeared to undergo a severe internal

struggle before he could induce himself to enter the house. Finally he

marched up the steps, and was seen by Mr. Huxter to turn to the left

and open the door of the parlour. Mr. Huxter heard voices from within

the room and from the bar apprising the man of his error. “That room’s

private!” said Hall, and the stranger shut the door clumsily and went

into the bar.

In the course of a few minutes he reappeared, wiping his lips with the

back of his hand with an air of quiet satisfaction that somehow

impressed Mr. Huxter as assumed. He stood looking about him for some

moments, and then Mr. Huxter saw him walk in an oddly furtive manner

towards the gates of the yard, upon which the parlour window opened.

The stranger, after some hesitation, leant against one of the

gate-posts, produced a short clay pipe, and prepared to fill it. His

fingers trembled while doing so. He lit it clumsily, and folding his

arms began to smoke in a languid attitude, an attitude which his

occasional glances up the yard altogether belied.

All this Mr. Huxter saw over the canisters of the tobacco window, and

the singularity of the man’s behaviour prompted him to maintain his

observation.

Presently the stranger stood up abruptly and put his pipe in his

pocket. Then he vanished into the yard. Forthwith Mr. Huxter,

conceiving he was witness of some petty larceny, leapt round his

counter and ran out into the road to intercept the thief. As he did so,

Mr. Marvel reappeared, his hat askew, a big bundle in a blue

table-cloth in one hand, and three books tied together—as it proved

afterwards with the Vicar’s braces—in the other. Directly he saw Huxter

he gave a sort of gasp, and turning sharply to the left, began to run.

“Stop, thief!” cried Huxter, and set off after him. Mr. Huxter’s

sensations were vivid but brief. He saw the man just before him and

spurting briskly for the church corner and the hill road. He saw the

village flags and festivities beyond, and a face or so turned towards

him. He bawled, “Stop!” again. He had hardly gone ten strides before

his shin was caught in some mysterious fashion, and he was no longer

running, but flying with inconceivable rapidity through the air. He saw

the ground suddenly close to his face. The world seemed to splash into

a million whirling specks of light, and subsequent proceedings

interested him no more.