The Wrong Box

  CHAPTER III. The Lecturer at Large

  Whether mankind is really partial to happiness is an open question.Not a month passes by but some cherished son runs off into the merchantservice, or some valued husband decamps to Texas with a lady help;clergymen have fled from their parishioners; and even judges have beenknown to retire. To an open mind, it will appear (upon the whole) lessstrange that Joseph Finsbury should have been led to entertain ideas ofescape. His lot (I think we may say) was not a happy one. My friend, MrMorris, with whom I travel up twice or thrice a week from SnaresbrookPark, is certainly a gentleman whom I esteem; but he was scarce a modelnephew. As for John, he is of course an excellent fellow; but if he wasthe only link that bound one to a home, I think the most of us wouldvote for foreign travel. In the case of Joseph, John (if he were a linkat all) was not the only one; endearing bonds had long enchained the oldgentleman to Bloomsbury; and by these expressions I do not in the leastrefer to Julia Hazeltine (of whom, however, he was fond enough), but tothat collection of manuscript notebooks in which his life lay buried.That he should ever have made up his mind to separate himself from thesecollections, and go forth upon the world with no other resources thanhis memory supplied, is a circumstance highly pathetic in itself, andbut little creditable to the wisdom of his nephews.

  The design, or at least the temptation, was already some months old; andwhen a bill for eight hundred pounds, payable to himself, was suddenlyplaced in Joseph's hand, it brought matters to an issue. He retainedthat bill, which, to one of his frugality, meant wealth; and he promisedhimself to disappear among the crowds at Waterloo, or (if that shouldprove impossible) to slink out of the house in the course of theevening and melt like a dream into the millions of London. By a peculiarinterposition of Providence and railway mismanagement he had not so longto wait.

  He was one of the first to come to himself and scramble to his feetafter the Browndean catastrophe, and he had no sooner remarked hisprostrate nephews than he understood his opportunity and fled. A man ofupwards of seventy, who has just met with a railway accident, and who iscumbered besides with the full uniform of Sir Faraday Bond, is notvery likely to flee far, but the wood was close at hand and offered thefugitive at least a temporary covert. Hither, then, the old gentlemanskipped with extraordinary expedition, and, being somewhat winded anda good deal shaken, here he lay down in a convenient grove and waspresently overwhelmed by slumber. The way of fate is often highlyentertaining to the looker-on, and it is certainly a pleasantcircumstance, that while Morris and John were delving in the sand toconceal the body of a total stranger, their uncle lay in dreamless sleepa few hundred yards deeper in the wood.

  He was awakened by the jolly note of a bugle from the neighbouring highroad, where a char-a-banc was bowling by with some belated tourists. Thesound cheered his old heart, it directed his steps into the bargain, andsoon he was on the highway, looking east and west from under his vizor,and doubtfully revolving what he ought to do. A deliberate sound ofwheels arose in the distance, and then a cart was seen approaching, wellfilled with parcels, driven by a good-natured looking man on a doublebench, and displaying on a board the legend, 'I Chandler, carrier'. Inthe infamously prosaic mind of Mr Finsbury, certain streaks of poetrysurvived and were still efficient; they had carried him to Asia Minoras a giddy youth of forty, and now, in the first hours of his recoveredfreedom, they suggested to him the idea of continuing his flight in MrChandler's cart. It would be cheap; properly broached, it might evencost nothing, and, after years of mittens and hygienic flannel, hisheart leaped out to meet the notion of exposure.

  Mr Chandler was perhaps a little puzzled to find so old a gentleman, sostrangely clothed, and begging for a lift on so retired a roadside.But he was a good-natured man, glad to do a service, and so he took thestranger up; and he had his own idea of civility, and so he asked noquestions. Silence, in fact, was quite good enough for Mr Chandler;but the cart had scarcely begun to move forward ere he found himselfinvolved in a one-sided conversation.

  'I can see,' began Mr Finsbury, 'by the mixture of parcels and boxesthat are contained in your cart, each marked with its individual label,and by the good Flemish mare you drive, that you occupy the post ofcarrier in that great English system of transport which, with all itsdefects, is the pride of our country.'

  'Yes, sir,' returned Mr Chandler vaguely, for he hardly knew what toreply; 'them parcels posts has done us carriers a world of harm.'

  'I am not a prejudiced man,' continued Joseph Finsbury. 'As a youngman I travelled much. Nothing was too small or too obscure for me toacquire. At sea I studied seamanship, learned the complicated knotsemployed by mariners, and acquired the technical terms. At Naples,I would learn the art of making macaroni; at Nice, the principles ofmaking candied fruit. I never went to the opera without first buying thebook of the piece, and making myself acquainted with the principal airsby picking them out on the piano with one finger.'

  'You must have seen a deal, sir,' remarked the carrier, touching up hishorse; 'I wish I could have had your advantages.'

  'Do you know how often the word whip occurs in the Old Testament?'continued the old gentleman. 'One hundred and (if I remember exactly)forty-seven times.'

  'Do it indeed, sir?' said Mr Chandler. 'I never should have thought it.'

  'The Bible contains three million five hundred and one thousand twohundred and forty-nine letters. Of verses I believe there are upward ofeighteen thousand. There have been many editions of the Bible; Wycliffwas the first to introduce it into England about the year 1300. The"Paragraph Bible", as it is called, is a well-known edition, and is socalled because it is divided into paragraphs. The "Breeches Bible" isanother well-known instance, and gets its name either because it wasprinted by one Breeches, or because the place of publication bore thatname.'

  The carrier remarked drily that he thought that was only natural, andturned his attention to the more congenial task of passing a cart ofhay; it was a matter of some difficulty, for the road was narrow, andthere was a ditch on either hand.

  'I perceive,' began Mr Finsbury, when they had successfully passed thecart, 'that you hold your reins with one hand; you should employ two.'

  'Well, I like that!' cried the carrier contemptuously. 'Why?'

  'You do not understand,' continued Mr Finsbury. 'What I tell you is ascientific fact, and reposes on the theory of the lever, a branch ofmechanics. There are some very interesting little shilling books uponthe field of study, which I should think a man in your station wouldtake a pleasure to read. But I am afraid you have not cultivated the artof observation; at least we have now driven together for some time, andI cannot remember that you have contributed a single fact. This is avery false principle, my good man. For instance, I do not know if youobserved that (as you passed the hay-cart man) you took your left?'

  'Of course I did,' cried the carrier, who was now getting belligerent;'he'd have the law on me if I hadn't.'

  'In France, now,' resumed the old man, 'and also, I believe, in the

  United States of America, you would have taken the right.'

  'I would not,' cried Mr Chandler indignantly. 'I would have taken theleft.'

  'I observe again,' continued Mr Finsbury, scorning to reply, 'that youmend the dilapidated parts of your harness with string. I have alwaysprotested against this carelessness and slovenliness of the Englishpoor. In an essay that I once read before an appreciative audience--'

  'It ain't string,' said the carrier sullenly, 'it's pack-thread.'

  'I have always protested,' resumed the old man, 'that in their privateand domestic life, as well as in their labouring career, the lowerclasses of this country are improvident, thriftless, and extravagant. Astitch in time--'

  'Who the devil ARE the lower classes?' cried the carrier. 'You are thelower classes yourself! If I thought you were a blooming aristocrat, Ishouldn't have given you a lift.'

  The words were uttered with undisguised ill-feeling; it was plain thepair were not congenial, and further conversatio
n, even to one of MrFinsbury's pathetic loquacity, was out of the question. With an angrygesture, he pulled down the brim of the forage-cap over his eyes,and, producing a notebook and a blue pencil from one of his innermostpockets, soon became absorbed in calculations.

  On his part the carrier fell to whistling with fresh zest; and if (nowand again) he glanced at the companion of his drive, it was with mingledfeelings of triumph and alarm--triumph because he had succeeded inarresting that prodigy of speech, and alarm lest (by any accident) itshould begin again. Even the shower, which presently overtook and passedthem, was endured by both in silence; and it was still in silence thatthey drove at length into Southampton.

  Dusk had fallen; the shop windows glimmered forth into the streets ofthe old seaport; in private houses lights were kindled for the eveningmeal; and Mr Finsbury began to think complacently of his night'slodging. He put his papers by, cleared his throat, and looked doubtfullyat Mr Chandler.

  'Will you be civil enough,' said he, 'to recommend me to an inn?' MrChandler pondered for a moment.

  'Well,' he said at last, 'I wonder how about the "Tregonwell Arms".'

  'The "Tregonwell Arms" will do very well,' returned the old man, 'ifit's clean and cheap, and the people civil.'

  'I wasn't thinking so much of you,' returned Mr Chandler thoughtfully.'I was thinking of my friend Watts as keeps the 'ouse; he's a friend ofmine, you see, and he helped me through my trouble last year. And I wasthinking, would it be fair-like on Watts to saddle him with an old partylike you, who might be the death of him with general information. Wouldit be fair to the 'ouse?' enquired Mr Chandler, with an air of candidappeal.

  'Mark me,' cried the old gentleman with spirit. 'It was kind in you tobring me here for nothing, but it gives you no right to address mein such terms. Here's a shilling for your trouble; and, if you donot choose to set me down at the "Tregonwell Arms", I can find it formyself.'

  Chandler was surprised and a little startled; muttering somethingapologetic, he returned the shilling, drove in silence through severalintricate lanes and small streets, drew up at length before the brightwindows of an inn, and called loudly for Mr Watts.

  'Is that you, Jem?' cried a hearty voice from the stableyard. 'Come inand warm yourself.'

  'I only stopped here,' Mr Chandler explained, 'to let down an old gentthat wants food and lodging. Mind, I warn you agin him; he's worse nor atemperance lecturer.'

  Mr Finsbury dismounted with difficulty, for he was cramped with his longdrive, and the shaking he had received in the accident. The friendly MrWatts, in spite of the carter's scarcely agreeable introduction, treatedthe old gentleman with the utmost courtesy, and led him into the backparlour, where there was a big fire burning in the grate. Presently atable was spread in the same room, and he was invited to seat himselfbefore a stewed fowl--somewhat the worse for having seen servicebefore--and a big pewter mug of ale from the tap.

  He rose from supper a giant refreshed; and, changing his seat to onenearer the fire, began to examine the other guests with an eye to thedelights of oratory. There were near a dozen present, all men, and (asJoseph exulted to perceive) all working men. Often already had he seencause to bless that appetite for disconnected fact and rotatory argumentwhich is so marked a character of the mechanic. But even an audience ofworking men has to be courted, and there was no man more deeply versedin the necessary arts than Joseph Finsbury. He placed his glasses on hisnose, drew from his pocket a bundle of papers, and spread them beforehim on a table. He crumpled them, he smoothed them out; now he skimmedthem over, apparently well pleased with their contents; now, withtapping pencil and contracted brows, he seemed maturely to consider someparticular statement. A stealthy glance about the room assured him ofthe success of his manoeuvres; all eyes were turned on the performer,mouths were open, pipes hung suspended; the birds were charmed. At thesame moment the entrance of Mr Watts afforded him an opportunity.

  'I observe,' said he, addressing the landlord, but taking at the sametime the whole room into his confidence with an encouraging look, 'Iobserve that some of these gentlemen are looking with curiosity inmy direction; and certainly it is unusual to see anyone immersed inliterary and scientific labours in the public apartment of an inn. Ihave here some calculations I made this morning upon the cost of livingin this and other countries--a subject, I need scarcely say, highlyinteresting to the working classes. I have calculated a scale of livingfor incomes of eighty, one hundred and sixty, two hundred, and twohundred and forty pounds a year. I must confess that the income ofeighty pounds has somewhat baffled me, and the others are not so exactas I could wish; for the price of washing varies largely in foreigncountries, and the different cokes, coals and firewoods fluctuatesurprisingly. I will read my researches, and I hope you won't scruple topoint out to me any little errors that I may have committed either fromoversight or ignorance. I will begin, gentlemen, with the income ofeighty pounds a year.'

  Whereupon the old gentleman, with less compassion than he would have hadfor brute beasts, delivered himself of all his tedious calculations.As he occasionally gave nine versions of a single income, placingthe imaginary person in London, Paris, Bagdad, Spitzbergen,Bassorah, Heligoland, the Scilly Islands, Brighton, Cincinnati, andNijni-Novgorod, with an appropriate outfit for each locality, it is nowonder that his hearers look back on that evening as the most tiresomethey ever spent.

  Long before Mr Finsbury had reached Nijni-Novgorod with the income ofone hundred and sixty pounds, the company had dwindled and faded away toa few old topers and the bored but affable Watts. There was a constantstream of customers from the outer world, but so soon as they wereserved they drank their liquor quickly and departed with the utmostcelerity for the next public-house.

  By the time the young man with two hundred a year was vegetating in theScilly Islands, Mr Watts was left alone with the economist; and thatimaginary person had scarce commenced life at Brighton before the lastof his pursuers desisted from the chase.

  Mr Finsbury slept soundly after the manifold fatigues of the day. Herose late, and, after a good breakfast, ordered the bill. Then it wasthat he made a discovery which has been made by many others, both beforeand since: that it is one thing to order your bill, and another todischarge it. The items were moderate and (what does not always follow)the total small; but, after the most sedulous review of all his pockets,one and nine pence halfpenny appeared to be the total of the oldgentleman's available assets. He asked to see Mr Watts.

  'Here is a bill on London for eight hundred pounds,' said Mr Finsbury,as that worthy appeared. 'I am afraid, unless you choose to discount ityourself, it may detain me a day or two till I can get it cashed.'

  Mr Watts looked at the bill, turned it over, and dogs-eared it with hisfingers. 'It will keep you a day or two?' he said, repeating the oldman's words. 'You have no other money with you?'

  'Some trifling change,' responded Joseph. 'Nothing to speak of.'

  'Then you can send it me; I should be pleased to trust you.'

  'To tell the truth,' answered the old gentleman, 'I am more than halfinclined to stay; I am in need of funds.'

  'If a loan of ten shillings would help you, it is at your service,'responded Watts, with eagerness.

  'No, I think I would rather stay,' said the old man, 'and get my billdiscounted.'

  'You shall not stay in my house,' cried Mr Watts. 'This is the last timeyou shall have a bed at the "Tregonwell Arms".'

  'I insist upon remaining,' replied Mr Finsbury, with spirit; 'I remainby Act of Parliament; turn me out if you dare.'

  'Then pay your bill,' said Mr Watts.

  'Take that,' cried the old man, tossing him the negotiable bill.

  'It is not legal tender,' replied Mr Watts. 'You must leave my house atonce.'

  'You cannot appreciate the contempt I feel for you, Mr Watts,' said theold gentleman, resigning himself to circumstances. 'But you shall feelit in one way: I refuse to pay my bill.'

  'I don't care for your bill,' responded Mr Watts. 'What
I want is yourabsence.'

  'That you shall have!' said the old gentleman, and, taking up hisforage cap as he spoke, he crammed it on his head. 'Perhaps you aretoo insolent,' he added, 'to inform me of the time of the next Londontrain?'

  'It leaves in three-quarters of an hour,' returned the innkeeper withalacrity. 'You can easily catch it.'

  Joseph's position was one of considerable weakness. On the one hand, itwould have been well to avoid the direct line of railway, since it wasthere he might expect his nephews to lie in wait for his recapture; onthe other, it was highly desirable, it was even strictly needful, to getthe bill discounted ere it should be stopped. To London, therefore, hedecided to proceed on the first train; and there remained but one pointto be considered, how to pay his fare.

  Joseph's nails were never clean; he ate almost entirely with his knife.I doubt if you could say he had the manners of a gentleman; but he hadbetter than that, a touch of genuine dignity. Was it from his stay inAsia Minor? Was it from a strain in the Finsbury blood sometimesalluded to by customers? At least, when he presented himself before thestation-master, his salaam was truly Oriental, palm-trees appeared tocrowd about the little office, and the simoom or the bulbul--but I leavethis image to persons better acquainted with the East. His appearance,besides, was highly in his favour; the uniform of Sir Faraday, howeverinconvenient and conspicuous, was, at least, a costume in which noswindler could have hoped to prosper; and the exhibition of a valuablewatch and a bill for eight hundred pounds completed what deportment hadbegun. A quarter of an hour later, when the train came up, Mr Finsburywas introduced to the guard and installed in a first-class compartment,the station-master smilingly assuming all responsibility.

  As the old gentleman sat waiting the moment of departure, he was thewitness of an incident strangely connected with the fortunes of hishouse. A packing-case of cyclopean bulk was borne along the platformby some dozen of tottering porters, and ultimately, to the delight of aconsiderable crowd, hoisted on board the van. It is often the cheeringtask of the historian to direct attention to the designs and (if it maybe reverently said) the artifices of Providence. In the luggage van, asJoseph was borne out of the station of Southampton East upon his wayto London, the egg of his romance lay (so to speak) unhatched. Thehuge packing-case was directed to lie at Waterloo till called for, andaddressed to one 'William Dent Pitman'; and the very next article,a goodly barrel jammed into the corner of the van, bore thesuperscription, 'M. Finsbury, 16 John Street, Bloomsbury. Carriagepaid.'

  In this juxtaposition, the train of powder was prepared; and there wasnow wanting only an idle hand to fire it off.