CHAPTER VI.
THE GRAMMAR OF LOVE.
The _Moon_-man's name was Wilkins, and he did nine-tenths of theinterviews in that model of the new journalism. Wilkins was the man tocatch the weasel asleep, hit off his features with a kodak, and badgerhim the moment he awoke as to why he popped. Wilkins lived in a flat inChancery Lane, and had his whiskey and his feet on the table whenSilverdale turned the handle of the door in the gloaming.
"What do you want?" said Wilkins gruffly.
"I have come to ask you a few questions," said Silverdale politely.
"But I don't know you, sir," said Wilkins stiffly. "Don't you see I'mbusy?"
"It is true I am a stranger, but remember, sir, I shall not be so when Ileave. I just want to interview you about that paragraph in the _Moon_,stating----"
"Look here!" roared Wilkins, letting his feet slide from the table witha crash. "Let me tell you, sir, I have no time to listen to yourimpertinence. My leisure is scant and valuable. I am a hard-worked man.I can't be pestered with questions from inquisitive busybodies. Whatnext, sir? What I write in the _Moon_ is my business and nobody else's.Damn it all, sir, is there to be nothing private? Are you going to pokeand pry into the concerns of the very journalist? No, sir, you havewasted your time as well as mine. We never allow the public to go behindwhat appears in our paper."
"But this is a mere private curiosity--what you tell me shall never bepublished."
"If it could be, I wouldn't tell it you. I never waste copy."
"Tell me--I am willing to pay for the information--who wrote theparagraph about Clorinda Bell and the Old Maids' Club."
"Go to the devil!" roared Wilkins.
"I thought you would know more than he," said Silverdale, and left.Wilkins came downstairs on his heels, in a huff, and walked towardsLudgate Hill. Silverdale thought he would have another shot, andfollowed him unseen. The two men jumped into a train, and after anendless-seeming journey arrived at the Crystal Palace. A monster balloonwas going off from the grounds. Herr Nickeldorf, the great aeronaut, wasmaking in solitude an experimental night excursion to Calais, as ifanxious to meet his fate by moonlight alone. Wilkins rushed up toNickeldorf, who was standing among the ropes giving directions.
"Go avay!" said Nickeldorf, when he saw him. "I hafe nodings to say toyou. You makes me _schwitzen_." He jumped into the car and bade the menlet go.
Ordinarily Wilkins would have been satisfied with this ample materialfor half a column, but he was still in a bad temper, and, as the car wassailing slowly upwards, he jumped in, and the aeronaut gave himself upfor pumped. In an instant, moved by an irresistible impulse, Silverdalegave a great leap and stood by the _Moon_-man's side. The balloon shotup and the roar of the crowd became a faint murmur as the planet flewfrom beneath their feet.
"Good-evening, Mr. Wilkins," said Lord Silverdale. "I should just liketo interview you about----"
"You jackanapes!" cried the _Moon_-man, pale with anger, "If you don'tgo away at once, I'll kick you down stairs."
_Go away, or I'll kick you Down Stairs._]
"My dear Mr. Wilkins," suavely replied Lord Silverdale, "I willwillingly go down, provided you accompany me. I am sure Herr Nickeldorfis anxious to drop both of us."
"_Wirklich_," replied the aeronaut
"Well, lend us a parachute," said Silverdale.
"No, danks. Beobles never return barachutes."
"Well, we won't go without one. I forgot to bring mine with me. I didn'tknow I was going to have such a high old time."
"By what right, sir," said Mr. Wilkins, who had been struggling with anattack of speechlessness, "do you persecute me like this? _You_ are nota member of the Fourth Estate."
"No, I belong merely to the Second."
"Eh? What? A Peer!"
"I am Lord Silverdale."
"No, indeed! Lord Silverdale!"
"Lord Silverdale!" echoed the aeronaut, letting two sand-bags fall intothe clouds. Most people lose their ballast in the presence of thearistocracy.
"Oh, I am so glad! I have long been anxious to meet your lordship," saidthe _Moon_-man, taking out his notebook. "What is your lordship'sopinion of the best fifty books for the working man's library?"
"I have not yet written fifty books."
"Ah!" said the _Moon_-man, carefully noting down the reply. "And when isyour lordship's next book coming out?"
"I cannot say."
"Thank you," said the _Moon_-man, writing it down. "Will it be poetry orprose?"
"That is as the critics shall decide."
"Is it true that your lordship has been converted to Catholicism?"
"I believe not."
"Then how does your lordship account for the rumor?"
"I have an indirect connection with a sort of new nunnery, which it isproposed to found--the Old Maids' Club."
"Oh, yes, the one that Clorinda Bell is going to join."
"Nonsense! who told you she was going to join?"
The _Moon_-man winced perceptibly at the question, as he repliedindignantly: "Herself!"
"Thank you. That's what I wanted to know. You may contradict it on theauthority of the president. She only said so to get an advertisement."
"Then why give her two by contradicting it?"
"That is the woman's cleverness. Let her have the advertisement, ratherthan that her name should be connected with Miss Dulcimer's."
"Very well. Tell me something, please, about the Club."
"It is not organized yet. It is to consist of young and beautiful women,vowed to celibacy to remove the reproach of the term 'Old Maid.'"
"It is a noble idea!" said the _Moon_-man, enthusiastically. "Oh, what ahumanitarian time we are having!"
"Lord Silverdale," said Herr Nickeldorf, who had been listening with allhis ears, "I hafe to you give de hospitality of my balloon. Vill you, inreturn, take _mein frau_ into de Old Maids' Club?"
"As a visitor? With pleasure, as she is a married woman."
"_Nein, nein._ I mean as an old maid. _Ich habe sic nicht noethig._ I donot require her any longer."
"Ah, then, I am afraid we can't. You see she _isn't_ an old maid!"
"But she haf been."
"Ah, yes, but we do not recognize past services."
"Oh, _warum_ wasn't the Club founded before I married?" groaned the oldGerman. "_Himmel_, vat a terrible mistake! It is to her I owe it that Iam de most celebrated aeronaut in _der ganzeu welt_. It is the onlyprofession in wich I escape her _gewiss_. She haf de _kopf_ too veak torise mit me. Ah, when I come oop here, it is _Himmel_."
"Rather taking an unfair rise out of your partner, isn't it?" queriedthe _Moon_-man with a sickly smile.
"And vat vould you haf done in--_was sagt man_--in my shoes?"
The _Moon_-man winced.
"Not put them on."
"You are not yourself married?"
The _Moon_-man winced.
"No, I'm only engaged."
"_Mein herr_," said the old German solemnly, "I haf nodings but droublefrom you. You make to me mein life von burden. But I cannot see yougoing to de altar widout putting out de hand to safe you. It was stupidto yourself engage at all--but, now dat you haf committed de mistake,shtick to it!"
"How do you mean?"
"Keep yourself engaged. Do not change your gondition any more."
"What do you say, Lord Silverdale?" said the _Moon_-man, anxiously.
"I am hardly an authority. You see I have so rarely been married. Itdepends on the character of your betrothed. Does she long to be ofservice in the world?"
The _Moon_-man winced.
"Yes, that's why she fell in love with me. Thought a _Moon_-man must beall noble sentiment like the _Moon_ itself!"
"She is, then, young," said Silverdale, musingly. "Is she alsobeautiful?"
The _Moon_-man winced.
"Bewitching. Why does your lordship ask?"
"Because her services might be valuable as an Old Ma
id."
"Oh, if you could only get Diana to see it in that light!"
"You seem anxious to be rid of her."
"I do. I confess it. It has been growing on me for some time. You seehers is a soul perpetually seeking more light. She is always askingquestions. This thirst for information would be made only more raging bymarriage. You know what Stevenson says:--'To marry is to domesticate theRecording Angel.' At present my occupations keep me away from her--butshe answers my letters with as many queries as a 'Constant Reader.' Shewants to know all I say, do, or feel, and I never see her without havingto submit to a string of inquiries. It's like having to fill up a censuspaper once a week. If I don't see her for a fortnight she wants to knowhow I am the moment we meet. If this is so before marriage, what will itbe after, when her opportunities of buttonholing me will be necessarilymore frequent?"
"But I see nothing to complain of in that!" said Lord Silverdale."Tender solicitude for one's betrothed is the usual thing with thosereally in love. You wouldn't like her to be indifferent to what you weredoing, saying, feeling?"
The _Moon_-man winced.
"No, that's just the dilemma of it, Lord Silverdale. I am afraid yourlordship does not catch my drift. You see, with another man, it wouldn'tmatter; as your lordship says, he would be glad of it. But to me allthat sort of thing's 'shop.' And I hate 'shop.' It's hard enough to beout interviewing all day, without being reminded of its when you gethome and want to put your slippers on the fender and your feet insidethem and be happy. No, if there's one thing in this world I can't put upwith, it's 'shop' after business hours. I want to forget that I get mygold in exchange for notes of interrogation. I shudder to be remindedthat there are such things in the world as questions--I tremble if Ihear a person invert the subject and predicate of a sentence. I canhardly bear to read poetry because the frequent inversions make thelines look as if they were going to be inquisitive. Now you understandwhy I was so discourteous to your lordship, and I trust that you willpardon the curt expression of my hyper-sensitive feelings. Now, too, youunderstand why I shrink from the prospect of marriage, to the brink ofwhich I once bounded so heedlessly. No, it is evident a life of solitudemust be my portion. If I am ever to steep my wearied spirit inforgetfulness of my daily grind, if my nervous system is to be preservedfrom premature break-down, I must have no one about me who has a rightof interrogation, and my housekeeper must prepare my meals without eventhe preliminary 'Chop or Steak, sir?' My home-life must be restful,peaceful, balsamic--it must exhale a papaverous aroma of categoricalproposition."
"But is there no way of getting a wife with a gift of categoricalconversation?"
"Please say, 'There is no way, etc.,' for unless you yourself speakcategorically, the sentences grate upon my ear. I can ask questionsmyself, without experiencing the slightest inconvenience, but the momentI am myself interrogated, every nerve in me quivers with torture. No, Iam afraid it is impossible to find a woman who will eschew theinterrogative form of proposition, and limit herself to the affirmativeand negative varieties; who will, for mere love of me, invariably placethe verb after the noun, and unalterably give the subject the precedenceover the predicate. Often and often, when my Diana, in all her dazzlingcharms, looks up pleadingly into my face, I feel towards her asAhasuerus felt towards the suppliant Queen Esther, and I yearn tostretch out my reporter's pencil towards her, and to say: 'Ask me whatyou will--even if it be half my income--so long as you do not ask me aquestion.'"
"But isn't there--I mean there is--such a thing obtainable as a dumbwife?"
"Mutes are for funerals, and not for marriages. Besides, then, everybodywould be asking me why I married her. No, the more I think of it, themore I see the futility of my dream of matrimonial felicity. Why, aquestion lies at the very threshold of marriage--'Wilt thou have thiswoman to be thy wedded wife?'--and to put up the banns is to loose uponyourself an interviewer in a white-tie! No, leave me to my unhappydestiny. I must dree my weird. And anything your lordship can do in theway of enabling me to dree it by soliciting my Diana into the Old Maids'Club, shall be received with the warmest thanksgiving and will allow meto remain your lordship's most grateful and obedient servant, DanielWilkins."
"Enough!" said Lord Silverdale, deeply moved, "I will send her acircular. But do you really think you would be happy if you lost her?"
"If," said the _Moon_-man moodily. "It would require a great many 'ifs'to make me happy. As I once wrote:
If cash were always present, And business always paid; If skies were always pleasant, And pipes were never laid; If toothache emigrated, Dyspepsia disappeared, And babies were cremated, And boys and girls were speared; If shirts were always creamy, And buttons never broke; If eyes were always beamy, And all could see a joke;
If ladies never fumbled At railway pigeon holes; New villas never crumbled, And lawyers boasted souls; If beer was never swallowed, And cooks were never drunk, And trades were never followed, And thoughts were never thunk; If sorrow never troubled, And pleasure never cloyed, And animals were doubled, And humans all destroyed; _Then_--if there were no papers, And more words rhymed with "giving"-- Existence would be capers, And life be worth the living.
Your lordship might give me a poem in exchange," concluded the_Moon_-man conceitedly. "An advance quote from your next volume, say."
"Very well," and the peer good-naturedly began to recite the first fytteof an old English romance.
Ye white moon sailed o'er ye dark-blue vault, And safely steered mid ye fleet of starres, And threw down smiles to ye antient salt, While Venus flyrtede with wynkynge Mars. Along ye sea-washed slipperie slabbes Ye whelkes were stretchynge their weary limbs, While prior to going to bedde ye crabbes Were softlie chaunting their evenynge hymnes."
At this point a sudden shock threw both bards off their feet, invertingthem in a manner most disagreeable to the _Moon_-man. While they weredropping into poetry, the balloon had been dropping into a wood, and theaeronaut had thrown his grapnel into the branches of a tree.
"What's the matter?" they cried.
"Change here for London!" said the Herr, phlegmatically, "unless youwant to go mit me to Calais. In five more minutes I shall be crossing deChannel."
"No, no, put us down," said the _Moon_-man. "I never _could_ cross theChannel. Oh, when are they going to make that tunnel?" Thereupon helowered himself into the tree, and Lord Silverdale followed his example.
_Coming Down from the Clouds._]
"_Guten nacht!_" said the Herr. "Folkestone should be someveres about.Fordunately, de moon is out, and you may be able to find it!"
"I say!" shrieked the _Moon_-man, as the balloon began to free itself onits upward flight, "How far off is it?"
"I vill not be--_was heist es?_--interviewed. _Guten nacht._"
Soon the great sphere was no bigger than a star in the heavens.
"This is a nice go," said the _Moon_-man, when they had climbed down.
"Oh, don't trouble. I know the Southeast coast well. There is sure to bea town within a four mile radius."
"Then let us take a hansom," said the _Moon_-man.
"Wilkins, are you--I mean you are--losing your head," said LordSilverdale. And linking the interviewer's arm in his, he fared forthinto the darkness.
"Do you know what I thought," said Wilkins, as they undressed in thelonely roadside inn (for ballooning makes us acquainted with strangebedfellows), "when I was sliding down the trunk with you on the branchesabove?"
"No--what did you--I mean you did think what?"
"Well, I'm a bit superstitious, and I saw in the situation a forecast ofmy future. That tree typifies my genealogical tree, for when I havegrown rich and prosperous by my trade, there will be a peer perchedsomewhere on the upper branches. Debrett will discover him."
"Indeed I hope so," said the peer fervently, "for in the happy time whenyou shall have retired from busi
ness you will be able to make Dianahappy."