XXVIII.
THE TRUTH ABOUT PYECRAFT.
He sits not a dozen yards away. If I glance over my shoulder I can seehim. And if I catch his eye--and usually I catch his eye--it meets me withan expression----
It is mainly an imploring look--and yet with suspicion in it.
Confound his suspicion! If I wanted to tell on him I should have told longago. I don't tell and I don't tell, and he ought to feel at his ease. Asif anything so gross and fat as he could feel at ease! Who would believeme if I did tell?
Poor old Pyecraft! Great, uneasy jelly of substance! The fattest clubmanin London.
He sits at one of the little club tables in the huge bay by the fire,stuffing. What is he stuffing? I glance judiciously, and catch him bitingat a round of hot buttered teacake, with his eyes on me. Confound him!--with his eyes on me!
That settles it, Pyecraft! Since you _will_ be abject, since you_will_ behave as though I was not a man of honour, here, right underyour embedded eyes, I write the thing down--the plain truth aboutPyecraft. The man I helped, the man I shielded, and who has requited me bymaking my club unendurable, absolutely unendurable, with his liquidappeal, with the perpetual "don't tell" of his looks.
And, besides, why does he keep on eternally eating?
Well, here goes for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!
Pyecraft----. I made the acquaintance of Pyecraft in this verysmoking-room. I was a young, nervous new member, and he saw it. I wassitting all alone, wishing I knew more of the members, and suddenly hecame, a great rolling front of chins and abdomina, towards me, andgrunted and sat down in a chair close by me and wheezed for a space, andscraped for a space with a match and lit a cigar, and then addressed me.I forget what he said--something about the matches not lighting properly,and afterwards as he talked he kept stopping the waiters one by one asthey went by, and telling them about the matches in that thin, flutyvoice he has. But, anyhow, it was in some such way we began our talking.
He talked about various things and came round to games. And thence to myfigure and complexion. "_You_ ought to be a good cricketer," he said.I suppose I am slender, slender to what some people would call lean, and Isuppose I am rather dark, still----I am not ashamed of having a Hindugreat-grandmother, but, for all that, I don't want casual strangers to seethrough me at a glance to _her_. So that I was set against Pyecraftfrom the beginning.
But he only talked about me in order to get to himself.
"I expect," he said, "you take no more exercise than I do, and probablyyou eat no less." (Like all excessively obese people he fancied he atenothing.) "Yet"--and he smiled an oblique smile--"we differ."
And then he began to talk about his fatness and his fatness; all he didfor his fatness and all he was going to do for his fatness; what peoplehad advised him to do for his fatness and what he had heard of peopledoing for fatness similar to his. "_A priori_," he said, "one wouldthink a question of nutrition could be answered by dietary and a questionof assimilation by drugs." It was stifling. It was dumpling talk. It mademe feel swelled to hear him.
One stands that sort of thing once in a way at a club, but a time camewhen I fancied I was standing too much. He took to me altogether tooconspicuously. I could never go into the smoking-room but he would comewallowing towards me, and sometimes he came and gormandised round andabout me while I had my lunch. He seemed at times almost to be clinging tome. He was a bore, but not so fearful a bore as to be limited to me andfrom the first there was something in his manner--almost as though heknew, almost as though he penetrated to the fact that I _might_--thatthere was a remote, exceptional chance in me that no one else presented.
"I'd give anything to get it down," he would say--"anything," and peer atme over his vast cheeks and pant. Poor old Pyecraft! He has just gonged;no doubt to order another buttered teacake!
He came to the actual thing one day. "Our Pharmacopoeia," he said, "ourWestern Pharmacopoeia, is anything but the last word of medical science.In the East, I've been told----"
He stopped and stared at me. It was like being at an aquarium.
I was quite suddenly angry with him. "Look here," I said, "who told youabout my great-grandmother's recipes?"
"Well," he fenced.
"Every time we've met for a week," I said--"and we've met pretty often--you've given me a broad hint or so about that little secret of mine."
"Well," he said, "now the cat's out of the bag, I'll admit, yes, it is so.I had it----"
"From Pattison?"
"Indirectly," he said, which I believe was lying, "yes."
"Pattison," I said, "took that stuff at his own risk." He pursed his mouthand bowed.
"My great-grandmother's recipes," I said, "are queer things to handle. Myfather was near making me promise----"
"He didn't?"
"No. But he warned me. He himself used one--once."
"Ah! ... But do you think----? Suppose--suppose there did happen to beone----"
"The things are curious documents," I said. "Even the smell of 'em ...No!"
But after going so far Pyecraft was resolved I should go farther. I wasalways a little afraid if I tried his patience too much he would fall onme suddenly and smother me. I own I was weak. But I was also annoyed withPyecraft. I had got to that state of feeling for him that disposed me tosay, "Well, _take_ the risk!" The little affair of Pattison to whichI have alluded was a different matter altogether. What it was doesn'tconcern us now, but I knew, anyhow, that the particular recipe I used thenwas safe. The rest I didn't know so much about, and, on the whole, I wasinclined to doubt their safety pretty completely.
Yet even if Pyecraft got poisoned----
I must confess the poisoning of Pyecraft struck me as an immenseundertaking.
That evening I took that queer, odd-scented sandal-wood box out of mysafe, and turned the rustling skins over. The gentleman who wrote therecipes for my great-grandmother evidently had a weakness for skins of amiscellaneous origin, and his handwriting was cramped to the last degree.Some of the things are quite unreadable to me--though my family, with itsIndian Civil Service associations, has kept up a knowledge of Hindustanifrom generation to generation--and none are absolutely plain sailing. ButI found the one that I knew was there soon enough, and sat on the floor bymy safe for some time looking at it.
"Look here," said I to Pyecraft next day, and snatched the slip away fromhis eager grasp.
"So far as I can make it out, this is a recipe for Loss of Weight. ("Ah!"said Pyecraft.) I'm not absolutely sure, but I think it's that. And if youtake my advice you'll leave it alone. Because, you know--I blacken myblood in your interest, Pyecraft--my ancestors on that side were, so faras I can gather, a jolly queer lot. See?"
"Let me try it," said Pyecraft.
I leant back in my chair. My imagination made one mighty effort and fellflat within me. "What in Heaven's name, Pyecraft," I asked, "do you thinkyou'll look like when you get thin?"
He was impervious to reason, I made him promise never to say a word to meabout his disgusting fatness again whatever happened--never, and then Ihanded him that little piece of skin.
"It's nasty stuff," I said.
"No matter," he said, and took it.
He goggled at it. "But--but--" he said
He had just discovered that it wasn't English.
"To the best of my ability," I said, "I will do you a translation."
I did my best. After that we didn't speak for a fortnight. Whenever heapproached me I frowned and motioned him away, and he respected ourcompact, but at the end of the fortnight he was as fat as ever. And thenhe got a word in.
"I must speak," he said, "It isn't fair. There's something wrong. It'sdone me no good. You're not doing your great-grandmother justice."
"Where's the recipe?"
He produced it gingerly from his pocket-book.
I ran my eye over the items. "Was the egg addled?" I asked.
"No. Ought it to have been?"
"That," I sa
id, "goes without saying in all my poor deargreat-grandmother's recipes. When condition or quality is not specifiedyou must get the worst. She was drastic or nothing... And there's one ortwo possible alternatives to some of these other things. You got _fresh_rattlesnake venom?"
"I got a rattlesnake from Jamrach's. It cost--it cost----"
"That's your affair anyhow. This last item----"
"I know a man who----"
"Yes. H'm. Well, I'll write the alternatives down. So far as I know thelanguage, the spelling of this recipe is particularly atrocious.By-the-by, dog here probably means pariah dog."
For a month after that I saw Pyecraft constantly at the club and as fatand anxious as ever. He kept our treaty, but at times he broke the spiritof it by shaking his head despondently. Then one day in the cloakroom hesaid, "Your great-grandmother----"
"Not a word against her," I said; and he held his peace.
I could have fancied he had desisted, and I saw him one day talking tothree new members about his fatness as though he was in search of otherrecipes. And then, quite unexpectedly, his telegram came.
"Mr. Formalyn!" bawled a page-boy under my nose, and I took the telegramand opened it at once.
"_For Heaven's sake come_.--_Pyecraft_."
"H'm," said I, and to tell the truth I was so pleased at therehabilitation of my great-grandmother's reputation this evidentlypromised that I made a most excellent lunch.
I got Pyecraft's address from the hall porter. Pyecraft inhabited theupper half of a house in Bloomsbury, and I went there so soon as I haddone my coffee and Trappistine. I did not wait to finish my cigar.
"Mr. Pyecraft?" said I, at the front door.
They believed he was ill; he hadn't been out for two days.
"He expects me," said I, and they sent me up.
I rang the bell at the lattice-door upon the landing.
"He shouldn't have tried it, anyhow," I said to myself. "A man who eatslike a pig ought to look like a pig."
An obviously worthy woman, with an anxious face and a carelessly placedcap, came and surveyed me through the lattice.
I gave my name and she let me in in a dubious fashion.
"Well?" said I, as we stood together inside Pyecraft's piece of thelanding.
"'E said you was to come in if you came," she said, and regarded me,making no motion to show me anywhere. And then, confidentially, "'E'slocked in, sir."
"Locked in?"
"Locked 'imself in yesterday morning and 'asn't let any one in since, sir.And ever and again _swearing_. Oh, my!"
I stared at the door she indicated by her glances. "In there?" I said.
"Yes, sir."
"What's up?"
She shook her head sadly. "'E keeps on calling for vittles, sir.'_Eavy_ vittles 'e wants. I get 'im what I can. Pork 'e's had, sooitpuddin', sossiges, noo bread. Everythink like that. Left outside, if youplease, and me go away. 'E's eatin', sir, somethink _awful_."
There came a piping bawl from inside the door: "That Formalyn?"
"That you, Pyecraft?" I shouted, and went and banged the door.
"Tell her to go away."
I did.
Then I could hear a curious pattering upon the door, almost like some onefeeling for the handle in the dark, and Pyecraft's familiar grunts.
"It's all right," I said, "she's gone."
But for a long time the door didn't open.
I heard the key turn. Then Pyecraft's voice said, "Come in."
I turned the handle and opened the door. Naturally I expected to seePyecraft.
Well, you know, he wasn't there!
I never had such a shock in my life. There was his sitting-room in a stateof untidy disorder, plates and dishes among the books and writing things,and several chairs overturned, but Pyecraft----
"It's all right, old man; shut the door," he said, and then I discoveredhim.
There he was, right up close to the cornice in the corner by the door, asthough some one had glued him to the ceiling. His face was anxious andangry. He panted and gesticulated. "Shut the door," he said. "If thatwoman gets hold of it----"
I shut the door, and went and stood away from him and stared.
"If anything gives way and you tumble down," I said, "you'll break yourneck, Pyecraft."
"I wish I could," he wheezed.
"A man of your age and weight getting up to kiddish gymnastics----"
"Don't," he said, and looked agonised.
"I'll tell you," he said, and gesticulated.
"How the deuce," said I, "are you holding on up there?"
And then abruptly I realised that he was not holding on at all, that hewas floating up there--just as a gas-filled bladder might have floated inthe same position. He began a struggle to thrust himself away from theceiling and to clamber down the wall to me. "It's that prescription," hepanted, as he did so. "Your great-gran----"
He took hold of a framed engraving rather carelessly as he spoke and itgave way, and he flew back to the ceiling again, while the picture smashedon to the sofa. Bump he went against the ceiling, and I knew then why hewas all over white on the more salient curves and angles of his person. Hetried again more carefully, coming down by way of the mantel.
It was really a most extraordinary spectacle, that great, fat,apoplectic-looking man upside down and trying to get from the ceilingto the floor. "That prescription," he said. "Too successful."
"How?"
"Loss of weight--almost complete."
And then, of course, I understood.
"By Jove, Pyecraft," said I, "what you wanted was a cure for fatness! Butyou always called it weight. You would call it weight."
Somehow I was extremely delighted. I quite liked Pyecraft for the time."Let me help you!" I said, and took his hand and pulled him down. Hekicked about, trying to get foothold somewhere. It was very like holding aflag on a windy day.
"That table," he said, pointing, "is solid mahogany and very heavy. If youcan put me under that----"
I did, and there he wallowed about like a captive balloon, while I stoodon his hearthrug and talked to him.
I lit a cigar. "Tell me," I said, "what happened?"
"I took it," he said.
"How did it taste?"
"Oh, _beastly_!"
I should fancy they all did. Whether one regards the ingredients orthe probable compound or the possible results, almost all mygreat-grandmother's remedies appear to me at least to be extraordinarilyuninviting. For my own part----
"I took a little sip first."
"Yes?"
"And as I felt lighter and better after an hour, I decided to take thedraught."
"My dear Pyecraft!"
"I held my nose," he explained. "And then I kept on getting lighter andlighter--and helpless, you know."
He gave way suddenly to a burst of passion. "What the goodness am I to_do?_" he said.
"There's one thing pretty evident," I said, "that you mustn't do. If yougo out of doors you'll go up and up." I waved an arm upward. "They'd haveto send Santos-Dumont after you to bring you down again."
"I suppose it will wear off?"
I shook my head. "I don't think you can count on that," I said.
And then there was another burst of passion, and he kicked out at adjacentchairs and banged the floor. He behaved just as I should have expected agreat, fat, self-indulgent man to behave under trying circumstances--thatis to say, very badly. He spoke of me and of my great-grandmother with anutter want of discretion.
"I never asked you to take the stuff," I said.
And generously disregarding the insults he was putting upon me, I sat downin his armchair and began to talk to him in a sober, friendly fashion.
I pointed out to him that this was a trouble he had brought upon himself,and that it had almost an air of poetical justice. He had eaten too much.This he disputed, and for a time we argued the point.
He became noisy and violent, so I desisted from this aspect of his lesson."And then," said I, "you committed t
he sin of euphuism. You called it, notFat, which is just and inglorious, but Weight. You----"
He interrupted to say that he recognised all that. What was he to_do?_
I suggested he should adapt himself to his new conditions. So we came tothe really sensible part of the business. I suggested that it would not bedifficult for him to learn to walk about on the ceiling with his hands----
"I can't sleep," he said.
But that was no great difficulty. It was quite possible, I pointed out, tomake a shake-up under a wire mattress, fasten the under things on withtapes, and have a blanket, sheet, and coverlet to button at the side. Hewould have to confide in his housekeeper, I said; and after somesquabbling he agreed to that. (Afterwards it was quite delightful to seethe beautifully matter-of-fact way with which the good lady took all theseamazing inversions.) He could have a library ladder in his room, and allhis meals could be laid on the top of his bookcase. We also hit on aningenious device by which he could get to the floor whenever he wanted,which was simply to put the _British Encyclopaedia_ (tenth edition)on the top of his open shelves. He just pulled out a couple of volumes andheld on, and down he came. And we agreed there must be iron staples alongthe skirting, so that he could cling to those whenever he wanted to getabout the room on the lower level.
As we got on with the thing I found myself almost keenly interested. Itwas I who called in the housekeeper and broke matters to her, and it was Ichiefly who fixed up the inverted bed. In fact, I spent two whole days athis flat. I am a handy, interfering sort of man with a screw-driver, and Imade all sorts of ingenious adaptations for him--ran a wire to bring hisbells within reach, turned all his electric lights up instead of down, andso on. The whole affair was extremely curious and interesting to me, andit was delightful to think of Pyecraft like some great, fat blow-fly,crawling about on his ceiling and clambering round the lintel of his doorsfrom one room to another, and never, never, never coming to the club anymore...
Then, you know, my fatal ingenuity got the better of me. I was sitting byhis fire drinking his whisky, and he was up in his favourite corner by thecornice, tacking a Turkey carpet to the ceiling, when the idea struck me."By Jove, Pyecraft!" I said, "all this is totally unnecessary."
And before I could calculate the complete consequences of my notion Iblurted it out. "Lead underclothing," said I, and the mischief was done.
Pyecraft received the thing almost in tears. "To be right ways upagain----" he said.
I gave him the whole secret before I saw where it would take me. "Buysheet lead," I said, "stamp it into discs. Sew 'em all over yourunderclothes until you have enough. Have lead-soled boots, carry a bag ofsolid lead, and the thing is done! Instead of being a prisoner here youmay go abroad again, Pyecraft; you may travel----"
A still happier idea came to me. "You need never fear a shipwreck. All youneed do is just slip off some or all of your clothes, take the necessaryamount of luggage in your hand, and float up in the air----"
In his emotion he dropped the tack-hammer within an ace of my head. "ByJove!" he said, "I shall be able to come back to the club again."
"The thing pulled me up short. By Jove!" I said, faintly. "Yes. Ofcourse--you will."
He did. He does. There he sits behind me now, stuffing--as I live!--athird go of buttered teacake. And no one in the whole world knows--excepthis housekeeper and me---that he weighs practically nothing; that he is amere boring mass of assimilatory matter, mere clouds in clothing,_niente, nefas_, the most inconsiderable of men. There he sitswatching until I have done this writing. Then, if he can, he will waylayme. He will come billowing up to me...
He will tell me over again all about it, how it feels, how it doesn'tfeel, how he sometimes hopes it is passing off a little. And alwayssomewhere in that fat, abundant discourse he will say, "The secret'skeeping, eh? If any one knew of it--I should be so ashamed... Makesa fellow look such a fool, you know. Crawling about on a ceiling and allthat..."
And now to elude Pyecraft, occupying, as he does, an admirable strategicposition between me and the door.