The Turnbulls

by Caldwell, Taylor;

  Mr. Wilkins was a plotter, but without drama. His plotting had the outward appearance of a gay Punch-and-Judy show, so that every one was convinced that he was animated only by high spirits, with perhaps a touch of whiskey-jauntiness. Nor was that plotting nefarious, designed to bring confusion and ruin to others. It was simply planned to bring the largest possible profits to Mr. Wilkins. He was an excellent servant to those who bought his services. So long as he was in their employ, (at a most respectable sum) the employers could be certain that he would not betray them. But they were never certain just when their employment of Mr. Wilkins terminated. They never knew the exact and crucial moment until something occurred to throw them into devastating and appalled rages. When they attempted to seize upon Mr. Wilkins, they discovered, to their confoundment, that Mr. Wilkins had already severed relationships with them and was now happily employed by others. “I’m a man as is loyal,” he would say virtuously. “I’m not a man as would take a chap’s money and turn and bite him. When I does something agin him, I’m no longer his man.”

  Mr. Wilkins, then, despite his great talents, and despite his funds of humour and saltiness and great entertainment value, was not at all liked by those who had previously employed him.

  “Lawsuits?” he would say, tapping himself on his round and sturdy chest, and grinning. “I’ve got more lawsuits hangin’ around my neck than any other man in the world! Like a bloody necklace!”

  He was proud of his lawsuits. He regarded the baffled pursuits by bailiffs with as much pride as a great actor regards the pursuits of his adoring audiences. It was all only a compliment to his genius. The bailiffs did not worry him. He would always rely on the laughing employer of the moment, (appreciative of Mr. Wilkins’ temporarily bought talents) to extricate him from a situation which showed disagreeable symptoms of becoming embarrassing.

  Mr. Wilkins, in short, skimmed on the thin ice of the law with grace and finesse and skill. Being extraordinarily intelligent, he had little fear of breaking through that ice. “The law is an ass,” he would quote, blandly. Too, he knew that the bailiffs were only the hunting hounds of disgruntled and howling ex-employers. “I’ve got me books that is open to the world!” he would exclaim, with injured innocence. But the books he kept in his mind were safe from the law.

  In conclusion, Mr. Wilkins had long ago arrived at the great truth that a man’s best friend was himself. If he took good care of Mr. Wilkins, he was only demonstrating the fact that he was no fool. Integrity paid poor dividends in this world of knaves. Integrity was the virtue of eternal servants. It was the last consolation of those who had failed. Mr. Wilkins did not care to die fruitlessly. He preferred to live richly.

  Mr. Wilkins often declared, with an admirable lack of modesty, that he had “a nose.” In the physical sense, this was very obvious. In the figurative sense, also, it was only too true. He could “smell out” an unusual personality, however innocuous or drab or desolate it might appear. He had rarely erred. His passion for Mr. Wilkins made that nose his most valuable instrument. He never wasted the sensitivity of his nose on those who could never advance the black figures in Mr. Wilkins’ innumerable bank-books. When his nose began to “twitch,” (a quite subconscious phenomenon) Mr. Wilkins alertly began to search all those nearby for the only one which had tickled his olfactory organ. The latter detected an object far in advance of Mr. Wilkins’ vision. For instance, Mr. Wilkins might go about for days, even for months, without his nose once twitching, though during that time he might have encountered thousands of fellow beings. Then, all at once that unfailing tickling began, and Mr. Wilkins would begin to sniff greedily, his eyes piercing through all those nearby. Was this he, or this one, or again, this one? Eventually, like the nose of a retriever, Mr. Wilkins’ nose would suddenly point. And the unconscious man at whom that nose pointed would mysteriously find himself the puzzled recipient of Mr. Wilkins’ genial and open attentions, always begun with the utmost friendliness and innocence.

  Nor was Mr. Wilkins ever rebuffed permanently. Some there were who would stare haughtily, or would shrug and walk away. It was quite useless. Mr. Wilkins would strangely be at hand in the most unlikely spots, and just when the pursued had decided that the bounder had finally been thrown off the scent, there was Mr. Wilkins again, jaunty, affable, grinning and gently persistent!

  The objects of Mr. Wilkins’ nose were not confined to one walk in life, nor one trade, or class or occupation. Thus it was, in the service of Mr. Wilkins, that the nose had led him into the strangest bypaths. Mr. Wilkins had an extraordinary knowledge of importing and exporting, of the cotton trade, of the slave trade, of the gold trade, drug traffic, and the financial markets of the world. It was even said, by those who had come to not liking Mr. Wilkins, that he had been engaged in the bawdy trade, but this Mr. Wilkins would deny with authentic indignation. Not that he would have refused such a connection had it been offered him. It was simply that no such a connection had as yet been suggested. Therefore, he was still entitled to his virtue in this respect, and could boast of it.

  All things were for sale in this most entertaining world. Mr. Wilkins, therefore, felt himself a legitimate bargainer in the universal bazaar.

  Mr. Wilkins had not been aboard the Anne of Argyle two days out of Liverpool, when his nose began to twitch. He looked about at the some two hundred and fifty passengers, a motley crowd if he had ever seen one! But the nose did not yet point, though its twitching became more excited every hour. Among that passenger list was some one who was going to be very important and valuable to Mr. Wilkins. In the meantime, he prowled about the ship, beaming, joking, making himself very entertaining and popular with every one, waiting for the moment when his nose would unmistakably point.

  There was nothing about Mr. Wilkins to inspire the slightest suspicion even among those who are born with an unremitting distrust of all other men. He was very short, not more than five foot three, and very bulky, though not fat. He gave, the impression of enormous physical strength, and this he had. He was built on the lines of an oaken cask, with all its suggestion of sturdiness and thick durability. Too, like that cask, he appeared full of potential joviality and high spirits and wholesome satisfaction. One thought, as one thought of the cask: “Nothing there thin and acid, sir!” There was a hint of Yuletide festivity about Mr. Wilkins, too.

  Mr. Wilkins’ penchant for loud and gaudy clothes endeared him even to the elegant and fastidious. It was all part of his “amusing” personality, and assured the spectator that there must be some frank and simple innocence in Mr. Wilkins which inspired such flowered weskits and big gold watch-chains, such light-coloured and buoyant pantaloons, such pointed and polished boots, such flowing, long-tailed broadcloth coats and extravagant cravats and florid ruffles at his wrists, such amazingly high and gleaming hats. Mr. Wilkins took such evident and candid enjoyment in his lavish wardrobe that even the sourest were forced to smile affectionately, as at a big and engaging child. He talked of his wardrobe with sparkling eyes and great pride to all who would listen, and would often drag reluctant gentlemen down to his stateroom in order to display it. But, in truth, Mr. Wilkins’ wardrobe and his conversation about it were only part of his trade, and a very shrewd part. Mr. Wilkins knew how necessary it was to give the impression of simple and even vulgar innocence and harmlessness.

  Mr. Wilkins carried with him a great cane with a lavish gold head, intricately chased and molded. It was almost as tall as he. He would rest his hand upon it with an air. This further amused those who imagined they could easily exploit Mr. Wilkins, for Mr. Wilkins had such a manner of being innocently open to exploitation by more cunning and intelligent gentlemen.

  For the rest, Mr. Wilkins’ large round head was completely bald, and rosily glittering. Beneath a vast and shining forehead, which wrinkled sweatily when he was excessively earnest, was a round and bulbous face, “larger than lifesize,” to quote a malicious wit. It was also a cherubic face, healthily pink, with three double chins which seemed t
o rest on his barrel chest, so short was his thick neck. In that infantile face was a pair of bright hazel eyes, surmounted by two tufts of sandy eyebrows, so thick, so bushy, that they stood out between his hairless head and the rest of his face like shelves. This gave his pudgy and artless profile an extraordinary look, for the tufted brows were the most aggressive feature he possessed, and were noticed far sooner than was his round bulb of a red nose, and his little round fat mouth, always smiling. He had tiny white teeth, glistening with sound health, and two engaging dimples sunken deeply in his rosy and quivering cheeks. From the side of that high domed head protruded two big pink ears, which had the habit of blushing furiously.

  Mr. Wilkins’ eyes were very unusual, for all their ordinary colour and shape. It is true that they were very small, and sunken in rings of sanguine flesh, and the lashes were short and colourless and quite bristling, as if forced outwards by the press of heavy skin. They were exceedingly bright and restless, alive and alert. But even that would not have aroused attention. It was in their expression that they were extraordinary. For, despite their openness (a look carefully cultivated by Mr. Wilkins) he had not been able to conceal a certain glassiness and opaqueness, like polished glass, a certain lack of that quality which is called “humanness.” They were not fish-like, nor wild and savage. In short, they lacked “livingness,” in spite of their constant movement and brilliance and animation. It was as if he kept them on “the jump” to hide that betraying and basilisk stare.

  Mr. Wilkins’ character was very bewildering, and inconsistent to the superficial. For he was a bad man, an evil man, a conscienceless man. Had he been merely selfish, that could have been forgiven. But he was beyond selfishness, as a stone was beyond it. He was also very kind, given to strange and impulsive acts of generosity. He was understanding and subtle, and just. If he had an affectionate and ingratiating manner, this was not always pure pretense. He exuded jollity.

  All this was very deceiving to the superficial and those who had certain rigid notions with which to measure whether a man was good or evil. Mr. Wilkins was evil. If he also possessed attributes fondly considered “Christian and good” that did not detract from his wickedness in the slightest.

  When he discovered, (very rarely) a man or woman who was truly gentle and noble, truly sweet and good; in short, truly harmless, then that man or woman had a loyal and passionate friend for life, much to his or her bewilderment.

  But, to return to a certain activity of Mr. Wilkins’ olfactory organ:

  It took Mr. Wilkins two days to become acclimated to the sea, which he disliked ardently. It made his nose run, and men whose noses have a tendency to run are not at their best, either mentally or physically. But after two days his head was quite clear and active. His nose had begun to twitch.

  Genial, loud, ingratiating and benign, always helpful with a rug or a chair, always interested and sympathetic and considerate, Mr. Wilkins roamed the packet, looking for that one human being which had excited his nose. Was this he, or he, or she or she? Another day passed, and another, and still his nose had not “pointed.” But Mr. Wilkins knew that the man, or woman, who had activated his subconscious smell was on this heaving packet.

  He was not too disturbed at the delay. The journey to America would take considerable time, perhaps three weeks. For it was an old vessel, only lately equipped with the new steam engines, which were uncertain at the best. It also possessed sails, for those emergencies when the steam power was likely to fail. It had failed two days out. The billowing dark sails were already tilting and bellying against a wild dark sky. Many of the passengers had retired miserably to their staterooms or their bunks (depending on their class). Mr. Wilkins was not annoyed by seasickness, but he realized that he must have patience. His quarry might be retching in the subterranean regions.

  It had been all of five years since Mr. Wilkins’ nose had informed him that some one who would be of immense value was in his vicinity. He had sometimes been apprehensive that he had lost his extraordinary capacity. Now he was delighted. The capacity had lain dormant for lack of proper excitation.

  He became quite ebullient and proud. His eyes were everywhere; he sniffed. He prowled in the lower passageways of the staterooms. He even ventured to the darker and more oderiferous regions where the poor sweltered and shivered and vomited in complete misery. But one inhalation down there assured him that his prey was not in the steerage. It was somewhere among the staterooms.

  In the meantime, he made himself much loved and liked among the passengers. He, better than the ship’s harassed doctor, knew the best remedies for seasickness. He carried the most efficacious in a bottle in his capacious coat-tails. One swig and the victim began to take an interest in life again, and thereafter followed Mr. Wilkins about like a devoted dog. After a few days his entourage resembled the train of a royal personage. One could hear his laughter, his jokes, his gay and hoarse and booming voice everywhere. What did it matter if his speech and grammar were vulgar, reeking of a Cockney strain? What did it matter that he was no gentleman? Some of the more aristocratic of the passengers declared that he was “nature’s gentleman,” without benefit of the artifices of breeding. He was an “excellent soul,” to quote those who under happier circumstances might have snubbed or ignored him.

  Mr. Wilkins was enjoying himself immensely. He was a gregarious soul, despite his affable hatred for his fellowmen. Nor, unlike his mentor, Lucifer, did he affect friendship for his own ends. He had his ends. In the meantime, let the wine and the laughter flow, without hypocrisy. It was not inconsistent with Mr. Wilkins’ character that he truly enjoyed alleviating the sea-miseries of his, fellow travellers. He truly hated the sight of suffering, unless he afflicted it himself. Then, it was only revenge.

  Then, on one of the worst nights, when the black wind and the black night seemed to howl together in demonic fury, and practically every one but the crew was below battened decks, Mr. Wilkins’ nose implacably “pointed.”

  The barometer had been falling steadily all day, to the Captain’s anxiety. The weather had been unremittingly gloomy since the ship had left Liverpool, and the ocean had behaved itself as the Atlantic usually behaved itself at this time of the year. So, it was not until the barometer had displayed ominous signs that the Captain had become apprehensive. All hatches had been battened down, and the decks forbidden to the passengers, even those who gasped and declared they would die downstairs.

  At twilight, the storm had swooped down from the cosmic places where such evils lurk, waiting. There was no rain, only a steadfast and rising gale which lifted the racing waves to mountainous heights. To the Captain’s gratitude, the steam engines had finally spluttered into activity, and he was able to order the reefing of the enormous sails. The Captain had never overcome his fear and distrust of the sea. And he knew that few seamen really loved it.

  After tea, the passengers had repaired to the crimson-plush-and-gilt salon, where a few simpering ladies with “voices” had been prevailed upon to regale their friends with simple and sentimental songs. Mr. Wilkins had led them with booming gusto. Then followed charades. The passengers sat about on little gilt chairs. Some of the gentlemen smiled painfully, yearning for a forbidden smoke. The lamps, fastened in their sconces on the walls, flickered and flared with the lurching of the ship. Many of the faces which the lamps revealed were clammy and pale. These turned instinctively to Mr. Wilkins, whose beaming rosy smile was very reassuring. Even when the whole salon tilted, and suppressed shrieks rose to the ladies’ lips, Mr. Wilkins only increased his loud melody and laughed even harder.

  But the heat and the smell of the oil lamps eventually unnerved Mr. Wilkins. He did not like heat; he did not like the too close press of the others. He decided to go out “for a breath of fresh air.”

  He found his way barred by two robust young sailors. But Mr. Wilkins, who was such a favourite with every one, finally prevailed on them to allow him to go on deck.

  For a moment, reeling in the impact of win
d, he wondered if he had not been too sanguine. He caught at posts and protuberances as he cautiously made his way to the rail. There was a blowing light at bow and stern, and the portholes made round rosy glows along the side of the ship. This light revealed the stark and oily swells of the billows rushing past. They were like the glistening backs of enormous whales, and Mr. Wilkins watched them, fascinated. He gripped the rail, and allowed himself to lurch easily with the pitching of the vessel. The icy gale, laden with salt, roared by his ears. He could hear the uneasy groaning of every timber. The sky was black, not a star visible.

  Mr. Wilkins was happy. He did not need to smile. His short sturdy body braced itself against the wind. He wore no hat, and he felt trickles of cold currents laving his bald head. He hummed hoarsely to himself, pursing out his lips, tapping an accompaniment on the iron rail. Sometimes he lifted his big face to feel the battering of the gale. A strange wild excitation filled him. There was nothing in his physical body which resembled Lucifer, his guardian saint, but there was such a resemblance in his soul. Suddenly he wanted to howl with the wind, to throw up his arms in savage imprecation and evil joy, to utter strange deep gibberish as if in black ecstasy.