CHAPTER II.
The chronicle must now go back a few days and follow another up-express.
"I must either be a clergyman or a policeman," Mr Bunker reflected, in thecorner of his carriage; "they seem to me to be on the whole the two leastmolested professions. Each certainly has a livery which, if its occupieris ordinarily judicious, ought to serve as a certificate of sanity. To meall policemen are precisely alike, but I daresay they know them apart inthe force, and as all the beats and crossings are presumably takenalready, I might excite suspicion by my mere superfluity. Besides, atheatrical costumier's uniform would possibly lack some ridiculous butessential detail."
He lit another cigar and looked humorously out of the window.
"I shall take orders. An amateur theatrical clergyman's costume will bemore comfortable, and probably less erroneous. They allow them somelatitude, I believe; and I don't suppose there are any visible ordinationscars whose absence would give me away. I shall certainly study the firstreverend brother I meet to see."
Thus wisely ruminating, he arrived in London at a very early hour on achilly morning, and drove straight to a small hotel near King's Cross,where the landlord was much gratified at receiving so respectable a guestas the Rev. Alexander Butler. ("I must begin with a B." said Mr Bunker tohimself; "I think it's lucky.")
It is true the reverend gentleman was in evening clothes, while his hatand coat had a singularly secular, not to say fashionable, appearance;but, as he mentioned casually in the course of some extremely affableremarks, he had been dining in a country house, and had not thought itworth while changing before he left. After breakfasting he dressed himselfin an equally secular suit of tweeds and went out, he mentionedincidentally, to call at his tailor's for his professional habit, which heseemed surprised to learn had not yet been forwarded to the hotel.
A visit to a certain well-known firm of theatrical costumiers was followedby his reappearance in a cab accompanied by a bulky brown paper parcel;and presently he emerged from his room attired more consistently with hisoffice, much to his own satisfaction, for, as he observed, "I cannot say Iapprove of clergymen masquerading as laymen."
His opinion on the converse circumstance was not expressed.
Much to his landlord's disappointment, he informed him that he shouldprobably leave again that afternoon, and then he went out for a walk.
About half an hour later he was once more in the street where, not so verylong ago, a very exciting cab-race had finished. He strolled slowly pastDr Twiddel's house. The blinds of the front room were down; at that hourthere was no sign of life about it, and he saw nothing at all to arresthis attention. Then he looked down the other side of the street, and tohis great satisfaction spied a card, with the legend "Apartments to let,"in one of the first-floor windows of a house immediately opposite.
He rang the bell, and in a moment a rotund and loquacious landladyappeared. Yes, the drawing-room was to let; would the reverend gentlemancome up and see it? Mr Bunker went up, and approved. They readily agreedupon terms, and the landlady, charmed with her new lodger's appearance andmanners, no less than with the respectability of his profession, proceededto descant at some length on the quiet, comfort, and numerous otheradvantages of the apartments.
"Just the very plice you wants, sir. We 'ave 'ad clerical gentlemen 'erebefore, sir; in fact, there's one a-staying 'ere now, second floor,--youmay know of 'im, sir,--the Reverend Mr John Duggs; a very pleasantgentleman you'll find him, sir. I'll tell 'im you're 'ere, sir; 'e'd besure to like to meet another gentleman of the syme cloth, has they say."
Somehow or other the Rev. Mr Butler failed to display the hearty pleasureat this announcement that the worthy Mrs Gabbon had naturally expected.
Aloud he merely said, "Indeed," politely, but with no unusual interest.
Within himself he reflected, "The deuce take Mr John Duggs! However, Iwant the rooms, and a man must risk something."
As a precautionary measure he visited a second-hand bookseller on his wayback, and purchased a small assortment of the severest-looking works ontheology they kept in stock; and these, with his slender luggage, hebrought round to Mrs Gabbon's in the course of the afternoon.
He looked carefully out of his sitting-room window, but the doctor'sblinds were still down, and he saw no one coming or going about the house;so he began his inquiries by calling up his landlady.
"I have been troubled with lumbago, Mrs Gabbon," he began.
"Dearie me, sir," said Mrs Gabbon, "I'm sorry to 'ear that; you that looksso 'ealthy too! Well, one never knows what's be'ind a 'appy hexterior,does one, sir?"
"No, Mrs Gabbon," replied Mr Bunker, solemnly; "one never knows what evena clergyman's coat conceals."
"That's very true, sir. In the midst of life we are in----"
"Lumbago," interposed Mr Bunker.
Mrs Gabbon looked a trifle startled.
"Well," he continued with the same gravity, "I may unfortunately haveoccasion to consult a doctor----"
"There's Dr Smith," interrupted Mrs Gabbon, her equanimity quite restoredby his ecclesiastical tone and the mention of ailments; "'e attended mypoor dear 'usband hall through his last illness; an huncommon cleverdoctor, sir, as I ought to know, sir, bein'----"
"No doubt an excellent man, Mrs Gabbon; but I should like to know of oneas near at hand as possible. Now I see the name of a Dr Twiddel----"
"I wouldn't recommend 'im, sir," said Mrs Gabbon, pursing her mouth.
"Indeed? Why not?"
"'E attended Mrs Brown's servant-girl, sir,--she bein' the lady as has the'ouse next door,--and what he give _'er_ didn't do no good. Mrs Brown tellme 'erself."
"Still, in an emergency----"
"Besides which, he ain't at 'ome, sir."
"Where has he gone?"
"Abroad, they do say, sir; though I don't rightly know much about 'im."
"Has he been away long?"
Mrs Gabbon considered.
"It must 'ave bin before the middle of November he went, sir."
"Ha!" exclaimed Mr Bunker, keenly, though apparently more to himself thanhis landlady.
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"The middle of November, you say? That's a long holiday for a doctor totake."
"'E 'avn't no practice to speak of,--not as I knows of, leastways."
"What sort of a man is he--young or old?"
"By my opinion, sir, 'e's too young. I don't 'old by them young doctors.Now Dr Smith, sir----"
"Dr Twiddel is quite a young man, then?"
"What I'd call little better than a boy, sir. They tell me they lets 'emloose very young nowadays."
"About twenty-five, say?"
"'E might be that, sir; but I don't know much about 'im, sir. Now DrSmith, sir, 'e's different."
In fact at this point Mrs Gabbon showed such a tendency to turn theconversation back to the merits of Dr Smith and the precise nature of MrBunker's ailment, that her lodger, in despair, requested her to bring up acup of tea as speedily as possible.
"Before the middle of November," he said to himself. "It is certainly acurious coincidence."
To a gentleman of Mr Bunker's sociable habits and active mind, theprospect of sitting day by day in the company of his theological treatisesand talkative landlady, and watching an apparently uninhabited house,seemed at first sight even less entertaining than a return to Clankwood.But, as he said of himself, he possessed a kind of easy workadayphilosophy, and, besides that, an apparently irresistible attraction forthe incidents of life.
He had barely finished his cup of tea, and was sitting over the firesmoking one of the Baron's cigars and looking through one of the few bookshe had brought that bore no relation to divinity, his feet high upon theside of the mantelpiece, his ready-made costume perhaps a little moreunbuttoned than the strictest propriety might approve, and a stiff glassof whisky-and-water at his elbow, when there came a rap at his door.
In response to his "Come in," a middle-aged gentleman, dr
essed in clericalattire, entered. He had a broad, bearded face, a dull eye, and anindescribably average aspect.
"The devil! Mr John Duggs himself," thought Mr Bunker, hastily adopting amore conventional attitude and feeling for his button-holes.
"Ah--er--Mr Butler, I believe?" said the stranger, with an apologetic air.
"The same," replied Mr Bunker, smiling affably.
"I," continued his visitor, advancing with more confidence, "am Mr Duggs.I am dwelling at present in the apartment immediately above you, andhearing of the arrival of a fellow-clergyman, through my worthy friend MrsGabbon, I have taken the liberty of calling. She gave me to understandthat you were not undesirous of making my acquaintance, Mr Butler."
"The deuce, she did!" thought Mr Butler. Aloud he answered most politely,"I am honoured, Mr Duggs. Won't you sit down?"
First casting a wary eye upon a chair, Mr Duggs seated himself carefullyon the edge of it.
"It is quite evident," thought Mr Bunker, "that he has spotted somethingwrong. I believe a bobby would have been safer after all."
He assumed the longest face he could draw, and remarked sententiously,"The weather has been unpleasantly cold of late, Mr Duggs."
He flattered himself that his guest seemed instantly more at his ease.Certainly he replied with as much cordiality as a man with such a dull eyecould be supposed to display.
"It has, Mr Butler; in fact I have suffered from a chill for some weeks.Ahem!"
"Have something to drink," suggested Mr Bunker, sympathetically. "I'mtrying a little whisky myself, as a cure for cold."
"I--ah--I am sorry. I do not touch spirits."
"I, on the contrary, am glad to hear it. Too few of our clergymen nowadayssupport the cause of temperance by example."
Mr Bunker felt a little natural pride in this happily expressed sentiment,but his visitor merely turned his cold eye on the whisky bottle, andbreathed heavily.
"Confound him!" he thought; "I'll give him something to snort at if he isgoing to conduct himself like this."
"Have a cigar?" he asked aloud.
Mr Duggs seemed to regard the cigar-box a little less unkindly than thewhisky bottle; but after a careful look at it he replied, "I am afraidthey seem a little too strong for me. I am a light smoker, Mr Butler."
"Really," smiled Mr Bunker; "so many virtues in one room reminds me of thevirgins of Gomorrah."
"I beg your pardon? The what?" asked Mr Duggs, with a startled stare.
Mr Bunker suspected that he had made a slip in his biblical reminiscences,but he continued to smile imperturbably, and inquired with a perfect airof surprise, "Haven't you read the novel I referred to?"
Mr Duggs appeared a little relieved, but he answered blankly enough,"I--ah--have not. What is the book you refer to?"
"Oh, don't you know? To tell the truth, I forget the title. It's by asomewhat well-known lady writer of religious fiction. A Miss--her nameescapes me at this moment."
In fact, as Mr Bunker had no idea how long his friend might be dwelling inthe apartment immediately above him, he thought it more prudent to make nostatement that could possibly be checked.
"I am no great admirer of religious fiction of any kind," replied MrDuggs, "particularly that written by emotional females."
"No," said Mr Bunker, pleasantly; "I should imagine your own doctrineswere not apt to err on the sentimental side."
"I am not aware that I have said anything to you about my--doctrines, asyou call them, Mr Butler."
"Still, don't you think one can generally tell a man's creed from hiscoat, and his sympathies from the way he cocks his hat?"
"I think," replied Mr Duggs, "that our ideas of our vocation are somewhatdifferent."
"Mine is, I admit," said Mr Bunker, who had come to the conclusion thatthe strain of playing his part was really too great, and was now beinghappily carried along by his tongue.
Mr Duggs for a moment was evidently disposed to give battle, but thinkingbetter of it, he contented himself with frowning at his younger opponent,and abruptly changed the subject.
"May I ask what position you hold in the church, Mr Butler?"
"Why," began Mr Bunker, lightly: it was on the tip of his tongue to say "aclergyman, of course," when he suddenly recollected that he might beanything from the rank of curate up to the people who wear gaiters (andwho these were precisely he didn't know). An ingenious solution suggesteditself. He replied with a preliminary inquiry, "Have you ever been in theEast, Mr Duggs?"
"I regret to say I have not hitherto had the opportunity."
"Thank the Lord for that," thought Mr Bunker. "I have been a missionary,"he said quietly, and looked dreamily into the fire.
It was a happy move. Mr Duggs was visibly impressed.
"Ah?" he said. "Indeed? I am much interested to learn this, Mr Butler.It--ah--gives me perhaps a somewhat different view of your--ah--opinions.Where did your work lie?"
"China," replied Mr Bunker, thinking it best to keep as far abroad aspossible.
"Ha!" exclaimed Mr Duggs. "This is really extremely fortunate. I am atpresent, Mr Butler, studying the religions and customs of China at theBritish Museum, with a view to going out there myself very shortly. Ialready feel I know almost as much about that most interesting country asif I had lived there. I should like to talk with you at some length on thesubject."
Mr Bunker saw that it was time to put an end to this conversation, atwhatever minor risk of perturbing his visitor. He had been a littlealarmed, too, by noticing that Mr Duggs' dull eye had wandered frequentlyto his theological library, which with his usual foresight he had strewnconspicuously on the table, and that any expression it had was rather ofsuspicious curiosity than gratification.
"I should like to hear some of your experiences," Mr Duggs continued. "Inwhat province did you work?"
"In Hung Hang Ho," replied Mr Bunker. His visitor looked puzzled, but hecontinued boldly, "My experiences were somewhat unpleasant. I becameengaged to a mandarin's daughter--a charming girl. I was suspected,however, of abetting an illicit traffic in Chinese lanterns. My companionswere manicured alive, and I only made my escape in a pagoda, or a junk--Iwas in too much of a hurry to notice which--at the imminent peril of mylife. Don't go to China, Mr Duggs."
Mr Duggs rose.
"Young man," he said, sternly, "put away that fatal bottle. I can onlysuppose that it is under the influence of drink that you have ventured totell me such an irreverent and impossible story."
"Sir," began Mr Bunker, warmly,--for he thought that an outburst ofindignation would probably be the safest way of concluding theinterview,--when he stopped abruptly and listened. All the time his earshad been alive to anything going on outside, and now he heard a cab rattleup and stop close by. It might be at Dr Twiddel's, he thought, and,turning from his visitor, he sprang to the window.
Remarking distantly, "I hear a cab; it is possibly a friend I amexpecting," Mr Duggs stepped to the other window.
It was only, however, a hansom at the door of the next house, out of whicha very golden-haired young lady was stepping. "Aha," said Mr Bunker, quiteforgetting the indignant _role_ he had begun to play; "rather nice! Isthis your friend, Mr Duggs?"
Mr Duggs gave him one look of his dull eyes, and walked straight for thedoor. As he went out he merely remarked, "Our acquaintance has been brief,Mr Butler, but it has been quite sufficient."
"Quite," thought Mr Bunker.
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