Mr Hackett raised his eyes, from the dying day.
My wife, cried the gentleman. Meet my wife. My wife. Mr Hackett.
I have heard so much about you, said the lady, and now I meet you, at last. Mr Hackett!
I do not rise, not having the force, said Mr Hackett.
Why I should think not indeed, said the lady. She stooped towards him, quivering with solicitude. I should hope not indeed, she said.
Mr Hackett thought she was going to pat him on the head, or at least stroke his hunch. He called in his arms and they sat down beside him, the lady on the one side, and the gentleman on the other. As a result of this, Mr Hackett found himself between them. His head reached to the armpits. Their hands met above the hunch, on the backboard. They drooped with tenderness towards him.
You remember Grehan? said Mr Hackett.
The poisoner, said the gentleman.
The solicitor, said Mr Hackett.
I knew him slightly, said the gentleman. Six years, was it not.
Seven, said Mr Hackett. Six are rarely given.
He deserved ten, in my opinion, said the gentleman.
Or twelve, said Mr Hackett.
What did he do? said the lady.
Slightly overstepped his prerogatives, said the gentleman.
I received a letter from him this morning, said Mr Hackett.
Oh, said the gentleman, I did not know they might communicate with the outer world.
He is a solicitor, said Mr Hackett. He added, I am scarcely the outer world.
What rubbish, said the gentleman.
What nonsense, said the lady.
The letter contained an enclosure, said Mr Hackett, of which, knowing your love of literature, I would favour you with the primeur, if it were not too dark to see.
The primeur, said the lady.
That is what I said, said Mr Hackett.
I have a petrol-lighter, said the gentleman.
Mr Hackett drew a paper from his pocket and the gentleman lit his petrol-lighter.
Mr Hackett read:
TO NELLY
To Nelly, said the lady.
To Nelly, said Mr. Hackett.
There was a silence.
Shall I continue? said Mr Hackett.
My mother’s name was Nelly, said the lady.
The name is not uncommon, said Mr Hackett,
I have known several Nellies.
Read on, my dear fellow, said the gentleman.
Mr Hackett read:
TO NELLY
To thee, sweet Nell, when shadows fall
Jug-jug! Jug-jug!
I here in thrall
My wanton thoughts do turn.
Walks she out yet with Byrne?
Moves Hyde his hand amid her skirts
As erst? I ask, and Echo answers: Certes.
Tis well! Tis well! Far, far be it
Pu-we! Pu-we!
From me, my tit,
Such innocent joys to chide.
Burn, burn with Byrne, from Hyde
Hide naught—hide naught save what
Is Greh’n’s. IT hide from Hyde, with Byrne burn not.
It! Peerless gage of maidenhood!
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Would that I could
Be certain in my mind
Upon discharge to find
Neath Cupid’s flow’r, hey nonny O!
Diana’s blushing bud in statu quo.
Then darkly kindle durst my soul
Tuwhit! Tuwhoo!
As on it stole
The murmur to become
Epithalamium,
And Hymen o’er my senses shed
The dewy forejoys of the marriage-bed.
Enough—
Ample, said the lady.
A woman in a shawl passed before them. Her belly could dimly be seen, sticking out, like a balloon.
I was never like that, my dear, said the lady, was I?
Not to my knowledge, my love, said the gentleman.
You remember the night that Larry was born, said the lady.
I do, said the gentleman.
How old is Larry now? said Mr Hackett.
How old is Larry, my dear? said the gentleman.
How old is Larry, said the lady. Larry will be forty years old next March, D.V.
That is the kind of thing Dee always vees, said Mr Hackett.
I wouldn’t go as far as that, said the gentleman.
Would you care to hear, Mr Hackett, said the lady, about the night that Larry was born?
Oh do tell him, my dear, said the gentleman.
Well, said the lady, that morning at breakfast Goff turns to me and he says, Tetty, he says, Tetty, my pet, I should very much like to invite Thompson, Cream and Coulquhoun to help us eat the duck, if I felt sure you felt up to it. Why, my dear, says I, I never felt fitter in my life. Those were my words, were they not?
I believe they were, said Goff.
Well, said Tetty, when Thompson comes into the dining-room, followed by Cream and Berry (Coulquhoun I remember had a previous engagement), I was already seated at the table. There was nothing strange in that, seeing I was the only lady present. You did not find that strange, did you, my love?
Certainly not, said Goff, most natural.
The first mouthful of duck had barely passed my lips, said Tetty, when Larry leaped in my wom.
Your what? said Mr Hackett.
My wom, said Tetty.
You know, said Goff, her woom.
How embarrassing for you, said Mr Hackett.
I continued to eat, drink and make light conversation, said Tetty, and Larry to leap, like a salmon.
What an experience for you, said Mr Hackett.
There were moments, I assure you, when I thought he would tumble out on the floor, at my feet.
Merciful heavens, you felt him slipping, said Mr Hackett.
No trace of this dollar appeared on my face, said Tetty. Did it, my dear?
Not a trace, said Goff.
Nor did my sense of humour desert me. What rolypoly, said Mr Berry, I remember, turning to me with a smile, what delicious rolypoly, it melts in the mouth. Not only in the mouth, sir, I replied, without an instant’s hesitation, not only in the mouth, my dear sir. Not too osy with the sweet, I thought.
Not too what? said Mr Hackett.
Osy, said Goff. You know, not too osy.
With the coffee and liquors, labour was in full swing, Mr Hackett, I give you my solemn word, under the groaning board.
Swing is the word, said Goff.
You knew she was pregnant, said Mr Hackett.
Why er, said Goff, you see er, I er, we er —
Tetty’s hand fell heartily on Mr Hackett’s thigh.
He thought I was coy, she cried. Hahahaha. Haha. Ha.
Haha, said Mr Hackett.
I was greatly worried I admit, said Goff.
Finally they retired, did you not? said Tetty.
We did indeed, said Goff, we retired to the billiard-room, for a game of slosh.
I went up those stairs, Mr Hackett, said Tetty, on my hands and knees, wringing the carpetrods as though they were made of raffia.
You were in such anguish, said Mr Hackett.
Three minutes later I was a mother.
Unassisted, said Goff.
I did everything with my own hands, said Tetty, everything.
She severed the cord with her teeth, said Goff, not having a scissors to her hand. What do you think of that?
I would have snapped it across my knee, if necessary, said Tetty.
That is a thing I often wondered, said Mr Hackett, what it feels like to have the string cut.
For the mother or the child? said Goff.
For the mother, said Mr Hackett. I was not found under a cabbage, I believe.
For the mother, said Tetty, the feeling is one of relief, of great relief, as when the guests depart. All my subsequent strings were severed by Professor Cooper, but the feeling was always the same, one of riddance.<
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Then you dressed and came downstairs, said Mr Hackett, leading the infant by the hand.
We heard the cries, said Goff.
Judge of their surprise, said Tetty.
Cream’s potting had been extraordinary, extraordinary, I remember, said Goff. I never saw anything like it. We were watching breathless, as he set himself for a long thin jenny, with the black of all balls.
What temerity, said Mr Hackett.
A quite impossible stroke, in my opinion, said Goff. He drew back his queue to strike, when the wail was heard. He permitted himself an expression that I shall not repeat.
Poor little Larry, said Tetty, as though it were his fault.
Tell me no more, said Mr Hackett, it is useless.
These northwestern skies are really extraordinary, said Goff, are they not.
So voluptuous, said Tetty. You think it is all over and then pop! up they flare, with augmented radiance.
Yes, said Mr Hackett, there are protuberances and protuberances.
Poor Mr Hackett, said Tetty, poor dear Mr Hackett.
Yes, said Mr Hackett.
Nothing to the Glencullen Hacketts, I suppose, said Tetty.
It was there I fell off the ladder, said Mr Hackett.
What age were you then? said Tetty.
One, said Mr Hackett.
And where was your dear mother? said Tetty.
She was out somewhere, said Mr Hackett.
And your papa? said Tetty.
Papa was out breaking stones on Prince William’s Seat, said Mr Hackett.
You were all alone, said Tetty.
There was the goat, I am told, said Mr Hackett.
He turned away from the ladder fallen in the dark yard and his gaze moved down over the fields and the low tottering walls, across the stream and up the further slope to the bluff already in shadow, and the summer sky. He slipped down with the little sunlit fields, he toiled up with the foothills to the dark bluff, and he heard the distant clink of the hammers.
She left you all alone in the yard, said Tetty, with the goat.
It was a beautiful summer’s day, said Mr Hackett.
And what possessed her to slip off like that? said Goff.
I never asked her, said Mr Hackett. The pub, or the chapel, or both.
Poor woman, God forgive her, said Tetty.
Faith I wouldn’t put it past him, said Mr Hackett.
Night is now falling fast, said Goff, soon it will be quite dark.
Then we shall all go home, said Mr Hackett.
On the far side of the street, opposite to where they sat, a tram stopped. It remained stationary for some little time, and they heard the voice of the conductor, raised in anger. Then it moved on, disclosing, on the pavement, motionless, a solitary figure, lit less and less by the receding lights, until it was scarcely to be distinguished from the dim wall behind it. Tetty was not sure whether it was a man or a woman. Mr Hackett was not sure that it was not a parcel, a carpet for example, or a roll of tarpaulin, wrapped up in dark paper and tied about the middle with a cord. Goff rose, without a word, and rapidly crossed the street. Tetty and Mr Hackett could see his eager gestures, for his coat was light in colour, and hear his voice, raised in remonstrance. But Watt moved no more, as far as they could see, than if he had been of stone, and if he spoke he spoke so low that they did not hear him.
Mr Hackett did not know when he had been more intrigued, nay, he did not know when he had been so intrigued. He did not know either what it was that so intrigued him. What is it that so intrigues me, he said, whom even the extraordinary, even the supernatural, intrigue so seldom, and so little. Here there is nothing in the least unusual, that I can see, and yet I burn with curiosity, and with wonder. The sensation is not disagreeable, I must say, and yet I do not think I could bear it for more than twenty minutes, or half an hour.
The lady also was an interested spectator.
Goff rejoined them, very cross. I recognised him at once, he said. He made use, with reference to Watt, of an expression that we shall not record.
For the past seven years, he said, he owes me five shillings, that is to say, six and ninepence.
He does not move, said Tetty.
He refuses to pay, said Mr Hackett.
He does not refuse to pay, said Goff. He offers me four shillings and fourpence. It is all the money he has in the world.
Then he would owe you only two and threepence, said Mr Hackett.
I cannot leave him without a penny in his pocket, said Goff.
Why not? said Mr Hackett.
He is setting out on a journey, said Goff. If I accepted his offer he would be obliged to turn back.
That might be the best thing for him, said Mr Hackett. Perhaps some day, when we are all dead, looking back he will say, if only Mr Nesbit had accepted—
Nixon, my name is, said Goff. Nixon.
If only Mr Nixon had accepted my four and fourpence that night, and I had turned back, instead of going on.
All lies, I suppose, in any case, said Mrs Nixon.
No no, said Mr Nixon, he is a most truthful man, really incapable, I believe, of telling an untruth.
You might at least have accepted a shilling, said Mr Hackett, or one and six.
There he is now, on the bridge, said Mrs Nixon.
He stood with his back towards them, from the waist up faintly outlined against the last wisps of day.
You haven’t told us his name, said Mr Hackett.
Watt, said Mr Nixon.
I never heard you mention him, said Mrs Nixon.
Strange, said Mr Nixon.
Known him long? said Mr Hackett.
I cannot really say I know him, said Mr Nixon.
Like a sewer-pipe, said Mrs Nixon. Where are his arms?
Since when can’t you really say you know him? said Mr Hackett.
My dear fellow, said Mr Nixon, why this sudden interest?
Do not answer if you prefer not to, said Mr Hackett.
It is difficult to answer, said Mr Nixon. I seem to have known him all my life, but there must have been a period when I did not.
How is that, said Mr Hackett.
He is considerably younger than I, said Mr Nixon.
And you never mention him, said Mr Hackett.
Why, said Mr Nixon, I may very well have mentioned him, there is really no reason why I should not. It is true—. He paused. He does not invite mention, he said, there are people like that.
Not like me, said Mr Hackett.
He is gone, said Mrs Nixon.
Is that so, said Mr Nixon. The curious thing is, my dear fellow, I tell you quite frankly, that when I see him, or think of him, I think of you, and that when I see you, or think of you, I think of him. I have no idea why this is so.
Well well, said Mr Hackett.
He is on his way now to the station, said Mr Nixon. Why I wonder did he get down here.
It is the end of the penny fare, said Mrs Nixon.
That depends where he got on, said Mr Nixon.
He can scarcely have got on at a point remoter than the terminus, said Mr Hackett.
But does the penny fare end here, said Mr Nixon, at a merely facultative stop? Surely it ends rather at the station.
I think you are right, said Mr Hackett.
Then why did he get off here? said Mr Nixon.
Perhaps he felt like a little fresh air, said Mr Hackett, before being pent up in the train.
Weighed down as he is, said Mr Nixon. Come come.
Perhaps he mistook the stop, said Mrs Nixon.
But this is not a stop, said Mr Nixon, in the ordinary sense of the word. Here the tram stops only by request. And since nobody else got off, and since nobody got on, the request must have come from Watt.
A silence followed these words. Then Mrs Nixon said:
I do not follow you, Goff, Why should he not have requested the tram to stop, if he wished to do so?
There is no reason, my dear, said Mr Nixon, no earthly reason
, why he should not have requested the tram to stop, as he undoubtedly did. But the fact of his having requested the tram to stop proves that he did not mistake the stop, as you suggest. For if he had mistaken the stop, and thought himself already at the railway station, he would not have requested the tram to stop. For the tram always stops at the station.
Perhaps he is off his head, said Mr Hackett.
He is a little strange at times, said Mr. Nixon, but he is an experienced traveller.
Perhaps, said Mr Hackett, finding that he had a little time on his hands, he decided to while it away through the sweet cool evening air, rather than in the nasty railway station.
But he will miss his train, said Mr Nixon, he will miss the last train out, if he does not run.
Perhaps he wished to annoy the conductor, said Mrs Nixon, or the driver.
But a milder, more inoffensive creature does not exist, said Mr Nixon. He would literally turn the other cheek, I honestly believe, if he had the energy.
Perhaps, said Mr Hackett, he suddenly made up his mind not to leave town after all. Between the terminus and here he had time to reconsider the matter. Then, having made up his mind that it is better after all not to leave town just now, he stops the tram and gets down, for it is useless to go on.
But he went on, said Mr Nixon, he did not go back the way he came, but went on, towards the station.
Perhaps he is going home by a roundabout way, said Mrs Nixon.
Where does he live? said Mr Hackett.
He has no fixed address that I know of, said Mr Nixon.
Then his going on towards the station proves nothing, said Mrs Nixon. He may be fast asleep in Quin’s hotel at the present moment.
With four and four in his pocket, said Mr Hackett.
Or on a bench somewhere, said Mrs Nixon. Or in the park. Or on the football field. Or on the cricket field. Or on the bowling green.
Or on the tennis courts, said Mr Nixon.
I think not, said Mr Hackett. He gets off the tram, determined not to leave town after all. But a little further reflexion shows him the folly of such a course. This would explain his attitude after the tram had moved on, and left him.
The folly of what course? said Mr Nixon.
Of turning back so soon, said Mr Hackett, before he was well started on his way.
Did you see the accoutrement? said Mrs Nixon. What had he on his head?
His hat, said Mr Nixon.
The thought of leaving town was most painful to him, said Mr Hackett, but the thought of not doing so no less so. So he sets off for the station, half hoping he may miss his train.
I can’t go on, I’ll go on Page 10