Erewhon Revisited

“What did you think of Panky?”

“I could not make him out.  If he had not been a Bridgeford Professor I might have liked him; but you know how we all of us distrust those people.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“About two hours lower down than the statues.”

“At what o’clock?”

“It might be between two and half-past.”

“I suppose he did not say that at that hour he was in bed at his hotel in Sunch’ston.  Hardly!  Tell me what passed between you.”

“He had his permit open before we were within speaking distance.  I think he feared I should attack him without making sure whether he was a foreign devil or no.  I have told you he said he was Professor Panky.”

“I suppose he had a dark complexion and black hair like the rest of us?”

“Dark complexion and hair purplish rather than black.  I was surprised to see that his eyelashes were as light as my own, and his eyes were blue like mine—­but you will have noticed this at dinner.”

“No, my dear, I did not, and I think I should have done so if it had been there to notice.”

“Oh, but it was so indeed.”

“Perhaps.  Was there anything strange about his way of talking?”

“A little about his grammar, but these Bridgeford Professors have often risen from the ranks.  His pronunciation was nearly like yours and mine.”

“Was his manner friendly?”

“Very; more so than I could understand at first.  I had not, however, been with him long before I saw tears in his eyes, and when I asked him whether he was in distress, he said I reminded him of a son whom he had lost and had found after many years, only to lose him almost immediately for ever.  Hence his cordiality towards me.”

“Then,” said Yram half hysterically to herself, “he knew who you were.  Now, how, I wonder, did he find that out?” All vestige of doubt as to who the man might be had now left her.

“Certainly he knew who I was.  He spoke about you more than once, and wished us every kind of prosperity, baring his head reverently as he spoke.”

“Poor fellow!  Did he say anything about Higgs?”

“A good deal, and I was surprised to find he thought about it all much as we do.  But when I said that if I could go down into the hell of which Higgs used to talk to you while he was in prison, I should expect to find him in its hottest fires, he did not like it.”

“Possibly not, my dear.  Did you tell him how the other boys, when you were at school, used sometimes to say you were son to this man Higgs, and that the people of Sunch’ston used to say so also, till the Mayor trounced two or three people so roundly that they held their tongues for the future?”

“Not all that, but I said that silly people had believed me to be the Sunchild’s son, and what a disgrace I should hold it to be son to such an impostor.”

“What did he say to this?”

“He asked whether I should feel the disgrace less if Higgs were to undo the mischief he had caused by coming back and shewing himself to the people for what he was.  But he said it would be no use for him to do so, inasmuch as people would kill him but would not believe him.”

“And you said?”

“Let him come back, speak out, and chance what might befall him.  In that case, I should honour him, father or no father.”

“And he?”

“He asked if that would be a bargain; and when I said it would, he grasped me warmly by the hand on Higgs’s behalf—­though what it could matter to him passes my comprehension.”

“But he saw that even though Higgs were to shew himself and say who he was, it would mean death to himself and no good to any one else?”

“Perfectly.”

“Then he can have meant nothing by shaking hands with you.  It was an idle jest.  And now for your poachers.  You do not know who they were?  I will tell you.  The two who sat on the one side the fire were Professors Hanky and Panky from the City of the People who are above Suspicion.”

“No,” said George vehemently.  “Impossible.”

“Yes, my dear boy, quite possible, and whether possible or impossible, assuredly true.”

“And the third man?”

“The third man was dressed in the old costume.  He was in possession of several brace of birds.  The Professors vowed they had not eaten any—­”

“Oh yes, but they had,” blurted out George.

“Of course they had, my dear; and a good thing too.  Let us return to the man in the old costume.”

“That is puzzling.  Who did he say he was?”

“He said he was one of your men; that you had instructed him to provide you with three dozen quails for Sunday; and that you let your men wear the old costume if they had any of it left, provided—­”

This was too much for George; he started to his feet.  “What, my dearest mother, does all this mean?  You have been playing with me all through.  What is coming?”

“A very little more, and you shall hear.  This man staid with the Professors till nearly midnight, and then left them on the plea that he would finish the night in the Ranger’s shelter—­”

“Ranger’s shelter, indeed!  Why—­”

“Hush, my darling boy, be patient with me.  He said he must be up betimes, to run down the rest of the quails you had ordered him to bring you.  But before leaving the Professors he beguiled them into giving him up their permit.”

“Then,” said George, striding about the room with his face flushed and his eyes flashing, “he was the man with whom I walked down this afternoon.”

“Exactly so.”

“And he must have changed his dress?”

“Exactly so.”

“But where and how?”

“At some place not very far down on the other side the range, where he had hidden his old clothes.”

“And who, in the name of all that we hold most sacred, do you take him to have been—­for I see you know more than you have yet told me?”

“My son, he was Higgs the Sunchild, father to that boy whom I love next to my husband more dearly than any one in the whole world.”

She folded her arms about him for a second, without kissing him, and left him.  “And now,” she said, the moment she had closed the door—­“and now I may cry.”

* * * * *

She did not cry for long, and having removed all trace of tears as far as might be, she returned to her son outwardly composed and cheerful.  “Shall I say more now,” she said, seeing how grave he looked, “or shall I leave you, and talk further with you to-morrow?”

“Now—­now—­now!”

“Good!  A little before Higgs came here, the Mayor, as he now is, poor, handsome, generous to a fault so far as he had the wherewithal, was adored by all the women of his own rank in Sunch’ston.  Report said that he had adored many of them in return, but after having known me for a very few days, he asked me to marry him, protesting that he was a changed man.  I liked him, as every one else did, but I was not in love with him, and said so; he said he would give me as much time as I chose, if I would not point-blank refuse him; and so the matter was left.

“Within a week or so Higgs was brought to the prison, and he had not been there long before I found, or thought I found, that I liked him better than I liked Strong.  I was a fool—­but there!  As for Higgs, he liked, but did not love me.  If I had let him alone he would have done the like by me; and let each other alone we did, till the day before he was taken down to the capital.  On that day, whether through his fault or mine I know not—­we neither of us meant it—­it was as though Nature, my dear, was determined that you should not slip through her fingers—­well, on that day we took it into our heads that we were broken-hearted lovers—­the rest followed.  And how, my dearest boy, as I look upon you, can I feign repentance?

“My husband, who never saw Higgs, and knew nothing about him except the too little that I told him, pressed his suit, and about a month after Higgs had gone, having recovered my passing infatuation for him, I took kindly to the Mayor and accepted him, without telling him what I ought to have told him—­but the words stuck in my throat.  I had not been engaged to him many days before I found that there was something which I should not be able to hide much longer.

“You know, my dear, that my mother had been long dead, and I never had a sister or any near kinswoman.  At my wits’ end who I should consult, instinct drew me to Mrs. Humdrum, then a woman of about five-and-forty.  She was a grand lady, while I was about the rank of one of my own housemaids.  I had no claim on her; I went to her as a lost dog looks into the faces of people on a road, and singles out the one who will most surely help him.  I had had a good look at her once as she was putting on her gloves, and I liked the way she did it.  I marvel at my own boldness.  At any rate, I asked to see her, and told her my story exactly as I have now told it to you.

“‘You have no mother?’ she said, when she had heard all.

“‘No.’

“’Then, my dear, I will mother you myself.  Higgs is out of the question, so Strong must marry you at once.  We will tell him everything, and I, on your behalf, will insist upon it that the engagement is at an end.  I hear good reports of him, and if we are fair towards him he will be generous towards us.  Besides, I believe he is so much in love with you that he would sell his soul to get you.  Send him to me.  I can deal with him better than you can.’”

“And what,” said George, “did my father, as I shall always call him, say to all this?

“Truth bred chivalry in him at once.  ‘I will marry her,’ he said, with hardly a moment’s hesitation, ’but it will be better that I should not be put on any lower footing than Higgs was.  I ought not to be denied anything that has been allowed to him.  If I am trusted, I can trust myself to trust and think no evil either of Higgs or her.  They were pestered beyond endurance, as I have been ere now.  If I am held at arm’s length till I am fast bound, I shall marry Yram just the same, but I doubt whether she and I shall ever be quite happy.’

“‘Come to my house this evening,’ said Mrs. Humdrum, ’and you will find Yram there.’  He came, he found me, and within a fortnight we were man and wife.”

“How much does not all this explain,” said George, smiling but very gravely.  “And you are going to ask me to forgive you for robbing me of such a father.”

“He has forgiven me, my dear, for robbing him of such a son.  He never reproached me.  From that day to this he has never given me a harsh word or even syllable.  When you were born he took to you at once, as, indeed, who could help doing? for you were the sweetest child both in looks and temper that it is possible to conceive.  Your having light hair and eyes made things more difficult; for this, and your being born, almost to the day, nine months after Higgs had left us, made people talk—­but your father kept their tongues within bounds.  They talk still, but they liked what little they saw of Higgs, they like the Mayor and me, and they like you the best of all; so they please themselves by having the thing both ways.  Though, therefore, you are son to the Mayor, Higgs cast some miraculous spell upon me before he left, whereby my son should be in some measure his as well as the Mayor’s.  It was this miraculous spell that caused you to be born two months too soon, and we called you by Higgs’s first name as though to show that we took that view of the matter ourselves.

“Mrs. Humdrum, however, was very positive that there was no spell at all.  She had repeatedly heard her father say that the Mayor’s grandfather was light-haired and blue-eyed, and that every third generation in that family a light-haired son was born.  The people believe this too.  Nobody disbelieves Mrs. Humdrum, but they like the miracle best, so that is how it has been settled.

“I never knew whether Mrs. Humdrum told her husband, but I think she must; for a place was found almost immediately for my husband in Mr. Humdrum’s business.  He made himself useful; after a few years he was taken into partnership, and on Mr. Humdrum’s death became head of the firm.  Between ourselves, he says laughingly that all his success in life was due to Higgs and me.”

“I shall give Mrs. Humdrum a double dose of kissing,” said George thoughtfully, “next time I see her.”

“Oh, do, do; she will so like it.  And now, my darling boy, tell your poor mother whether or no you can forgive her.”

He clasped her in his arms, and kissed her again and again, but for a time he could find no utterance.  Presently he smiled, and said, “Of course I do, but it is you who should forgive me, for was it not all my fault?”

When Yram, too, had become more calm, she said, “It is late, and we have no time to lose.  Higgs’s coming at this time is mere accident; if he had had news from Erewhon he would have known much that he did not know.  I cannot guess why he has come—­probably through mere curiosity, but he will hear or have heard—­yes, you and he talked about it—­of the temple; being here, he will want to see the dedication.  From what you have told me I feel sure that he will not make a fool of himself by saying who he is, but in spite of his disguise he may be recognised.  I do not doubt that he is now in Sunch’ston; therefore, to-morrow morning scour the town to find him.  Tell him he is discovered, tell him you know from me that he is your father, and that I wish to see him with all good-will towards him.  He will come.  We will then talk to him, and show him that he must go back at once.  You can escort him to the statues; after passing them he will be safe.  He will give you no trouble, but if he does, arrest him on a charge of poaching, and take him to the gaol, where we must do the best we can with him—­but he will give you none.  We need say nothing to the Professors.  No one but ourselves will know of his having been here.”

On this she again embraced her son and left him.  If two photographs could have been taken of her, one as she opened the door and looked fondly back on George, and the other as she closed it behind her, the second portrait would have seemed taken ten years later than the first.

As for George, he went gravely but not unhappily to his own room.  “So that ready, plausible fellow,” he muttered to himself, “was my own father.  At any rate, I am not son to a fool—­and he liked me.”