A COMPLEX.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21224, 2 July 1932, Page 1 (Supplement)

A COMPLEX.

WE' TWO AND MACONOCH IE.

BIT C.EOFFKEI' I'OLLETT

That most engaging of mortals, James Barrio, once confessed that two distinct personalities masqueraded under the dignified pseudonym of " Sir James." One, with whom lie resolutely identified himself, plain James Barrio, of simple tastes and ordinary accomplishments—a typical nine-o'clock-train man; the other, a sort, of mysterious Mr. Hyde, though how genial a Hyde! whom lie introduced to us as Maconochie. It was this fellow Maconochie, whoso head was so full of those whimsical ideas of boys who would not grow up, of dreadful crocodiles that dined upon kitchen clocks, and of those pathetic little will-o'-the-wisps, the Might-have-beens; ideas of which practical, solid James Barrie did not altogether approve —so lie said. All of which was but the Barrie-ish way of informing us that he, liko a good many others, suffered from that psychological complex known as dual personality. Now 1, too, have my complex. And let me say at once, mine is a more complex complex than Sir James' —and let him deny it who dare ! In truth, I had long suspected something of the sort. For, returning to first causes, even when at school my house-master had tickled my vanity by telling mo that, though ho had often met with dual personality, mine was the only case of triple personality ever ho had come across. Naturally, that was delightful to youthful ears. So I was "different" —had he not declared as much before all ? And my house-master's judgment was to be relied upon. (One did not I always pay so much attention to his words of wisdom, alas!) Ever since then I have been chasing those two other components of my make-up; endeavouring to run them to earth and so proclaim that master's theory triumphant. Perhaps it is not altogether difficult to discover to ourselves the existence of what we desire to believe in. And so it is, perhaps, that I have found mv Hyde, had him face to face, spoken with him even. He is not at all a bad fellow, really; not when you get to know him. Indeed, Hyde is not in the least suitable a name; he is far more like Maconochio (if Sir James will forgive the comparison), and so Maconochio he shall bo called. As to my other twin —well, him, too, I have discovered. Though not so readily as friendly, easy-going Maconochie;'for he is a shy, easily affrighted youth and not long to bo detained. I have had to christen hirn Shy-One for want of a better name. And, despite his over-retiring ways and hatred of company, 1 think I find in him a more congenial companion than Maconochie, who is. perhaps, a little too boisterous and self-assured to suit my own quiet tastes. Besides, we have something in common. This fellow Maconochie despises us both and, what is more, makes no secret of it! A Thoughtful Sort. This 1 found out only the other day. I had taken my book into the park, and there in the sunshine was reflecting how much pleasantcr it was to escape, if but for a moment, into the comparative freedom of out-doors when I discovered Shy-One sitting beside me. That is to say, I just looked up and there he was, gazing pensively into a bed of marigolds. " I hate crowds, too," be said in his soft, dreamy voice; "even the few who walk up here—l'd much rather have the place to myself. Just with the blackbirds and thrushes, and these gulls, who look"like funny old men in fancy waistcoasts and Derby boots; and the trees and flowers, naturally. But especially the trees. We understand each other, you know, and then sometimes we talk and they toll me such strange things—you never would believe. I love trees; don't you ?" For the moment I was startled. How had he been able to read my random thoughts? Still, I liked the looks of him. Pie seemed not too conventional either in manner or dress. Now I come to pondor the matter I cannot say exactly what ho wore; possibly an open collar, heavy shoes and old flannels—but that may be just an unwitting projection of my own taste, who love old clothes and abhor " smartness " as something almost vulgar. Above all, be was obviously a thoughtful sort. Not one of your blank-faced, dolllike automatons or gross, farmyard type such as seem to fill the streets. A Cheery Fellow. But we were not given much time for acquaintance to ripen into mutual regard. At that moment another voice struck into our brief quiet. It was the cheerful tones of Maconochie; and even as I glanced around Shy-One must have fled, for lie was not to be seen when I turned back. 1 told Maconochie what I thought of hirn—and he laughed. Really, he sometimes is rather impossible! Of course, I realised that he meant well. His sort always do. If iie is by no means an " intellectual," also he escapes the faults peculiar to that breed; he is both quick-witted and decisive in small matters. He has a cheery sense of humour, perhaps a little broad at times, and an unfailing optimism; whereas I am decidedly moody, so my friends tell me. And he is a good "mixer," too — which I was never. He is the hail-fellow-well-met to a degree almost approaching blatancy. It used to surprise me, Alaconochie's despising Shy-One. Frankly, I used to think it but affectation—and conceit. His attitude toward myself I could understand, and forgive. Besides, he never disliked me; on the contrary, we have been fairly good friends for some time now. But Shy-One, I know, ho heartily detests. That, I am afraid, is a serious blemish in Maconochie's otherwise-not-so-bad character. For Shy-One is obviously his superior in every way. True, he is a most unworldly sort of chap; I admit as much. But that, I am inclined to believe, is the more to his credit. He has, for example, different standards from us; or perhaps just no standards at all. Morality, ethics, sense of duty—the things I* debate and Maconochie tries to evade —mean less than nothing to Shy-One. He is above, or, at any rate, outside morality and the rest. He just embraces life; faces it and loves it in whatever shape if comes to him. I can admire such a philosophy, and envy it! Pleasing the Public. But 1 foci a tug at my sleeve. It is Maconochie, who has been standing at my elbow whilst I write. 1 had felt that he was beginning to fidget. The trouble, so he informs mo, lies in my having wasted —" wasted " is the way be tints it—long enough about Shy-One and his " morbid imaginitis" (that also is his own phrase; he is rather proud of it, I think, for he brings it, out oil every possible, and frequently impossible, occasion). " You tell them about me," he says. " I'm the fellow the public want to hear about, I'm one of them. They're interested in my sort, believe me. Who wants to hear that insufferable ass Shy-One's moonings —or your metaphysical blitherings either ?"

" Really, Maconochie. you aro a most—"

" I know. I've heard it all before," lie retorts. " And I don't mind telling you, I don't believe a, word of it! Look here, old man, you badly need a new pair of shoes, don't you ? Of course you do! You think I don't notice anything—but I do! Oh. dear me, yes! Well, you give the public what they nsk—you know, something plain but wholesome — and maybe the public will give you a new pair of shoes. They're mighty generous really—if you don't put their backs up bv giving yourself airs. So come and have a drink, old chap, and we'll toast to that new pair of chocs you so badly need. Good cowhide's better basis for philosophy than all the fine phrases in the world—or my name's not Maconochie! "