Complete Story. The Letter “H.”

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIV, Issue XIX, 12 May 1900, Page 871

Complete Story. The Letter “H.”

(By

John Selkirk.)

One of the most curious hallucinations 1 ever encountered, was that which possessed the mind of a worthy master builder named Drabble. Drabble had amassed a considerable fortune by jerry building, which he had carried to the point of a fine art. He was the sole inventor of several altogether nefarious processes by which an appearance of delusive stability could be imparted to buildings that really were held together by no more cohesive force than the paper on the walls. He had degraded whole districts in the immediate vicinity of London by the erection of houses at once so flimsy and so ugly that no one could have been surprised had the wind whisked them bodily away, and no man of decent principles could have regretted their loss. He spent the greater part of his time in a gloomy little office in the Gray’s Inn Road, where he matured his schemes of destruction, and raked together a considerable fortune. At night he retired to the seclusion of a brand new villa at Highgate, the chief ornaments of which were a full-length portrait of himself executed by a signpainter with the aspirations of an artist, and an enormous tea-urn of solid silver, which was an object of awe and coveting among all his poor relations.

Drabble had a frierd named Scutt, a lean and hungry-looklng person who was notorious as the most fraction s vestryman in the parish. Drabble was unmarried, and therefore was thrown much into the society of Scutt, who twice a week took tea with him, in a spirit of furtive admiration of the teaurn. Scutt was a Radical of the violent order, but the magnitude of the tea-urn soon worked havoc with his principles, and although he had the greatest contempt for Drabble’s intellect and general political ineptitude, he was unable to avoid a cringing adulation toward the possessor of so much solid competence. In an evil

moment Scutt aroused the political ambitions of his friend. Drabble discovered that he had political ideas, which, singularly enough, coincided completely with those of the daily paper which he read diligently in his evening leisure. These ideas he believed to be strictly original, and he would recite whole passages of the leader which he had read the night previous, in the firm conviction that they were the fruit of his own unaided cerebration. Very soon be came to have dreams of a constituency that should welcome him with loyal ardour, and of a Parliamentary career that should be of great importance to the nation. Scutt encouraged him in these preposterous ambitions, seeing for himself a new source of revenue as Drabble’s political agent.

There was one great difficulty in the way, however: Drabble found that he and the letter H were at deadly odds. At the first meeting which he addressed, he remarked that lie “was ’appy to say ’e was no himperialist,” whereupon a gentleman at the back of the hall asked him politely if he had dropped anything, which was disconcerting and deterrent to further eloquence. In vain he practised fantasias on the English language every morning before the glass; no sooner did the fatal letter appear in sight than he fled. He toiled through the intricacies of his native tongue with a sweating brow, but the thing pursued him with a tireless malignity revolting to the human mind. It was ridiculous and incredible that a single tricksy letter should ruin a career, but so it was, and the knowledge weighed upon his heart like lead. At length he resorted to subterfuge in order to avoid his enemy. He had been accustomed to call jovially to a friend, “Ow do you do?” Now he would say with an air of polite effort, “And are we well? He picked and selected words full of consonants, and shied at vowel beginnings, like a ner-

yous horse. He put himself to incredible pains to discover synonyms for common expressions, “What’s the price?” taking the place of a curt, “Ow much?” and so forth. He dodged his way amid familiar phrases, wary as a hunted deer; ran from an aspirate as from an assegai, yet all to no purpose, for he continually came to grief. "It’s no use, *Scutt,” he said mournfully; “it’s ’ereditary.” “What do you mean by that?” said the sympathetic Scutt. "I mean it's in my tongue. Sort o’ disease. Some folks is born ’ealthy, and some isn’t; some’s born to speak right, and others ean’t to save their lives. I’m one o’ those as can’t. “Nonsense,” said Scutt. “Doctors can cure most things nowadays. There’s a deaf and dumb child next door to me they’ve taught to speak. If you go to a first rate doctor he’ll soon put you right. P’raps you’re tongue-tied, you know.”

Scutt’s suggestion fell upon a mind prepared. The more Drabble thought over it, the clearer became his conviction that he was the victim of some congenital defect. Some people never had the least difficulty with the fatal letter. It came as easy as breathing. Others, like himself, laboured under an obstinate disability. No doubt a slight operation on the tongue would put everything right. Even Scutt, who certainly had no more than two ’undred a year, could speak correctly, and it was absurd that he should be eclipsed by Scutt. He would see a doctor.

This hopeful resolve brought Drabble to my door. He entered my consulting room with an anxious and luitive air, which sat curiously upon one whose outward appearance was undeniably pom; ous. He was a man of little over middle height, stout and well fleshed. His face was long and serious, but not unpleasing; he wore grey side whiskers of the detestable variety once known as “Dundreary”; his mouth was the straight firm mouth of a person destitute of humour; his eyes were blue and mild. He took a seat, glanced apprehensively round the room, fingered nervously the huge gold cable that hung from his waistcoat pocket, and for several minutes said not a word. To my ques-

tions he merely shook his head. I began to think 1 had never met a person stricken by such an absolute destitution of speech. “Well, Mr Drabble,” I said at length. “I have asked you tevepal questions to which you have not replied. 1 must remind you that my time is precious. You appear to be in perfect health. Will you be good enough to tell me in a few words what you wished to consult me about?” ‘it’s a, secret diseasq,” he said solemnly. “A 'enditary defeck, so to speak.” “A what?” "Defeck. What's born with you. 'Ereditary, you know. There. 1 can sec you’ve recognised .it at a glance.” I began to be suspicious of the sanity of my visitor. “I can perceive no hereditary defect." 1 replied. “What do you mean?" “Ah,” he said, with a deep sigh, "you said it all right. Scutt says it all right. Scott's a friend o’ mine, you know. Most people ean say it all right. Hut I can’t, not though I practise it a thousand times, which I’ve done before coming here.”

“Mr Drabble,” I said, with some irritation, "we are playing at crosspurposes. I don’t in the least know what you mean. You must speak more plainly, if 1 am to be of service to you.”

“I spoke plain enough. A ’e-red-i--tary de-feck,” he shouted. “Is that plain enough for you?” “You need not shout,” I replied. “I hear you quite plainly talking of some hereditary defect, but you have not told me what it is.” “Ah, now. if I could only say it like that,” he said wistfully. “What a gift it is!” A clear case of insanity, I thought. The man’s a lunatic at large. And with a view to humouring him, 1 said suavely, “Ah, now 1 see. An hereditary defect, you say. Why. bless me, that’s common enough and is often quite easily remedied.” "Is it?” he said eagerly. “Now that’s what I wanted to ’ear. It's a little operation I want done, an’ I’m prepared to pay well for it. There’s something wrong with my tongue, and you're the man to put it right.”

‘Yes, certainly,” I said, still bent upon humouring him. I had once known a ease of monomania in which the patient believed that his tongue was three times its natural size, and that it was impossible to close his mouth. Perhaps this was a similar case. “Suppose we examine your tongue,” I suggested. He submitted to the examination with great meekness. The examination enabled me to observe him more closely. I was perfectly attracted by his eyes. They were blue and mild, as 1 have said, but restless, with a spark of fire quivering uneasily in them, like a star in the depth of a well. Out of such a tiny spark madness is often born. Beneath the phlegmatic, almost bovine, exterior of the man, it was dear that some curious tension was going on. observe much the matter? ’ he asked. “Not much,” I said; “but -it would help me if you would describe vour symptoms.” o. *'?!! - it s this wa y>” he said, with the deliberate gesture of a man with a !<>ng story to unfold. “I’m a man of hideas, sir, but I’m 'indered in life by not bein able to get my words right. Its all t'he letter 11., Doctor. The tricks that letter plays, no man can know as ’asn’t followed them as [ ’ave.” I nodded sympathetically. It's always happearing where it isn't ■'expected. and isn't wanted, and it fairly gives a man’s brain a twist to be hupsides with it. Look at the word honour" ('he aspirated it), “there’s the H right enough, but it musn’t be known to be there. Look at the word ’umble, there’s a II there too, and just in the same place, and if you leave it out folk laugh at you. Doctor, I’ve practised those words, an’ lots o’ hot'hers, till 1 feel like going crazy. Scutt says to me—Seutt’s my friend, you know—“lf you don’t think so much about it, you'll do it all right by hinstinct.’ Well, Scutt ’as hinstinct, an’ I ain’t, an’ whether I think or don’t think, it’s muc'h the same thing. Scutt says to me. ‘You should heddiejite yourself in private. That's what (Hailstone and John Burns an' lots o’ great politicians 'as done.' Well. I’v - done it, two hours before breakfast every morning- the last six months, but it’s one thing to heddieate your brain an’ another to make your ton gue do what it ought to do. The i Scutt says, says he, ‘You go to a doctor. It's a ’ereditary defeck, that's what it is. Anyone might ha’ had it. Shakespeare or Gladstone, or any o’ the great o' the earth. P’raps they did 'ave it when they was young. Well, they got over it one way or t’other, an’ so can you. You go to a doctor an’ show ’im your tongue, and ten chances to one ’e’ll cure you.’ That seemed sense, anyway. Scutt. 'asn't much money, but ’e's a lot o’ sense, 'as Seutt. an' is great at public meetings. An' so. doctor, what I want is that you will do what’s needed to my tongue, so as T can get that plaguey letter right, like other folk, an’ if you can do it I’ll not only pay you well, but I’ll be eternally grateful to you.” I could have laughed outright in the man's face, and I wonder that I didn't. As it was, I controlled myself enough to sav in a choking voice, “And is that all?” “Well. there's one other thing. Scutt said something about it being likely I was tongue-tied; but it would be impertinent to make suggestions of that nature to you. An’ there's another thing as I 'aven’t mentioned to a soul.” His manner became suddenly humble and almost bashful. “I’m a bachelor, but not by choice. I'd like to marry an' 'ave a child or two in the ’ouse, but believe me. Doctor, the one thing as prevents me is this dreadful infirmity o' mine. I know well enough what 'ml "appen if I tried talking- to a woman about love. I’d be sure to get my aitches wrong, and then she'd lang'll at me. There was a woman once,” and he blushed, “a woman as did that same thing to me. Shdidn't know ’ow it ’urt me, or she wouldn't ’ave done it, for she wtis a kind woman by nature, an’ one as I could 'ave loved. But she made me. afraid to try again, for there's nothing crueller than the laughter o' women; tin' often I’ve seen a look on their faces, just a little sort o' smile, by which I've known tlhat they laughed at me in their hearts. Why, I've seen even a little servantwench snigger bc’ind ’er ’and at something I've said, an’ it’s real ’ard to bear. Doctor, real ’ard.”

There was soemthing so sincere and heartfelt in this last s|»eech that the sense of absurdity in the situation was

quite obliterated. But what was I to do with my strange patient? It was plain that he was on the verge of monomania, if not already in its grip. Men had glided down the slope of madness on a less propulsion, had 'hung poised for a time, until some slight cause, some inward chafing of ragemore acute than usual, had worn the threads of reason through, and had precipitated them into the abyss. It would have been easy’ to tell him that his request was foolish and impossible, but who could predict the result of such a verdict on a mind so excitable? It seemed the kindest course to go on humouring him, and as he plainly needed some nerve sedative, I gave him a prescription, and told him to come again in a week. “We will try medicine first,” I said evasively, and he went away a. good deal comforted. A few lays later who should call upon me but the author of all the mischief. the preposterous ass called Scutt. He was obviously a person of great ignorance and equal vanity; besides which there was about him a peculiarly offensive servility of manner. However, he explained his business with tolerable clearness. He reported that Drabble appeared to be very strange in his manner. He had not been to the office since the day he saw’ me. He had caught a chill, he believed; anyway, he had taken to his bed. Pressed to explain what he meant by “strange in his manner,” Seutt replied that Drabble had taken a large dictionary to bed with him, and appeared to pass his time in reading it aloud. The servants reported that these extraordinary readings went on far into the night- They did not know what to make of them and were seriously alarmed. That afternoon I called on Drabble. It was towards dusk when I reached the brand-new villa at Highgate. 1 found the servants huddled together at the foot of the stairs in a high state of nervous excitement. The gas was not lit upon the stairease, and in the dim space above I could hear the voice of Drabble monotonously reciting a string of words for all the world like the drone of a Board School on a hot afternoon. “We're afraid to go up to the master,” said the housemaid with a shiver. “He’s been going on like that for day’s, and all hours of the night too.” And while it was my’ duty to repress with all sternness this hysteric panic among the servants, yet I was bound to confess that there was something eerie in the long- drone of that voice, with its senseless reiterations, especially in the dimness of that unlighted house. Of course I went up to Drabble. There could be very little doubt about his condition. That spark of fire in the depth of his mild blue eyes had become bigger and intenser. He laughed boisterously when he saw me an<l remarked that he was getting on famously. He was not in a condition that justified forcible restraint, but obviously he needed careful watching. Now it happened that I had occasionally employed a certain widow named Mrs Bardsley in cases of simple nursing-. She was not a certificated nurse. She was. in fact, a person of no education. but she was possessed of much firmness and common sense, and knew how to regulate a house as well as attend to a patient. By’ nightfall Mrs Bardsley was established at Victoria Villa, much to the content of its unfortunate master. And now comes the most curious — one might say the most farcical—part of the whole story. Drabble related all his griefs to Mrs Bardsley, and she. impelled partly by natural astuteness, and partly by real sympathy, soon fell into her place of elderly Desdemoua. She agreed that it was a terrible thing to la* ]>ersecuted by the malignity of a single iniquitous letter; she remarked casually that she herself had had a similar trouble. But what was an aiteh 'more or less if your 'eart was In the right place? It was a mean sort of mature that saw in a mere fault of grammar an utrsiurmountable barrier to respect and love yes, love. Then* might be women that felt that way—’eartless women; but. thank God, she was built upon a different principle. It was more than an aiteh that would turn her mind away from a man that she genuinely respected-—yes, loved. As for higno-i-nl people that shouted out questions from the Iwiek of public 'all’s—'who were they? uey should be put n prison till they harm'd better manners. It wasn’t for gentlemen o' brains auid cleverness to take any note o' t'he like o' them. And so with many words she comforted the afflicted Drabble, and with many flatteries

she led him. By the end of the week Drabble had ceased to think of his “ ’Ereditary Defeck.” In fact, it had ceased to appear to 'him as a deifect, for the honeyed words of the aitchless Mrs Bardsley had effectually corrupted his judgment. The faithful Scutt now assumed the shape of a tormentor and a bore; and on his venturing (on the spur of private interest) to warn Drabble against the cajoleries of Mrs Bardsley, he was driven from the house before a storm of un aspirated eloquence. The same evening, I have reason to believe, Drabble offered his ’eart to the sympathetic Bardsley, who accepted the gift with blushing promptitude, and comm,unrated the intelligence to Scutt -by the midnight post. 'Scutt gnashed his teeth at the news, for he saw himself henceforth exiled from the grandeurs of Victoria Villa. He spent several weeks in trying to work up cutting phrases and bitter sarcasms; but he got no further than to get it whispered round the vestry that Drabble and Mrs Bardsley had married upon the basis of a mutual aitchlessness. I attended .the wedding reception, and when I observed the pompous self-satisfaction of Drabble, aind compared 'it. with the hunted, misery I had once seen on his face, I could not. but. congratulate myself that I had unwitt ngly hit upon the very best cure for his, melancholia. There had been a little operat’on on his tongue after all; but. he had Conducted himself with singular success when he said to Mrs ißardssley, as I know he must have done. “Will you ’ave me, and share my ’eart and ’omei?”