The Brigands’ Cave
One evening in the drawing-room at “The Cave” there was a meeting of a
number of the “Shining Lights” to arrange the details of a Rummage
Sale, that was to be held in aid of the unemployed. It was an informal
affair, and while they were waiting for the other luminaries, the early
arrivals, Messrs Rushton, Didlum and Grinder, Mr Oyley Sweater, the
Borough Surveyor, Mr Wireman, the electrical engineer who had been
engaged as an “expert” to examine and report on the Electric Light
Works, and two or three other gentlemen—all members of the Band—took
advantage of the opportunity to discuss a number of things they were
mutually interested in, which were to be dealt with at the meeting of
the Town Council the next day. First, there was the affair of the
untenanted Kiosk on the Grand Parade. This building belonged to the
Corporation, and “The Cosy Corner Refreshment Coy.” of which Mr Grinder
was the managing director, was thinking of hiring it to open as a
high-class refreshment lounge, provided the Corporation would make
certain alterations and let the place at a reasonable rent. Another
item which was to be discussed at the Council meeting was Mr Sweater’s
generous offer to the Corporation respecting the new drain connecting
“The Cave” with the Town Main.
The report of Mr Wireman, the electrical expert, was also to be dealt
with, and afterwards a resolution in favour of the purchase of the
Mugsborough Electric light and Installation Co. Ltd by the town, was to
be proposed.
In addition to these matters, several other items, including a proposal
by Mr Didlum for an important reform in the matter of conducting the
meetings of the Council, formed subjects for animated conversation
between the brigands and their host.
During this discussion other luminaries arrived, including several
ladies and the Rev. Mr Bosher, of the Church of the Whited Sepulchre.
The drawing-room of “The Cave” was now elaborately furnished. A large
mirror in a richly gilt frame reached from the carved marble
mantelpiece to the cornice. A magnificent clock in an alabaster case
stood in the centre of the mantelpiece and was flanked by two
exquisitely painted and gilded vases of Dresden ware. The windows were
draped with costly hangings, the floor was covered with a luxurious
carpet and expensive rugs. Sumptuously upholstered couches and easy
chairs added to the comfort of the apartment, which was warmed by the
immense fire of coal and oak logs that blazed and crackled in the
grate.
The conversation now became general and at times highly philosophical
in character, although Mr Bosher did not take much part, being too
busily engaged gobbling up the biscuits and tea, and only occasionally
spluttering out a reply when a remark or question was directly
addressed to him.
This was Mr Grinder’s first visit at the house, and he expressed his
admiration of the manner in which the ceiling and the walls were
decorated, remarking that he had always liked this ’ere Japanese style.
Mr Bosher, with his mouth full of biscuit, mumbled that it was sweetly
pretty—charming—beautifully done—must have cost a lot of money.
“Hardly wot you’d call Japanese, though, is it?” observed Didlum,
looking round with the air of a connoisseur. “I should be inclined to
say it was rather more of the—er—Chinese or Egyptian.”
“Moorish,” explained Mr Sweater with a smile. “I got the idear at the
Paris Exhibition. It’s simler to the decorations in the ‘Halambara’,
the palace of the Sultan of Morocco. That clock there is in the same
style.”
The case of the clock referred to—which stood on a table in a corner of
the room—was of fretwork, in the form of an Indian Mosque, with a
pointed dome and pinnacles. This was the case that Mary Linden had sold
to Didlum; the latter had had it stained a dark colour and polished and
further improved it by substituting a clock of more suitable design
than the one it originally held. Mr Sweater had noticed it in Didlum’s
window and, seeing that the design was similar in character to the
painted decorations on the ceiling and walls of his drawing-room, had
purchased it.
“I went to the Paris Exhibition meself,” said Grinder, when everyone
had admired the exquisite workmanship of the clock-case. “I remember
’avin’ a look at the moon through that big telescope. I was never so
surprised in me life: you can see it quite plain, and it’s round!”
“Round?” said Didlum with a puzzled look. “Round? Of course it’s round!
You didn’t used to think it was square, did yer?”
“No, of course not, but I always used to think it was flat—like a
plate, but it’s round like a football.”
“Certainly: the moon is a very simler body to the earth,” explained
Didlum, describing an aerial circle with a wave of his hand. “They
moves through the air together, but the earth is always nearest to the
sun and consequently once a fortnight the shadder of the earth falls on
the moon and darkens it so that it’s invisible to the naked eye. The
new moon is caused by the moon movin’ a little bit out of the earth’s
shadder, and it keeps on comin’ more and more until we gets the full
moon; and then it goes back again into the shadder; and so it keeps
on.”
For about a minute everyone looked very solemn, and the profound
silence was disturbed only by the crunching of the biscuits between the
jaws of Mr Bosher, and by certain gurglings in the interior of that
gentleman.
“Science is a wonderful thing,” said Mr Sweater at length, wagging his
head gravely, “wonderful!”
“Yes: but a lot of it is mere theory, you know,” observed Rushton.
“Take this idear that the world is round, for instance; I fail to see
it! And then they say as Hawstralia is on the other side of the globe,
underneath our feet. In my opinion it’s ridiculous, because if it was
true, wot’s to prevent the people droppin’ orf?”
“Yes: well, of course it’s very strange,” admitted Sweater. “I’ve often
thought of that myself. If it was true, we ought to be able to walk on
the ceiling of this room, for instance; but of course we know that’s
impossible, and I really don’t see that the other is any more
reasonable.”
“I’ve often noticed flies walkin’ on the ceilin’,” remarked Didlum, who
felt called upon to defend the globular theory.
“Yes; but they’re different,” replied Rushton. “Flies is provided by
nature with a gluey substance which oozes out of their feet for the
purpose of enabling them to walk upside down.”
“There’s one thing that seems to me to finish that idear once for all,”
said Grinder, “and that is—water always finds its own level. You can’t
get away from that; and if the world was round, as they want us to
believe, all the water would run off except just a little at the top.
To my mind, that settles the whole argymint.”
“Another thing that gets over me,” continued Rushton, “is this:
according to science, the earth turns round on its axle at the rate of
twenty miles a minit. Well, what about when a lark goes up in the sky
and stays there about a quarter of an hour? Why, if it was true that
the earth was turnin’ round at that rate all the time, when the bird
came down it would find itself ’undreds of miles away from the place
where it went up from! But that doesn’t ’appen at all; the bird always
comes down in the same spot.”
“Yes, and the same thing applies to balloons and flyin’ machines,” said
Grinder. “If it was true that the world is spinnin’ round on its axle
so quick as that, if a man started out from Calais to fly to Dover, by
the time he got to England he’d find ’imself in North America, or
p’r’aps farther off still.”
“And if it was true that the world goes round the sun at the rate they
makes out, when a balloon went up, the earth would run away from it!
They’d never be able to get back again!” remarked Rushton.
This was so obvious that nearly everyone said there was probably
something in it, and Didlum could think of no reply. Mr Bosher upon
being appealed to for his opinion, explained that science was alright
in its way, but unreliable: the things scientists said yesterday they
contradicted today, and what they said today they would probably
repudiate tomorrow. It was necessary to be very cautious before
accepting any of their assertions.
“Talking about science,” said Grinder, as the holy man relapsed into
silence and started on another biscuit and a fresh cup of tea. “Talking
about science reminds me of a conversation I ’ad with Dr Weakling the
other day. You know, he believes we’re all descended from monkeys.”
Everyone laughed; the thing was so absurd: the idea of placing
intellectual beings on a level with animals!
“But just wait till you hear how nicely I flattened ’im out,” continued
Grinder. “After we’d been arguin’ a long time about wot ’e called
everlution or some sich name, and a lot more tommy-rot that I couldn’t
make no ’ead or tail of—and to tell you the truth I don’t believe ’e
understood ’arf of it ’imself—I ses to ’im, ‘Well,’ I ses, ‘if it’s
true that we’re hall descended from monkeys,’ I ses, ‘I think your
famly must ’ave left orf where mine begun.’”
In the midst of the laughter that greeted the conclusion of Grinder’s
story it was seen that Mr Bosher had become black in the face. He was
waving his arms and writhing about like one in a fit, his goggle eyes
bursting from their sockets, whilst his huge stomach quivering
spasmodically, alternately contracted and expanded as if it were about
to explode.
In the exuberance of his mirth, the unfortunate disciple had swallowed
two biscuits at once. Everybody rushed to his assistance, Grinder and
Didlum seized an arm and a shoulder each and forced his head down.
Rushton punched him in the back and the ladies shrieked with alarm.
They gave him a big drink of tea to help to get the biscuits down, and
when he at last succeeded in swallowing them he sat in the armchair
with his eyes red-rimmed and full of tears, which ran down over his
white, flabby face.
The arrival of the other members of the committee put an end to the
interesting discussion, and they shortly afterwards proceeded with the
business for which the meeting had been called—the arrangements for the
forthcoming Rummage Sale.