It has been told me by those in a position to know--and I can believe
it--that at nineteen months of age he wept because his grandmother would
not allow him to feed her with a spoon, and that at three and a half he
was fished, in an exhausted condition, out of the water-butt, whither he
had climbed for the purpose of teaching a frog to swim.
Two years later he permanently injured his left eye, showing the cat how
to carry kittens without hurting them, and about the same period was
dangerously stung by a bee while conveying it from a flower where, as it
seemed to him, it was only wasting its time, to one more rich in honey-
making properties.
His desire was always to help others. He would spend whole mornings
explaining to elderly hens how to hatch eggs, and would give up an
afternoon's black-berrying to sit at home and crack nuts for his pet
squirrel. Before he was seven he would argue with his mother upon the
management of children, and reprove his father for the way he was
bringing him up.
As a child nothing could afford him greater delight than "minding" other
children, or them less. He would take upon himself this harassing duty
entirely of his own accord, without hope of reward or gratitude. It was
immaterial to him whether the other children were older than himself or
younger, stronger or weaker, whenever and wherever he found them he set
to work to "mind" them. Once, during a school treat, piteous cries were
heard coming from a distant part of the wood, and upon search being made,
he was discovered prone upon the ground, with a cousin of his, a boy
twice his own weight, sitting upon him and steadily whacking him. Having
rescued him, the teacher said:
"Why don't you keep with the little boys? What are you doing along with
him?"
"Please, sir," was the answer, "I was minding him."
He would have "minded" Noah if he had got hold of him.
He was a good-natured lad, and at school he was always willing for the
whole class to copy from his slate--indeed he would urge them to do so.
He meant it kindly, but inasmuch as his answers were invariably quite
wrong--with a distinctive and inimitable wrongness peculiar to
himself--the result to his followers was eminently unsatisfactory; and
with the shallowness of youth that, ignoring motives, judges solely from
results, they would wait for him outside and punch him.
All his energies went to the instruction of others, leaving none for his
own purposes. He would take callow youths to his chambers and teach them
to box.
"Now, try and hit me on the nose," he would say, standing before them in
an attitude of defence. "Don't be afraid. Hit as hard as ever you can."
And they would do it. And so soon as he had recovered from his surprise,
and a little lessened the bleeding, he would explain to them how they had
done it all wrong, and how easily he could have stopped the blow if they
had only hit him properly.
Twice at golf he lamed himself for over a week, showing a novice how to
"drive"; and at cricket on one occasion I remember seeing his middle
stump go down like a ninepin just as he was explaining to the bowler how
to get the balls in straight. After which he had a long argument with
the umpire as to whether he was in or out.
He has been known, during a stormy Channel passage, to rush excitedly
upon the bridge in order to inform the captain that he had "just seen a
light about two miles away to the left"; and if he is on the top of an
omnibus he generally sits beside the driver, and points out to him the
various obstacles likely to impede their progress.
It was upon an omnibus that my own personal acquaintanceship with him
began. I was sitting behind two ladies when the conductor came up to
collect fares. One of them handed him a sixpence telling him to take to
Piccadilly Circus, which was twopence.
"No," said the other lady to her friend, handing the man a shilling, "I
owe you sixpence, you give me fourpence and I'll pay for the two."
The conductor took the shilling, punched two twopenny tickets, and then
stood trying to think it out.
"That's right," said the lady who had spoken last, "give my friend
fourpence."
The conductor did so.
"Now you give that fourpence to me."
The friend handed it to her.
"And you," she concluded to the conductor, "give me eightpence, then we
shall be all right."
The conductor doled out to her the eightpence--the sixpence he had taken
from the first lady, with a penny and two halfpennies out of his own
bag--distrustfully, and retired, muttering something about his duties not
including those of a lightning calculator.
"Now," said the elder lady to the younger, "I owe you a shilling."
I deemed the incident closed, when suddenly a florid gentleman on the
opposite seat called out in stentorian tones:--
"Hi, conductor! you've cheated these ladies out of fourpence."
"'Oo's cheated 'oo out 'o fourpence?" replied the indignant conductor
from the top of the steps, "it was a twopenny fare."
"Two twopences don't make eightpence," retorted the florid gentleman
hotly. "How much did you give the fellow, my dear?" he asked, addressing
the first of the young ladies.
"I gave him sixpence," replied the lady, examining her purse. "And then
I gave you fourpence, you know," she added, addressing her companion.
"That's a dear two pen'oth," chimed in a common-looking man on the seat
behind.
"Oh, that's impossible, dear," returned the other, "because I owed you
sixpence to begin with."
"But I did," persisted the first lady.
"You gave me a shilling," said the conductor, who had returned, pointing
an accusing forefinger at the elder of the ladies.
The elder lady nodded.
"And I gave you sixpence and two pennies, didn't I?"
The lady admitted it.
"An' I give 'er"--he pointed towards the younger lady--"fourpence, didn't
I?"
"Which I gave you, you know, dear," remarked the younger lady.
"Blow me if it ain't _me_ as 'as been cheated out of the fourpence,"
cried the conductor.
"But," said the florid gentleman, "the other lady gave you sixpence."
"Which I give to 'er," replied the conductor, again pointing the finger
of accusation at the elder lady. "You can search my bag if yer like. I
ain't got a bloomin' sixpence on me."
By this time everybody had forgotten what they had done, and contradicted
themselves and one another. The florid man took it upon himself to put
everybody right, with the result that before Piccadilly Circus was
reached three passengers had threatened to report the conductor for
unbecoming language. The conductor had called a policeman and had taken
the names and addresses of the two ladies, intending to sue them for the
fourpence (which they wanted to pay, but which the florid man would not
allow them to do); the younger lady had become convinced that the elder
lady had meant to cheat her, and the elder lady was in tears.
The florid gentleman and myself continued to Charing Cross Station. At
the booking office window it transpired that we were bound for the same
suburb, and we journeyed down together. He talked about the fourpence
all the way.
At my gate we shook hands, and he was good enough to express delight at
the discovery that we were near neighbours. What attracted him to myself
I failed to understand, for he had bored me considerably, and I had, to
the best of my ability, snubbed him. Subsequently I learned that it was
a peculiarity of his to be charmed with anyone who did not openly insult
him.
Three days afterwards he burst into my study unannounced--he appeared to
regard himself as my bosom friend--and asked me to forgive him for not
having called sooner, which I did.
"I met the postman as I was coming along," he said, handing me a blue
envelope, "and he gave me this, for you."