LOOKING BACKWARD-WINDSOR
THREE years earlier than the incidents related in the preceding chapters,
the walls and fences of that moribund and derelict country town, Windsor,
were ornamented by a series of posters that proclaimed the early
appearance of the renowned Professor Norris, mesmerist, phrenologist, and
magnetic healer; also the gifted clairvoyant, Bertha Summerhayes, reader
of the past and future. And then followed numerous details of the
wonders and signs common to such entertainments, the bill concluding with
this parting advice—“Man, know thyself!”
Why men generally are invited to make the acquaintance of the very
second-rate article referred to was not stated. Or, having found what an
unmitigated fool that person generally is, what he was to do in the
matter was also a blank.
Windsor took the posters very quietly. Nothing but a circus or a
Hawkesbury flood will stimulate the languid circulation of a native of
its mud flats. Professor Norris and his assistant, who had arrived at
Mrs. Brown’s family hotel that morning, had returned from a round of
inspection, and met in their sitting-room to compare notes.
“What do you think of the town, my dear? Is it not a fine, quaint old
place?”
“I don’t know about being quaint, it is old enough. Why, half of the
buildings seem to be empty, and the other half public houses? Whatever
do the people do for a living?”
“Perhaps they drink in each other’s bars,” said the Professor simply.
“And do you know what Mrs. Brown asked me? She said we must pay each
day’s hotel charges in advance!”
“It must be her large organ of Caution. This is very unusual.”
“So I told her, but she explained that shows had so often failed to make
expenses in this ‘quaint’ old town of yours, that continued losses had
forced them to make this stipulation. Nevertheless, she was kind enough
to add that she would give something towards the subscription to pay our
fare to Sydney when the time came.”
“That was her large organ of Benevolence, and very kind of her.”
“But what a place! I am sure I thought being a professional was
something nice, that at any rate people would respect me; but it seems we
are looked upon as little better than tramps. For my part I’m sick of
it. Windsor is the last straw. Once catch me in Sydney again, and a
team of bullocks shall not drag me out of it!”
“You are too impressionable, my dear. Remember our educational mission.
It is not only for our own personal ends we travel, but more especially
to awaken in men a more enlightened interest in those mesmeric and
electric powers that invest them. Think of the cause, my dear, think of
our mission.”
“Fiddlesticks for your mission! The ‘Cause’ will not clothe us, and feed
us, and pay the Mrs. Browns their bills.”
“Now, don’t fret; we may have a good house to-night, our bills are really
posted everywhere.”
“Of course they are; they are on the doors of all the empty houses.”
“And who can tell how many heads I may have? I have remarked some really
interesting subjects in this place. The temperaments are largely
lymphatic. I saw the largest alimentativeness standing at an hotel door
that I have ever seen.”
The Professor, having got on his favourite theme, would have gone on
indefinitely, had not a servant come to the door to announce the visit of
a gentleman from the newspaper.
“Show him up by all means,” said the Professor. “It is always wise to
stand well with the Press, and besides, he may want his character read.
It would be a most excellent advertisement for us, most excellent.”
The gentleman from the newspaper was coming up the stairs with an
aggressive step. As general utility in the office he had been dispatched
to demand immediate cash payment of the printing bill, and he felt no
hesitation in undertaking the task. He had been told to stand no humbug,
and he meant to act up to instructions. Hubert Gosper was a tall, lank
youth, with the Colonial looseness of limb, like wheels on an old axle
that want screwing up; a narrow face, regular features, the eyes small
and set back, as Australian eyes are wont to be, with the accompanying
lines in the forehead, and contraction of the eyebrows, due to the glare
of light. As he entered the room with careless confidence the Professor
bowed to him, but before he could commence his abrupt demand, his eye
caught the face of Bertha Summerhayes.
And she smiled at him graciously, and from her eyes came a fire that
flashed through him, seared him in some way, making him, as it were, from
that moment, and instantly, in some sort, another man. For the nonce he
was almost dumb, and stumbled and stammered disconnected words.
The Professor in pity came to his assistance. “Ah; no doubt you wish to
have your character read? I shall do so with the greatest pleasure. Of
course, members of the Press are on my free list. Take a chair.”
Hubert, or Huey, as he was commonly called, mechanically obeyed.
“Really, a most remarkable head!” exclaimed the Professor, after his
fingers had passed once or twice through the hair of the sitter. “Most
remarkable? I find you have intellectual gifts, which, if properly
cultivated, might make a first-class novelist or playwright. A wealth of
language and imagery that promises the eloquence of a great orator. In
the perceptive organs you have that analytical faculty that is required
by the legal mind, and, should inclination lead you to mathematics, or
the exact sciences, you have all the organs required, of the most ample
development. On the side of morals, I find strict integrity and lofty
veneration. The Church would in you gain an ornament and a bright light.
Of what are—perhaps unfairly—termed the selfish organs, your share is a
wise and proper balance, and the animal only such as is required to give
the requisite energy and stimulant to the whole. I say, without
hesitation, that to such an endowment of intelligence as you possess no
path in life, however eminent, is closed. You may be a statesman, a
prelate, a poet, artist, or engineer, and I would even venture so far as
to say you might in time, by diligent study and observation, be a
phrenologist.”
“Be a what?” exclaimed Huey, as though some insect had stung him.
“A phrenologist, my dear sir; one of the noblest careers open to our
poor, frail humanity.”
“How much a week do they get?”
“If you mean how much in paltry coin is their share, the returns, I
admit, are somewhat scant, but the wealth of gratitude from honest hearts
made happier, and the noble exaltation in the spread of science and truth
are illimitable.”
“I’m afraid the terms won’t suit!”
“Reflect, my dear friend. This day a path opens before you. Be my
pupil; such talent as yours lies buried—let it burst forth and bloom.”
Huey’s eyes by this time had again wandered to Bertha, who sat apart, and
the feeling was strong within him that he must see again and talk with
this girl. This proposal of the Professor’s, though idiotic from his own
point of view, would form an excuse for further visits.
So when they parted a little later, without one word being said of the
printing account, it was understood that Huey was to think the matter
over and call again.