I
Many years ago I had a schoolfellow and bosom friend whom I knew as
Billy, but whose name as it stood in the Register was William Xavier
Plosive. Where his family came from, or where they got their outlandish
name, I know not. From its rarity I infer that the Plosive stock has not
multiplied lavishly on the earth. Only twice, since the days of my
friendship with Billy, have I encountered that name. There is, or was, a
wayside public-house in Devonshire, the landlord of which was a Plosive;
it bore the sign of the "Dog and Ladle," which the signboard interpreted
by a picture of a large retriever in precipitate flight with a tin ladle
tied to his tail. The other Plosive of my acquaintance kept a shop in a
Canadian city; he was a French half-breed, and, as I have heard, a great
rascal.
Billy's father was said to have been a Roman Catholic; and I infer from
the name he bestowed on his son that he had a turn for waggishness of a
sort. Plosive senior must have foreseen what would happen. No sooner, of
course, was the name William X. Plosive seen on the outside of the poor
boy's copy-books than a whisper passed through the whole school--"Billy
Burst." And that name remained with him to the end. It was more
appropriate than its bestowers knew.
"_When_ did Billy burst?" "_Why_ did Billy burst?" "Will Billy burst
again?" and a hundred questions of the like order were asked all day
long apropos of nothing. They were shouted in the playground. They were
whispered in the class. They broke the silence of the dormitory in the
dead of night. With them we relieved our pent-up feelings in hours of
tedium or of gloom. Introduced _pianissimo_, they profaned the daily
half-hour devoted to the study of Divinity. Innumerable impositions
followed in their train. One morning the Rev. Cyril Puttock, M.A., who
"took" us in Divinity, saw written large on the blackboard in front of
him these words: "What burst Billy?" I spent my next half-holiday in
writing out the Beatitudes a hundred times.
Billy and I slept in the same dormitory and our beds were side by side.
Both of us were bad sleepers, and many a deep affinity did our souls
discover in the silent watches of the night. As a place to observe the
workings of telepathy I know of no spot on earth to compare with the
dormitory of a boarding-school. The atmosphere of our dormitory was, if
I may say so, in a state of chronic telepathic saturation, and the area
where the currents ran strongest was in the space between Billy's bed
and mine. This is the sort of thing that would go on:
"Billy, are you awake?"
"Yes; I knew _you_ were."
"Shall we talk?"
"I want to, ever so."
"I say, we are going to have that beastly pudding for dinner to-morrow."
"That's just what I want to talk about."
"I've got an idea. Billy, I found out yesterday where they cook those
puddings. They boil them in the copper of the outhouse, and the cook
leaves them there while she looks after the rest of the dinner."
"Ripping!" answered Billy. "_I'll_ tell you what we'll do.--Hush! Is old
Ginger awake?--All right. Well, we'll sneak into the outhouse to-morrow
when the cook isn't looking, pinch the puddings out of the copper and
chuck 'em in the pond."
"Why, Billy, that's just what I was going to say to you. But won't we
scald ourselves?"
"I've thought of that. We'll get the garden fork and jab it into the
puddings. They boil 'em in bags, you know."
"There's a better way than that. We'll get in before the copper has
begun to boil."
"I hadn't thought of that, _but I was just going to_," said Billy.
"Yes, that's the way."
Enterprises such as these, however, were episodic, and merely serve to
show how great souls, born under the same star, and united in the grand
trend of their life-directions, share also the minor details of their
activity. The seat of our affinities lay deeper. Both Billy and I were
persons with an "end" in life, and breathed in common the atmosphere of
great designs. We were like two young trees planted side by side on a
breezy hill-top. Our roots were in the same soil; our branches swayed to
the same rhythm; we heard the same secrets from the whispering winds. We
were always on the heights. Few were the days of our companionship when
we were not infatuated about something or other; and I sometimes doubt
whether even yet I have outgrown the habit, so deep was its spring in my
own nature and so strong the reinforcement it received from the
influence of Billy. Sometimes we were infatuated about the same thing;
and sometimes each of us struck out an independent line of his own; but
always we were the victims of one mania or another.
At the time this history begins the particular mania that afflicted me
was the collecting of tramcar tickets. My friends used to save them for
me; I begged them from passengers as they alighted from the cars; I
picked them up in the street; and I had over seven thousand collected in
a box. I thought that when the sum had risen to ten thousand the goal of
my existence would be reached; and it may be said that I lived for
little else.
Billy's mania was astronomy. He would spend the hours of his playtime
lying on his stomach with a map of the stars spread out before him on
the floor. Billy was a great astronomer--in secret. On the very day when
he and I were being initiated into the mysteries of Decimals, he
whispered to me in class, "I say, I wonder how people found out the
weight of the planets." He was an absent-minded boy, and many a clout on
the head did he receive at this time for paying no attention to what
was going on in class. Little did the master know what Billy was
thinking of as he stared at the wall before him with his great, dreamy
eyes--and not for ten thousand worlds would Billy have told him. He was
thinking about the weight of the planets, and the problem lay heavy on
his soul; and Billy grew ever more absent-minded, and spent more time on
his stomach every day. At last he suddenly waked up and began to get
top-marks not only in Arithmetic but in every other subject as well. And
later on, when we came to the Quadratic Equations and the Higher
Geometry, the master was amazed to find that Billy required no teaching
at all.
"What has happened to Billy?" asked somebody; and the answer came, "Why,
of course, Billy has _burst_."
So he had. Billy had found out "how they weighed the planets," and the
mass of darkness that oppressed him had been blown away in the
explosion. About the same time I burst also. On counting up my tickets
I found there were ten thousand of them.
Then came a pause, during which Billy and I wandered about in dry places
seeking rest and finding none. Life lost its spring and the world seemed
very flat, stale, and unprofitable. Conversation flagged, or became
provocative of irritable rejoinders. "I say, what are you going to do
with all those tramcar tickets?" asked Billy one day. "Oh, shut up!" I
replied. Shortly afterwards it was my turn. "Billy, tell me what they
mean by 'sidereal time.'" "Oh, shut up!" said he.
We were both waiting for the new birth, or the new explosion, utterly
unconscious of our condition. But the Powers-that-be were maturing their
preparations, and, all being complete, they put the match to the train
in the following manner.
The usual exchange of measles and whooping-cough had been going on in
our school, and Billy and I being convalescent from the latter
complaint, to which we had both succumbed at the same time, were sent
out one day to take an airing in the Park. On passing down a certain
walk, shaded by planes, we noticed a very old gentleman seated in a
bath-chair which had been wheeled under the shadow of one of the trees.
He sat in the chair with his head bent forward on his chest, and his
wasted hands were spread out on the cover. He seemed an image of
decrepitude, a symbol of approaching death. He was absolutely still. A
young woman on the bench beside him was reading aloud from a book.
I think it was the immobility of the old man that first arrested our
attention. The moment we saw him we stopped dead in our walk and stood,
motionless as the figure before us, staring at what we saw. We just
stared without thinking, but even at this long distance I can remember a
vague emotion that stirred me, as though I had suddenly heard the wings
of time beating over my innocent head, or as though a faint scent of
death had arisen in the air around; such, I suppose, as horses or dogs
may feel when they pass over the spot where a man has been slain.
Suddenly Billy Burst clutched my arm--he had a habit of doing that.
"I say," he whispered, "let's go up to him and _ask him to tell us the
time_."
We crept up to the bath-chair like two timid animals, literally sniffing
the air as we went. Neither the old man nor his companion had noticed
us, and it was not until we had both stopped in front of them that the
reader looked up from her book. The old man was still unaware of our
presence.
"If you please," said Billy, "would you mind telling us the time?"
At the sound of Billy's voice the old man seemed to wake from his dream.
He lifted his head and listened, as though he heard himself summoned
from a far point in space; and his eyes wandered vaguely from side to
side unable to focus the speaker. Then they fell on Billy and his gaze
was arrested.
Now Billy was a beautiful person--_the very image of his mater_. The
eyes of the houri were his, the lids slightly elevated at the outer
angle; he had the mouth of them that are born to speak good things; and
about his brow there played a light which made you dream of high Olympus
and of ancestors who had lived with the gods. Yes, there was a star on
Billy's forehead; and this star it was that arrested the gaze of the old
man.
A look of indescribable pleasure overspread the withered face. It almost
seemed as if, for a moment, youth returned to him, or as if a breath of
spring had awakened in the midst of the winter's frost.
"The time, laddie?" said he, "Why, yes, of course I can give you the
time; as much of it as you want. For, don't you see, I'm a very old
fellow--ninety-one last birthday; which I should think is not more than
eighty years older than you, my little man. So I've plenty of time to
spare. But don't take too much of it, my laddie. It's not good for
little chaps like you. Now, _how much_ of the time would you like?"
"The _correct_ time, if you please, sir," said Billy, ignoring the
quantitative form in which the question had been framed.
So the old gentleman gave us the correct time. When we had passed on, I
looked back and saw that he was talking eagerly to his companion and
pointing at Billy.
"I'll tell you what," said Billy as soon as we were out of hearing.
"I've found out something. _It does old gentlemen good to ask them the
time._ Let's ask some more."
So for an hour or more we wandered about looking out for old
gentlemen--"to do them good." Several whom we met were rejected by Billy
on the ground that they were not old enough, and allowed to pass
unquestioned. Some three or four came up to the standard, and at each
experiment we found that our magic formula worked with wonderful
success. It provoked smiles and kind words; it pleased the old
gentlemen; it did them good. Old hands were laid on young shoulders; old
faces lit up; old watches were pulled out of old pockets. One was a
marvel with a long inscription on the gold back of it. And the old
gentleman showed us the inscription, which stated that the watch had
been presented to him by his supporters for his services to political
progress and for the gallant way in which he had fought the election at
So-and-so in 1867. Yes, it did the old gentlemen good. But, be it
observed, Billy was the spokesman every time.
From that time onward, Billy and I were Masters in Magic, no less,
infatuated with our calling and devoted to our formula. The star-books
were bundled into Billy's play-box; the ten thousand tramcar tickets
were thrown into the fire.
Never since the world began, thought we, had a more glorious game been
invented, never had so important an enterprise been conceived by the wit
of man and entrusted to two apostles twelve years old. A world-wide
mission to old gentlemen was ours. Who would have believed there were so
many of them? They seemed to spring into existence, to gather themselves
from the four quarters of the earth, in order that they might receive
the healing touch of our formula. We met them in the street, in the
Park, by the river, at the railway station, coming out of
church--everywhere. And all were completely in our power. Oh, it was
magnificent!
So it went on for three or four weeks. But a shock was in store for us.
At first, as I have said, Billy was the spokesman. But there came a day
when it seemed good that some independence of action should be
introduced into the partnership. Billy went one way and I another.
Going on alone, I presently espied an old gentleman, of promising
antiquity, walking briskly down one of the gravel paths. He was
intermittently reading a newspaper. Trotting up behind him, I observed
that in the intervals of his reading he would be talking to himself. He
would read for half a minute and then, whipping the newspaper behind his
back, begin to declaim, as though he were making a speech, quickening
his pace meanwhile, so that I was hard put to it to keep up with him.
Indeed I had to run, and was out of breath when, coming up alongside, I
popped out my question, "If you please, sir, what o'clock is it?"
"Go to the devil!" growled the old ruffian. And without pausing even to
look at me he strode on, continuing his declamation, of which I happen
to remember very distinctly these words: "I cannot, my Lords, I will
not, join in congratulating the government on the disgrace into which
they have brought the country." I recall these words because they
resembled something in a speech of Chatham's which I had to learn by
heart at school, and I remember wondering whether the old gentleman was
trying to learn the same speech and getting it wrong, or whether he was
making up something of his own.
Be that as it may, I had received a blow and my fondest illusion was
shattered. I was personally insulted. As a professional magician I was
flouted, and my calling dishonoured. And, worst of all, the magic had
broken down. For the first time the formula had failed to work--had done
the old gentleman _no good_. It cut me to the heart.
I ran about in great distress, seeking Billy, whom finding presently I
informed in general terms of what had happened.
"What did you say to the old beast?" asked Billy.
"I said, 'If you please, sir, what o'clock is it?'"
"Oh, you ass!" cried Billy. "_Those are the wrong words._ If you'd said,
'Would you mind telling me the time?' he'd have gone down like a
ninepin. Only cads say 'what o'clock.' He thought you were a cad! Oh,
you idiot! Leave me to do it next time."
Thus it came to pass that the partnership was resumed on its old basis,
with Billy as the predominant member and spokesman of the Firm.
And now we entered on what I still regard as an enterprise of pith and
moment. We determined, after long colloquy in the bedroom, to waylay
this recalcitrant old gentleman once more, and repeat our question in
its proper form, and with Billy as spokesman. Had I been alone, my
courage would certainly have failed to carry me through. But with Billy
at my side I was never afraid of anything either then or afterwards. O
Billy, if only you had been with me--then--and then--if only I had felt
your presence when the great waters went over me, if only I could have
seen your tilted dreaming eyes when--I would have made a better thing of
it, indeed I would! But one was taken and the other left; and I had to
fight those battles alone--alone, but not forgetful of you. I did not
fight them very well, Billy; and yet not so ill as I should have done
had I never known you.
Well, for several days the declaiming gentleman, whom we now knew as
"the old beast," and never called by any other name, failed to appear.
But at last we caught sight of him, striding along and violently
whipping his newspaper behind his back, just as before.
On the former occasion, when I was alone, I had operated from the rear,
but with Billy in support, I proposed that we should attack from the
front. So we threw ourselves in his path and marched steadily to meet
him. On he came, and as he drew near, down went the newspaper, and, as
though he were spitting poison, he hissed out from between his teeth a
fearful sentence, of which the last words were: "the most iniquitous
government that has ever betrayed and abused the confidence of a
sovereign people"--staring meanwhile straight over our heads.
"If you please, sir," said Billy in his singing voice, "would you mind
telling us the time?"
"Go to----" But at that moment the gentleman lowered his fierce old eyes
and encountered the gaze of Billy, who was standing full in his path.
Have you ever seen a wild beast suddenly grow tame? I have not, but I
saw something like it on the occasion of which I speak. Never did a
swifter or more astonishing change pass over the countenance of any
human being. I really think the old fellow suffered a physical shock,
for he stepped back two paces and looked for a moment like one who has
been seriously hurt. Then he recovered himself; lowered his spectacles
to the tip of his nose; gazed over them, at me for a moment, at Billy
for a quarter of a minute, and finally broke out into a hearty laugh.
"Well," he exclaimed, in the merriest of voices, "you're a couple of
young rascals. What are your names, and how old are you, and what school
do you belong to, and who are your fathers?"
We answered his questions in a fairly business-like manner until we came
to that about the fathers. Here there was an interlude. For Billy had to
explain, in succession, that he had no father, and no mother, and no
brothers, and no sisters--indeed, no relations at all that he knew of.
And there was some emotion at this point.
"Bless my soul," said the old gentleman, "that's very sad--very sad
indeed. But who pays for your schooling?"
"A friend of my mater's," said Billy. "He's very good to me and has me
to his house for the holidays."
"And gives you plenty of pocket-money?"
"Lots," answered Billy.
The old gentleman ruminated, and there was more emotion.
"Then you are not an unhappy boy?" he said at length.
"Not a bit," answered Billy.
"Thank God for that! Thank God for that! I should be very sorry to learn
you were unhappy. I hope you never will be. You don't _look_ unhappy."
"I'm not," repeated Billy.
All this time the old gentleman seemed quite unconscious of my
existence. But I was not hurt by that. I was well used to being
overlooked when Billy was with me, and never questioned for a moment the
justice of the arrangement. But now the old gentleman seemed to
recollect himself.
"What was it you asked me just now?" said he.
"We asked if you would mind telling us the time."
"Ha, just so. Now are you quite sure that what you asked for is what you
want? You said '_the_ time' not 'time.' For you must know, my dears,
that there's a great difference between 'time' and '_the_ time.'"
Billy and I looked at each other, perplexed and disgusted--perplexed by
the subtle distinction just drawn by the old gentleman; disgusted at
being addressed as "my dears." ("He might as well have given us a kiss
while he was about it," we thought.)
"We want _the_ time, if you please," we said at length.
"What, _the whole of it_?" said the old gentleman.
"No," answered Billy, "we only want the bit of it that's going on now."
"Which bit is that?" said our venerable friend.
"That's just what we want to know," answered Billy.
This fairly floored the old gentleman. "You'll be a great Parliamentary
debater one day, my boy," he said, "but the bit of time that's going on
now is not an easy thing to catch. My watch can't catch it."
"Give us the best your watch can do," answered Billy.
This made the old fellow laugh again. "Better and better," said he.
"Well, the best my watch can do is a quarter past twelve. And that
reminds me that you two young scamps have made me late for an
appointment. Now be good boys, both of you; and don't forget to write
every week to your moth--to your friends. And put that in your pockets."
Whereupon he gave each of us half-a-sovereign.
We walked on in silence, not pondering what had happened, for we
pondered nothing in those days, but serenely conscious of triumph. A
potent secret was in our hands and the world was at our feet.
"It worked," said Billy at length.
"Rather!" I answered.
"It did him good."
"Rather!"
"We beat him."
"Rather!"
Presently we were greeted by the Park-keeper, who was a friend of ours.
"Well, young hopefuls," he said, "and who have you been asking the time
of to-day?"
We pointed to the old gentleman whose figure was still visible in the
distance.
"Him!" cried the Park-keeper. "Well, bless your rascal impudence! Do you
know who _he_ is?"
"No."
"Why, he's Lord----."
The name mentioned was that of a distinguished member of the Cabinet
which had recently gone out of office.
Did we quail and cower at the mention of that mighty name? Did we cover
ourselves with confusion? Not we.
"I'm awfully glad we asked him," said Billy as we walked away.
"So am I--I say, Billy, I wish we could meet the Pope. He's jolly old,
and I'll bet he's jolly miserable, too."
"You shut up about his being miserable," answered Billy, who, as we
know, was a Roman Catholic. "He ain't half as miserable as the
Archbishop of Canterbury. I wish we could meet _him_!"
"Or the Emperor of Germany," I suggested.
"Yes, he'd do. I'd ask him, and you bet he'd tell us. But"--and here
Billy's manner became explosive--"I'll tell you what! _I wish we could
meet God!_ He's a jolly sight older than the Pope, or the Archbishop of
Canterbury, or the Emperor of Germany. I believe he'd like to be asked
more than any of them. And I'd ask him like a shot!"
"But _he's_ not miserable," I interposed.
"How do you know he isn't--_sometimes_? It would do him good anyhow."
I was getting out of my depth. As a speculator I had none of the
boldness which prompted the explosions of Billy, and an instinct of
decency suggested a change of conversation.
"What shall we do with those half-sovereigns?" I asked.
"Hush!" said Billy, "_they'll_ hear you."
"Who'll hear me?"
"Never mind who. They're listening, you bet. Never say 'half-sovereigns'
again."
"But what are we to do with them?"
"Keep them. Let's put a cross on each of them at once."
So we took out the coins, and with our penknives we scratched a cross on
the cheek of her gracious Majesty, Queen Victoria.
Both coins are now in my possession. The cross on the cheek of Queen
Victoria has worked wonders. It has brought me good luck. In return I
have hedged the coins with safeguards both moral and material. When I am
gone they will be----But I am anticipating.
And now the fever was in full possession of our souls. I believe we were
secretly determined to bring all the old gentlemen in the world under
the sway of our formula. We were beneficent magicians. Had we been
older, a vast prospect of social regeneration would have opened before
us. But all we knew at the time was that we possessed a power for
rejuvenating the aged. An ardent missionary fervour burned in our bones;
and we were swept along as by a whirlwind. Never was infatuation more
complete.
As a preliminary step to the accomplishment of these great designs we
resolved to ask ten thousand old gentlemen to tell us the time. Making a
calculation, we reckoned that, at the normal rate of progress, nine
years would be required to complete the task. We were a little
disconcerted, and, in order to expedite matters, we resolved to include
old ladies, and any young persons of either sex with grey hair, or who,
in our opinion, showed other signs of prematurely growing old. This led
on to further extensions. We agreed, first, that anyone who looked
"miserable" should have the benefit of our formula; next, that all
limitations whatsoever, save one, should be withdrawn, and the formula
allowed a universal application. The outstanding limitation was that
nobody should be asked the question until he had been previously viewed
by Billy, who was a psychologist, and pronounced by him to be "the right
sort." What constituted the "right sort" we never succeeded in
defining; enough that Billy knew the "right sort" when he saw it and
never made a mistake. We believed that all mankind were divided into two
classes, the sheep and the goats; in other words, those who were worthy
to be asked the time and those who were not, and Billy was the
infallible judge for separating them the one from the other. To ask the
question of any person was to seal that person's election and to put
upon him the stamp of immortality.
I believed, and still believe, that many whom we accosted were instantly
conscious of a change for the better in their general conditions. Years
afterwards I met a man who remembered these things and bore testimony to
the good we had done him. "It so happened," said he, "that just before I
met you boys, that day, I had been speculating heavily on the Stock
Exchange and had had a run of infernal bad luck. But the moment that
little chap with the tilted eyes spoke to me I said to myself, 'The
clouds are breaking.' And, by George, sir, my luck turned that very
day. I walked straight to the telegraph office and sent my broker a wire
which netted me a matter of L7000."
As became a firm of business-like magicians, Billy and I kept books,
duly averaged and balanced, entering in them day by day the names of the
persons to whom we had applied the formula. Are the names worthy of
being recorded? Perhaps not. But a few specimens will do no harm and may
incidentally serve to reveal the scope and catholicity of our
operations. One of these books is before me now, and here are a few of
the names, culled almost at random from its pages. It will be observed
that in the last group our faculty of invention gave out and we were
compelled to plagiarise.
Mr Smoky, Mr Shinytopper, Uncle Jelly-bones, Aunt Ginger, Lady
Peppermint, Bishop Butter, Canon Sweaty, Dirty Boots, Holy Toad, Satan,
Old Hurry, Old Bless-my-soul, Old Chronometer, Miss No-watch, Dr Beard,
Lord Splutters, Aurora, Mrs Proud, Polly Sniggers, Diamond Pin, Cigar,
Cuttyperoozle, Jim, Alfred Dear! Mr Just-engaged, Miss Ditto, Mr
Catch-his-train, Mr Hot, The Reverend Hum, The Reverend Ha-ha,
So-there-you-be, Mrs Robin, Mr High-mind, Mr Love-lust, Mr Heady.