I groaned inwardly, but looked.

“And the same suit?”

“Anything else?”

“Well,” I said desperately, “you look so cheerful, so well fed and so

happy, that I can only suppose you had just had your supper. Now as I

lunched at one o’clock and haven’t had as much as a sup of tea since,

I’m horribly hungry, and in want of mine.”

Saying no more than a mere “Come along,” and carrying the pipe and

the photograph in his hand, he led the way into the next room, where

supper--all cold--was upon the table. But such a supper! Anchovies,

chicken, calves’ foot jelly, clotted Devonshire cream and other

delicacies, with rare old Burgundy and the best of champagne.

When I had been abundantly helped, Whymper took up the photograph,

and again pointing at it with the pipe-stem, said:

“What I wondered was whether you’d notice that the smoke coming from

the bowl of the pipe has been painted-in upon the negative. There

was no smoke visible in the original picture. When you get to know

me better you’ll find that I’m slow and methodical but minutely

accurate, even about little things. I think you told me once that

you set some store by the many signed portraits that have been given

to you by your literary friends. Since the portrait was the cause of

keeping you from your supper, and if you’d care to add so uncouth

a face as mine to your gallery, I’ll give it you. But I’ll sign it

first.”

It was well that he had warned me that he was slow and methodical.

Never was there such a business as the signing of that portrait.

First he carefully washed and examined his pen, trying it at least

half a dozen times upon a sheet of note-paper. Then the ink did not

run as freely as it should, and further protracted operations of a

cleansing and refilling nature were necessary. Next a book on which

to rest the picture and a blotting-pad had to be found and placed in

position. Then, after further and repeated trial-trips of his pen

upon the harbour waters of a sheet of note-paper, he launched his

craft upon the big seas and settled down seriously to the business of

signing the photograph. Had it been a death-warrant or a cheque for

£100,000 to which he was momentously affixing a signature, he could

not have gone to work more carefully. In a round, neat, clerkly hand

he slowly and laboriously penned his name “Edward Whymper” with the

date beneath the portrait--and the deed was done.

I have described thus lengthily the slow and methodical way in which

he set about signing this photograph for the reason that, trivial

as the incident may seem, it is illustrative of the character and

methods of the man. He walked slowly, thought slowly, worked slowly,

and talked slowly, not because of any sluggishness of brain or body,

but because every word, every action, was calculated and deliberate.

It was because he was so slow that he was so sure. Just as in

mountaineering he never moved a step until he was certain of the

foothold in front of him, so in conversation he never spoke before he

thought.

Artist as he originally was by profession, lecturer and mountaineer

as, either by chance or by circumstance, he afterwards became, by

temperament he was essentially a man of science; and even in casual

conversation he hated what was slipshod, random, or inexact. He was

an admirable listener to anyone who was speaking from knowledge; and

I have often admired the courtly, if somewhat stately, attention

he would accord to those who spoke, and with authority upon some

subject on which Whymper himself was not an expert. But when the

conversation was mainly in his hands, he liked to feel that he was

chairman as well as principal speaker at the meeting, and would

never allow the talk to run off at a tangent. If his companion

ventured an opinion upon some side issue which the conversation had

suggested, Whymper would pull him up magisterially by interposing,

“You were saying just now that you thought so and so. We will, if you

please, confine ourselves to that side of the matter before opening

up another.” Courteously as he phrased it, his “if you please” was

peremptory rather than persuasive, and so in a sense was merely

formally polite.

In good company · 第 65 / 129 题