MOUTHS OF BIRDS CHATTERING).]
In similar fashion many inflections may be given to the same idea, and
with the indispensable assistance of facial expression the elements of
Hope, Tragedy, Comedy, Fear, are introduced.
The extraordinary mobility of Mr. Gilby's features must prove of
the utmost service to him. With a scarcely perceptible quiver of the
features his face expresses alternate Tragedy and Humour. So much so,
indeed, that one feels that he is throwing his whole nature into each
and every fleeting gesture. And this is probably the secret of his
success, for to this pale-faced, highly strung man the cause of the
deaf mute is as life itself.
The education of the deaf and dumb is necessarily limited, though
the general impression that they are deficient in mental capacity is
entirely erroneous. On the contrary, brightness, intelligence, and,
curiously enough, content are their chief characteristics. Such
educational limitations as exist are an unavoidable result of the
tedious and trying system that must be gone through in order to give a
deaf and dumb child even the rudiments of an education.
If you wish to teach such an one what a cow is and how to spell the
word, there is only one method, and that is to place a picture of a
cow before it and write the word on paper till it comprehends that the
letters C O W represent the name of the animal in question.
It will be seen, therefore, that only those who have enjoyed very
exceptional educational advantages are in a position to appreciate
some of the deeper abstract ideas of philosophy and the sciences.
[Illustration: "PARTING."]
Abstract ideas are difficult of adequate expression, therefore, not
because they cannot be suggested by the sign language, but by reason
of the reader's own inability to comprehend their significance. Some
of the more general ideas of an abstract nature are, however,
taught with comparative ease. We give two examples. Both are almost
self-explanatory. The first (on p. 70) expresses Knowledge, or Wisdom;
the second (p. 67) is a sign demonstrative of Justice. Nothing could
be clearer, of course. It is simply a mimetic illustration of the
symbolical picture of Justice blind, and so impartial, holding the
scales. The right hand is first placed in the position of holding the
scales, and is then rapidly brought down on a level with the other,
thus picturing the scales.
[Illustration: "STUPIDITY" (THE ASS).]
Two other pictures illustrate signs of a peculiarly expressive
nature. Nobody will want to be told what a deaf and dumb man means
who describes you with the sign shown below. The lower picture on the
preceding page is Mr. Gilby's way of expressing the fact that he has
been holding a conversation with someone. It will be noticed that
there are two positions of the forefinger, which are intended to
indicate that this finger is snapped rapidly against the thumb. It is
more or less a humorous way of expressing the idea, and as actually
illustrated by Mr. Gilby is exceedingly comic. A more sedate way of
expressing the idea would be to hold the hands in the same position,
but to draw them slowly apart and towards each other.
I feel that no article on this subject would be complete without some
special illustration of the enormous part pure facial expression plays
in Mr. Gilby's peculiar method. Indeed it is in his case a fine art,
and must represent an enormous increase in the effectiveness of his
addresses and lectures, and consequently in the happiness and comfort
they give his silent audiences.
[Illustration: "LET ME THINK."]
[Illustration: "HAD IT ON THE TIP OF MY TONGUE."]
[Illustration: "NOW, WHAT WAS IT!"]
[Illustration: "AH! WAIT!"]
[Illustration: "NO! I GIVE IT UP."]
Five photographs illustrative of a little lapse of memory explain
better than any words what I mean. Without strict attention to
grammar, I will call this Forgetfulness, More Forgetfulness, Most
Forgetfulness, Still more Forgetful, Forgotten.
This series will be an object lesson on the debt we all owe that
fleeting, intangible thing we call Human Expression.
No article is complete without its story. Mr. Gilby is full of
stories, but I have only space for one, and that looks weak on paper
when I remember how inimitably it was acted when he gave it to me.
Some time since he was due to give a short address in the schoolroom
under the church. The Vicarage adjoins the sacred edifice, and he
therefore decided it was unnecessary to change the light indoor shoes
he was wearing in his study. Accordingly he wore them on the platform
downstairs and commenced his address.
A few moments later he happened to quote the text in which the
words, "I cast my shoe," occur. Now obviously the best sign for the
expression of this idea was a gentle kick. Mr. Gilby gave it, but the
demonstration proved much more literal than he had intended, for a
second later his shoe flew through the air and dropped in the midst of
an immensely amused audience.
The story emphasises Mr. Gilby's belief that humour is, and always
should be, a valuable ally in the higher education of the deaf and
dumb.
It is an infallible means of securing that closer understanding and
sympathy between teacher and pupil which raises teaching from the dull
mechanical level of routine to a fine art.
Humour in his case is a natural gift--perhaps one of his greatest.
It peeps out unbidden in his sermons. It renders his lectures and
addresses delightful to deaf, dumb, and hearing visitors alike, and
one cannot but feel that in all the many branches of his work it turns
sadness into sunshine and depression into an unfaltering hope for the
future.
The scope of this article on St. Saviour's Church does not permit of
our entering upon the hotly-contested methods of educating the deaf,
whether by the lips or by manual signs or spelling. Mr. Gilby is one
of the Government Inspectors of Schools, and, having been born of
deaf parents, and brought up amongst the afflicted, may reasonably be
presumed to have a right judgment in these matters. For himself, he is
an ardent upholder of the Combined System--often known as the American
way of instructing the deaf. He differs in toto from any who may think
that Missions to the Deaf are unnecessary, for by learning speech they
are raised to the same level as their more fortunate brethren who can
hear.
In conclusion I cannot repay Mr. Gilby's courtesy and kind assistance
in the preparation of this article better than by repeating the wish I
feel to be nearest his heart:--
If you have an opportunity, help the Deaf and Dumb.
ALFRED ARKAS.
THE CHANCELLOR'S WARD.
PERHAPS MR. RICHARD MARSH'S BEST SHORT STORY.
_Illustrated by F. H. Townsend_.
I.
One really ought to write, She married him, not, He married her.
"The simple question is, my dear Tommy, are you going to take me or
leave me?"
This was in Hyde Park. They were seated on one of those seats which
are in front of the police station. Neither of them ought to have been
there. Which, of course, was one of the reasons why they were. Mr.
Stanham turned his eyeglass full upon Miss Cullen. Perhaps he thought
that that was sufficient answer. Anyhow, she went on--
"In other words, are you going to marry me, or are you not?"
[Illustration: "'ARE YOU GOING TO MARRY ME, OR ARE YOU NOT?'"]
"I am; Gad, I should rather hope so. I say, don't be too hard upon a
fellow, Frank."
"Call me Fanny, don't call me Frank! Don't you know that my name is
Frances, sir, which has absolutely no connection with Frank!"
"That's all right, old man."
That's what Mr. Stanham murmured. Extraordinary how some men do talk
to women nowadays, even to the women whom they love!
"Then, if you do intend to marry me, Mr. Thomas Stanham, you'll be so
good as to do so on Thursday morning next before noon."
Mr. Stanham began to scratch the gravel with his stick.
"And get seven years' penal."
"Stuff! They don't give you penal servitude for marrying wards in
Chancery. It's contempt of court."
"Yes, I know. Have to wash out your cell at Holloway, and stand at
'attention,' with your hat off, while the governor cuts you dead."
"Then perhaps you will be so good as to tell me what it is that you
do propose to do. Do you imagine that you are the sort of person the
court of Chancery will ever allow to marry me?"
"Haven't so much imagination, my dear Frank."
"Call me Fanny, not Frank! You are not to call me Frank. Then do you
suppose that I'm the sort of girl who's willing to wait, and not
marry her sweetheart, until she's twenty-five? Because if you suppose
anything of that kind, we must be perfect strangers."
"It's very good of you, I'm sure."
"Oh, I daresay. You don't love me that much." Miss Cullen flicked her
parasol. "Because a horrid old uncle chooses to say that I'm to be a
ward of the court until I'm five and twenty, am I to be a spinster all
my life? If you loved me the least little bit, you'd invite the Lord
Chancellor to come and see you marry me in the middle of Hyde Park,
even if, directly the deed was done, he had your head cut off on Tower
Hill."
"Thanks, dear boy."
Of course he married her. On the morning of the specified Thursday she
went out for a stroll, and he went out for a stroll, and they met at
the registrar's, and, as she put it, the deed was done. And, when the
deed was done, she went home to lunch, and he went, not home to lunch,
but to a private place, where he could swear. Now here they were, both
of them, at Tuttenham. They encountered each other on the doorstep.
She said, "How do you do, Mr. Stanham?" And he said, "How do you do,
Miss Cullen?"
[Illustration: "THEY ENCOUNTERED EACH OTHER ON THE DOORSTEP."]
"Nice way in which to have to greet your own wife," he told himself,
having reached the comparatively safe solitude of his own apartment.
Then the Duke got him into his own particular smoking-room. The Duke
was in an armchair. Mr. Stanham stood before the fireplace with his
hands in his pockets. The talk wandered from Dan to Beersheba. Then,
a good deal _à propos des bottes_, the Duke dropped what he evidently
intended to be taken as a hint.
"If you take my advice, young man, you'll keep clear of Frances
Cullen. She's here."
Mr. Stanham winced.
"Is she? Yes. I know. I met her on the steps."
"Did you!" The Duke eyed him. He, not improbably, had observed the
wince. "Warnings are issued all along that coast. Steer clear."
"What do you think they'd do to a man if he were to marry her?"
"Do to him! Tommy! I hope you're not meditating such a crime. She's
not an ordinary ward of the court, any more than she's an ordinary
millionaire."
"So I suppose."
"You had a little run with her in town. Everybody had their eyes on
you, as you're aware. And when the Duchess told me she was coming,
I'd half a mind to write and put you off--fact! This is not a house
in which even tacit encouragement can be offered to a dalliance with
crime. Not"--the Duke puffed at his pipe--"not that she's half a bad
sort of girl. She's clever. Very pretty. And she's got a way about her
which plays havoc with a man."
"Much obliged to you, I'm sure."
"What do you mean?"
"For saying a good word for my wife."
"Your wife?"
"Mrs. Thomas Stanham--_née_ Cullen."
"Tommy!--You don't mean it!"
"You can bet your pile I do,--and then safely go one better. I've got
a copy of the marriage certificate in my pocket, and I rather fancy
that she's got the original document in hers."
"You--young blackguard!"
"Sort of cousin of yours, aint I, Datchet? It's all in the family, you
know. Blackguard, and all."
"How did you do it?--And when?--And who knows?"
"Only you and me, and the lady. That's what's weighing on my mind.
What's the good of having a wife, if she ain't your wife--or, at any
rate, if you daren't say that she's your wife, for the life of you?"
The Duke suddenly rose from his seat. He seemed to be in a state of
actual agitation.
"Tommy, do you know that the Chancellor is coming here?"
"Who?"
"The Lord Chancellor. The carriage went to meet him an hour ago. I
expect him every moment."
Mr. Stanham looked a trifle blank.
"I didn't know the ministry was formed."
"It's formed, but it's not announced; Triggs is to be the Chancellor."
"And what sort of gentleman may Triggs be, when he's at home?"
[Illustration: "'YOU--YOUNG BLACKGUARD!'"]
"Sir Tristram? Well!" The Duke was walking up and down the room. He
appeared to be reflecting. "He's rather a queer card, Triggs is. He's
been a bit of a wildish character in his time--and they do say that
his time's not long gone. He has a temper of his own--a nasty one."
Pausing, the Duke fixedly regarded Mr. Stanham. "I should say that
when Triggs learns what you have done, he will clap you into gaol, and
keep you there, at any rate until Miss Cullen ceases to be a ward of
the court."
Mr. Stanham's countenance wore a look of dire consternation.
"No! She's to be a ward until she's twenty-five, and she's not yet
twenty-two."
"Then, in that case, I should say that, at the very least, you are in
for three good years of prison. My advice to you is----"
The Duke's advice remained unuttered. Just at that moment the door was
opened. A servant ushered in a new-comer.
"Sir Tristram Triggs."
The Duke, striding forward, held out both his hands.
"Sir Tristram!--And how long is it to be Sir Tristram?"
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"For a few hours, more or less, I suppose. I don't know much about
this kind of thing. I daresay I shall know more about it when I've
done."
"When you've done? May that not be for many and many a year! Allow me
to introduce to you a friend of mine,--Mr. Thomas Stanham."
Sir Tristram turned. For the first time, he appeared to notice Mr.
Stanham.
Physically, the new, great man was short, and inclined to ponderosity.
The entire absence of hair upon his face served to accentuate its
peculiar characteristics. It was a square face,--and, in particular,
the jaw was square. His big eyes looked from under a penthouse formed
by his over-hanging brows. As one looked at him, one instinctively
felt that this was a man whom it would be safer to have as a friend
than an enemy. As he turned, a faint smile seemed to be struggling
into existence about the corners of his great mouth. But, directly
his glance alighted upon Mr. Stanham, that smile vanished into the
_ewigkeit_. He looked at him very much as a bull-terrier might look
at a rat. And he said, in a tone of voice which seemed fraught with
curious significance--
"I have had the pleasure of meeting this gentleman before."
On his part, Mr. Stanham regarded Sir Tristram with a supercilious air
which, perhaps unconsciously to himself, was only too frequently seen
upon his face,--as if Sir Tristram were an inferior thing.
"I'd no idea that your name was Triggs."
The Duke, standing behind Sir Tristram, clenched his fists, and glared
at Mr. Stanham as if he would like to have knocked him down.
It happened, shortly afterwards, that Miss Cullen left her bedroom to
come downstairs. As she went along the corridor she met a gentleman
who was being conducted by a servant, probably, to his own apartment.
The gentleman was Sir Tristram Triggs. When Sir Tristram saw Miss
Cullen, and Miss Cullen saw Sir Tristram, they both of them stopped
short. The great man's complexion was, normally, of a ruddy hue. At
sight of the lady he turned the colour of a beetroot, boiled. She
drew herself up to the full capacity of her inches. And she uttered a
single monosyllable.
"You!"
[Illustration: "'YOU!'"]
That was all she said--then went sweeping on.
"That horrid man!--He here!--To think of it!--If I'd only known that
he was coming, I do believe, in spite of Tommy, that I'd have stayed
away."
At the foot of the stairs Miss Cullen encountered Mr. Stanham. That
gentleman had, as he was wont to have, his hands in his pockets. Also,
as he was not wont to have, he had a face as long as his arm.
"I say, Frank, old man, isn't there somewhere where I can have a word
or two with you on the strict 'Q.T.'?"
"Certainly--the library. There's never a soul in there."
One would not like to libel Tuttenham so far as to say, with Miss
Cullen, that the only tenants the library ever had were the books.
But, on that occasion, it did chance that the pair had the whole place
to themselves. Mr. Stanham perched himself on a corner of the table,
still with his hands in his pockets.
"There's going to be a pretty kettle of fish, dear boy."
That was what the gentleman observed.
"My dear child, what do you mean? What is the matter?"
"The Lord Chancellor's here."
"No!--How do you know?"
"Datchet just introduced me to him."
"Oh, Tommy, I say, what fun!"
With a little laugh, the lady clapped her hands. She appeared to be
gifted with a keener eye for comedy than Mr. Stanham.
"I don't know what you call fun. It happens that the new Lord
Chancellor is a man who, I have good reason to believe, would give a
tidy trifle for a chance of getting his knife into me."
"Whatever for?"
"I'll tell you the story. Last year, when I was at Canterstone for the
shooting, I was placed next to a man whom I had never seen in my life,
and whom I never wanted to see in my life again. What Charlie asked
him for, beats me. I believe, if he knew one end of a gun from the
other, it was as much as he did know. I doubt if there ever was his
ditto as a shot. I wiped his eye over and over again. I kept on doing
it. I couldn't help it--I had to. He never hit a bird. But he didn't
like it, any the more for that. We had something like a row before the
day was over. I fancy that I said something about a barber's clerk.
Anyhow, I know I walked off there and then."
"You nice, agreeable child! It's my opinion that all you men are the
same when you are shooting--missing links. And, pray, what has this
pleasant little sidelight on the sweetness of your disposition got to
do with the new Lord Chancellor?"
"Only this,--the new Lord Chancellor's the man I called a barber's
clerk."
"Tommy! How horrible!"
"It does seem pretty lively. You should have seen how he looked at
me when Datchet just now introduced us. Unless I am mistaken in the
gentleman, when this little affair of our's leaks out, and I'm brought
up in front of him, and he sees who I am, he'll straightway consign me
to the deepest dungeon, and keep me there, at any rate as long as he's
Lord Chancellor. It's only a cheerful little prophecy of mine. But you
mark my words, and see."
"My poor, dear boy! Whatever shall we do?"
"There's one thing I should like to do, and chance it;--I should like
to kick Sir Tristram Triggs!"
"Kick who? Sir Tristram Triggs! Tommy! Why would you like to kick Sir
Tristram Triggs?"
"That's the beggar's name."
"The beggar's name? Can it be that Sir Tristram Triggs is the new
Lord Chancellor?" She threw out her arms, with a gesture of burlesque
melodrama. "Tommy! Kiss me! Quick. Before I faint!"
[Illustration: "'KISS ME! BEFORE I FAINT!'"]
"I never saw a chap like you for kissing."
"That's a pretty thing to say! Although we may be married, sir, we
have not yet been upon our honeymoon."
"I'll kiss you, if you like."
"Thank you kindly, gentle sir!" She favoured him with a sweeping
curtsey. "Tommy, even you have no idea of the ramifications and
complications of our peculiar situation." Mr. Stanham had removed his
hands from his pockets. They occupied a more agreeable position round
the lady's waist. "See if I don't snatch you from the lion's jaws."
"Does that mean that you will help me to escape from Holloway?"
"It means that you will never get as far as Holloway?"
"Am I to die upon the road then?"
"Don't talk like that, don't! You don't know what a wife you've got!
You don't know how she loves you, worthless creature that you are!
Tommy, do say that you love me, just a little bit! There, you needn't
squeeze me quite so tight. I can't explain to you all about it. I will
some day! There's going to be a duel, perhaps to the death! between
the Lord Chancellor and yours to command; and if that august
personage, in the figure anyhow, of Sir Tristram Triggs, is not
worsted and overthrown, I will give you leave, sir, to say that you do
not admire my taste in dress.--Tommy, don't."
II.
After dinner, Miss Cullen, strolling about the great glasshouse, all
alone, came upon Sir Tristram, also all alone. Although not, probably,
more than half an inch taller than the gentleman, she looked, yes,
down at him, as if, comparatively, he were but an insect at her feet.
"Well, Sir Tristram, what amends do you propose to make to me?"
"Miss Cullen?"
"Sir?"
She looked at him; and this famous lawyer who had been more than a
match for the _olla podrida_ of the law courts, and the champions of
the political ring, quailed before a young girl's eyes.
"I fear, Miss Cullen, that I fail to apprehend your meaning."
"Is it possible that you are an habitual desecrator of that law which
you have sworn to uphold, and that, therefore, the details of your
crimes are apt to escape your memory? More than three months have
elapsed since you committed your crime. So far as I know, you have
not sought as yet to take advantage of any occasion to offer me
atonement."
Sir Tristram faced round to her with something of the bull-dog look
which had come upon his face when he had found himself in front of Mr.
Stanham.
"May I inquire, Miss Cullen, why you go out of your way to use
language of such extravagant exaggeration? It would be gross
absurdity, amounting almost to prostitution of language, to call the
offence of which I was guilty, if it was an offence, a crime."
"Perhaps it is because you are a lawyer that you are unaware that not
so very long ago a man was sentenced to six months' imprisonment for
exactly the same thing."
[Illustration: "'THAT FOR THE CHANCELLOR!'"]
Sir Tristram fidgeted. He seemed not to have complete control over his
tongue.
"Miss Cullen, I trust that I may never be found lacking in respect
to a lady. If I have been so unfortunate as to have offended you, I
proffer you my most sincere apologies, and I humbly entreat for your
forgiveness."
Miss Cullen remained, obviously, wholly unmoved.
"When a criminal expresses his contrition, is he held, by so doing, to
have sufficiently purged himself of his offence?"
"What is it that you require of me?"
"I am told that you are to be the new Lord Chancellor. I am a ward in
chancery."
"I learn the fact with the greatest pleasure."
"Do you? Then your pleasure bears a strong resemblance to my pain. I
am to remain a ward till I am twenty-five."
"Indeed?"
Sir Tristram began to rub his hands.
"Yes,--indeed! I had an objectionable uncle who was so foolish as to
suppose that I could not be a better judge of my own life's happiness
than--a number of elderly gentlemen."
"Hem!" Sir Tristram coughed.
"If I was willing to overlook your offence--" Sir Tristram smiled--"I
should require a _quid pro quo_."
"And what, my dear Miss Cullen, would be the nature of the _quid pro
quo_?"
[Illustration: "'WELL, OLD MAN, HAVE YOU HAD IT OUT WITH TRIGGS?'"]
"I should want you to consent to my marrying."
"To consent to your marrying?--Ah!--I see!--If the matter is laid
before me in due and proper form--it is possible that you have a
certain individual in your mind's eye whom you are willing to make the
happiest of men--and I was satisfied that he was a fit, and a proper,
person, and every care was taken to safeguard your interests--then, my
dear Miss Cullen, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to give
my consent to your being happily launched on what, I fear, is, too
often, the troubled sea of marriage."
"That's not the sort of thing I want at all."
"No? Then what is the sort of thing you want, may I inquire?"
The young lady tapped her foot against the floor. For the first time,
she seemed to be not entirely at her ease.
"The fact is, I'm married already."
"Married--already?--With the consent of the court?"
"Bother the court!"
"Young lady!--Are you aware who it is to whom you are speaking?"
"I am perfectly aware. I am speaking to the person who kissed me
against my will."
"Miss Cullen!--I'm the Chancellor!"
"That for the Chancellor!"
She actually snapped her fingers in his face. He seemed to be
speechless; though, perhaps, he only seemed so. When he did speak, it
was as if he were suffering positive pain.