There was a conspiracy in hand to embarrass the Idiot. The School-master
and the Bibliomaniac had combined forces to give him a taste of his own
medicine. The time had not yet arrived which showed the Idiot at a
disadvantage; and the two boarders, the one proud of his learning, and
the other not wholly unconscious of a bookish life, were distinctly
tired of the triumphant manner in which the Idiot always left the
breakfast-table to their invariable discomfiture.
It was the School-master's suggestion to put their tormentor into the
pit he had heretofore digged for them. The worthy instructor of youth
had of late come to see that while he was still a prime favorite with
his landlady, he had, nevertheless, suffered somewhat in her estimation
because of the apparent ease with which the Idiot had got the better of
him on all points. It was necessary, he thought, to rehabilitate
himself, and a deep-laid plot, to which the Bibliomaniac readily lent
ear, was the result of his reflections. They twain were to indulge in a
discussion of the great story of _Robert Elsmere_, which both were
confident the Idiot had not read, and concerning which they felt assured
he could not have an intelligent opinion if he had read it.
So it happened upon this bright Sunday morning that as the boarders sat
them down to partake of the usual "restful breakfast," as the Idiot
termed it, the Bibliomaniac observed:
"I have just finished reading _Robert Elsmere_."
"Have you, indeed?" returned the School-master, with apparent interest.
"I trust you profited by it?"
"On the contrary," observed the Bibliomaniac. "My views are much
unsettled by it."
"I prefer the breast of the chicken, Mrs. Smithers," observed the Idiot,
sending his plate back to the presiding genius of the table. "The neck
of a chicken is graceful, but not too full of sustenance."
"He fights shy," whispered the Bibliomaniac, gleefully.
"Never mind," returned the School-master, confidently; "we'll land him
yet." Then he added, aloud: "Unsettled by it? I fail to see how any man
with beliefs that are at all the result of mature convictions can be
unsettled by the story of _Elsmere_. For my part I believe, and I have
always said--"
"I never could understand why the neck of a chicken should be allowed on
a respectable table anyhow," continued the Idiot, ignoring the
controversy in which his neighbors were engaged, "unless for the purpose
of showing that the deceased fowl met with an accidental rather than a
natural death."
"In what way does the neck demonstrate that point?" queried the
Bibliomaniac, forgetting the conspiracy for a moment.
"By its twist or by its length, of course," returned the Idiot. "A
chicken that dies a natural death does not have its neck wrung; nor when
the head is removed by the use of a hatchet, is it likely that it will
be cut off so close behind the ears that those who eat the chicken are
confronted with four inches of neck."
[Illustration: "'I STUCK TO THE PIGS'"]
"Very entertaining indeed," interposed the School-master; "but we are
wandering from the point the Bibliomaniac and I were discussing. Is or
is not the story of _Robert Elsmere_ unsettling to one's beliefs?
Perhaps you can help us to decide that question."
"Perhaps I can," returned the Idiot; "and perhaps not. It did not
unsettle my beliefs."
"But don't you think," observed the Bibliomaniac, "that to certain minds
the book is more or less unsettling?"
"To that I can confidently say no. The certain mind knows no
uncertainty," replied the Idiot, calmly.
"Very pretty indeed," said the School-master, coldly. "But what was your
opinion of Mrs. Ward's handling of the subject? Do you think she was
sufficiently realistic? And if so, and Elsmere weakened under the stress
of circumstances, do you think--or don't you think--the production of
such a book harmful, because--being real--it must of necessity be
unsettling to some minds?"
[Illustration: THE CONSPIRATORS]
"I prefer not to express an opinion on that subject," returned the
Idiot, "because I never read _Robert Els_--"
"Never read it?" ejaculated the School-master, a look of triumph in his
eyes.
"Why, everybody has read _Elsmere_ that pretends to have read anything,"
asserted the Bibliomaniac.
"Of course," put in the landlady, with a scornful laugh.
"Well, I didn't," said the Idiot, nonchalantly. "The same ground was
gone over two years before in Burrows's great story, _Is It, or Is It
Not?_ and anybody who ever read Clink's books on the _Non-Existent as
Opposed to What Is_, knows where Burrows got his points. Burrows's story
was a perfect marvel. I don't know how many editions it went through in
England, and when it was translated into French by Madame Tournay, it
simply set the French wild."
"Great Scott!" whispered the Bibliomaniac, desperately, "I'm afraid
we've been barking up the wrong tree."
"You've read Clink, I suppose?" asked the Idiot, turning to the
School-master.
"Y--yes," returned the School-master, blushing deeply.
The Idiot looked surprised, and tried to conceal a smile by sipping his
coffee from a spoon.
"And Burrows?"
"No," returned the School-master, humbly. "I never read Burrows."
"Well, you ought to. It's a great book, and it's the one _Robert
Elsmere_ is taken from--same ideas all through, I'm told--that's why I
didn't read _Elsmere_. Waste of time, you know. But you noticed
yourself, I suppose, that Clink's ground is the same as that covered in
_Elsmere_?"
"No; I only dipped lightly into Clink," returned the School-master, with
some embarrassment.
"But you couldn't help noticing a similarity of ideas?" insisted the
Idiot, calmly.
The School-master looked beseechingly at the Bibliomaniac, who would
have been glad to fly to his co-conspirator's assistance had he known
how, but never having heard of Clink, or Burrows either, for that
matter, he made up his mind that it was best for his reputation for him
to stay out of the controversy.
"Very slight similarity, however," said the School-master, in despair.
"Where can I find Clink's books?" put in Mr. Whitechoker, very much
interested.
The Idiot conveniently had his mouth full of chicken at the moment, and
it was to the School-master who had also read him that they all--the
landlady included--looked for an answer.
"Oh, I think," returned that worthy, hesitatingly--"I think you'll find
Clink in any of the public libraries."
"What is his full name?" persisted Mr. Whitechoker, taking out a
memorandum-book.
"Horace J. Clink," said the Idiot.
"Yes; that's it--Horace J. Clink," echoed the School-master. "Very
virile writer and a clear thinker," he added, with some nervousness.
"What, if any, of his books would you specially recommend?" asked the
Minister again.
The Idiot had by this time risen from the table, and was leaving the
room with the genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed.
The School-master's reply was not audible.
"I say," said the genial gentleman to the Idiot, as they passed out into
the hall, "they didn't get much the best of you in that matter. But,
tell me, who was Clink, anyhow?"
"Never heard of him before," returned the Idiot.
"And Burrows?"
"Same as Clink."
"Know anything about _Elsmere_?" chuckled the genial gentleman.
"Nothing--except that it and 'Pigs in Clover' came out at the same time,
and I stuck to the Pigs."
And the genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed was so pleased at the
plight of the School-master and of the Bibliomaniac that he invited the
Idiot up to his room, where the private stock was kept for just such
occasions, and they put in a very pleasant morning together.