"Read it!" said Everyone. "Read what?" asked the Baron. "_The
Wrecker_," answered Everyone. "I will," quoth the Baron, promptly.
And--it was done. It took some time to do, but of this more anon.
The Baron's time is fully occupied, never mind how, but fully, take
his word for it. A copy of _The Wrecker_ was at once provided by its
publishers, Messrs. CASSELL & Co., and the question for the Baron to
consider, was not "What will I do with it?" but How, when, and where,
will I read it? Clearly 'twas no ordinary book. Everybody was saying
so, and what Everybody is saying has considerable weight. A book not
to be trained through at express pace, so that the beauties of the
surrounding scenery would be lost, but something that when once
taken up cannot be put down again, like the brass knobs worked by an
electric-battery,--something giving you fits and starts, and shocks,
as do the electric brass-knobs aforesaid; something that, if you begin
it at 4 P.M., exhausts you by dinner-time, and after dinner, keeps you
awake till you read the last line at 2 A.M., and then tumble into bed
parched, fevered, exhausted, but in ecstasies of delight, feeling as
if you were the hero who had experienced all the dangers, and had come
out of them triumphantly.
[Illustration]
Such were the Baron's anticipations as to the joys in store for him
on reading _The Wrecker_, by Messrs. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON and LLOYD
OSBOURNE. The Baron hit on a plan, he must isolate himself as if he
were a telephone-wire. "Good," quoth he, "Isolation is the sincerest
flattery,--towards authors." The friend in need, not in the sense of
being out at elbows, appeared at the right moment, as did the Slave
of the Lamp to _Aladdin_. "Come to my house in the mountains," said
this Genius, heartily; "come to the wold where the foxes dwell, not
a hundred miles from a cab-stand, yet far far away,--amid lovely
scenery, in beautiful air, to quiet reposeful rooms, with the silence
of the cloister and the jollity of the Hall where beards wag all, in
the evening, when the daily task is done." "Friend REGINALD SYDE, I
thank thee," responded gratefully the Baron. "I am there!" And in less
time than it takes to go the whole distance in a four-horsed coach
with a horn blowing and the horses blown, the Baron, travelling by
special express, was there,--all there! The Authorities on the line
made no extra charge for taking _The Wrecker_ as luggage.
The weather was favourable for reading; an interminable downpour, when
one is grateful for any book, even a _Dictionary of Dates_, or the
remains of a _Boyle's Court Guide_. The Brave Baron shut himself into
his room, laid in stores of tobacco and grog, decided, in the course
of half an hour, on a comfortable position, and then laid himself out
for the perusal, not to say the study, of _The Wrecker_. Introductory
Chapter excellent,--appetising. "_Oliver_ asks for more," murmurs
the Baron to himself, settling down to "the Yarn." Chapter I. Now a
strange thing happened. The Story broke off! suddenly--inexplicably.
Descriptions, yes, by the handful, by the cartload--all excellent, no
doubt--and much to be appreciated by a reader with nothing on earth
to do the whole year round; but, about page 53, the Baron began to be
uneasy, shifted his pillows, refilled pipe, took "modest quencher,"
and then turned to grapple with _The Wrecker_. No good. Where the
deuce had the Story got to? When would the excitement come in? Where
was the sensation? Toiling on, went the Baron, stopping frequently
to wish he had a dictionary wherein he might ascertain the meaning of
strange, uncouth words and phrases, and to anathematise the Authors
separately or together. Had OSBOURNE interfered with STEVENSON, or was
STEVENSON allowing OSBOURNE to have his say, reserving himself for a
grand _coup_ at half-price? Would OSBOURNE chuck STEVENSON overboard,
or was it to be t'other way off? At page 90 the Baron decided he
would take a walk round, even if it were pouring cats and dogs, and
exclaiming, "Air, air, give me air!" he rushed forth. It was fine.
A brisk walk and a talk--just like King CHARLES "who walked and
talked"--with his genial host REGI SYDE, restored the Baron's
circulation, and made him wonder to himself at the reported great
circulation of the book. Back to his room again--into easy chair--p.
100--_Happy Thought_. This book is about ships and sea, The Baron will
be a Skipper!--and so he skips, skips, with great relief, until "A
sail in sight appears,"--spell it "sale," and there's a picture of
it--"He hails it with three cheers!"
Now the Story, at p. 134, begins in good earnest, and, except for the
idle dilletante reader, all the foregoing, from the first Chapter,
might go by the board--that is, as far as the Baron can make out. He
speaks only for himself. The Chapter describing the sale by auction is
first-rate; no doubt about it. The Baron's spirits, just now down to
zero, rose to over 100°. On we go: Throw over OSBOURNE, and come along
with Louis STEVENSON of _Treasure Island_. Bah! that exciting Chapter
was but a flash in the pan: brilliant but brief: and "Here we are!"
growls the Baron, "struggling along among a lot of puzzling lumber
in search of excitement number two, which does not seem to come until
Chapter XXIV., p. 383." Then there is a good blow out--of brains, a
scrimmaging, a banging, and a firing, and a scuffling, and a fainting,
and one marvellous effect. And then--is heard no more. The Baron harks
back, harks for'ard. No: puzzlement is his portion. Who was who, when
everybody turned out to be somebody else? Where was the Money? or more
important, Where is the Interest? "Well, that I cannot tell," quoth
he, "but 'twas a famous queer Sto-_ree_!" Perhaps the Baron, reading
against time, did not do it justice; or, perhaps he did. Anyway,
meeting a Lady-Stevensonian admirer, the Baron ventured to communicate
to her his great disappointment; whereupon she timidly whispered,
"Well, Baron, to tell you the truth, I quite agree with you. I found
it awfully tedious--except the sensations; but everybody is praising
it; so please, O please, do not betray my secret!" "Madam, a lady's
secret, even the universally-known _Lady Audley's Secret_, is
inviolable when intrusted to