“You’re going strong, I suppose?”
“I’m going mad,” I answered.
“Providence not much to the front yet?”
“No,” I replied. “The ways of Providence are beyond our comprehension.
But one thing has struck me, that come what may to me, _you_ will not
go unpunished. I’d rather be in my fix than yours. You’ll probably have
all eternity in which to regret this abominable performance.”
He showed no dismay.
“You are an obstinate soul, Tarver, and a pluckier man than I thought.
But you’ll have to cut it--you’ll have to cave in. We’ll try what a
few hours in the python will do for you. And all this fuss because you
won’t marry a good woman.”
“You call it fuss!” I screamed indignantly. But then, thinking that
my excitement was caused by hunger, the keepers came and led me to my
parent, by which I mean the maternal hippopotamus.
There are things that cannot be written.
As a python I ate live rabbits and lived the ordinary disgusting life
of that reptile. The animals into which I migrated, having no conscious
existence of their own, were powerless to resent their visitor. Not
one of my hosts appeared aware of my presence, not one showed the
least concern about me. From the python I passed on to the tarantula,
and after abandoning that atrocious insect, I became a monkey. This
was a last refinement of cruelty on the part of Robinson, for he had
heard more than once my openly expressed dislike of these beasts.
Moreover, I was very unattractive; and yet a gleam of hope animated me
under this affliction, for I conceived that with a pencil and paper I
might now explain my position to some sympathetic third person. But
though the public offered me many things, a pencil and paper were not
amongst them. My companions, seeming to know that something was amiss,
bullied me, cuffed me, pulled my tail, pretended to catch fleas on me,
and generally made my life purgatory; while, to crown all, an ape’s
intelligence being apparently superior to that of most other animals,
the beast I inhabited evidently felt that he was out of sorts. I
cannot say what he thought was wrong with him or how he explained the
problem, but he had a will of his own, and evil passions, and a bad
disposition--all of which I found myself powerless to keep in check.
After two days of this infernal life Robinson dropped in again and I
was thankful to hear him speak from the throat of a spider monkey; for
my spirit was broken, I could wait for Providence no longer. I had, in
fact, determined to yield.
Robinson sidled up to me with a nut in his cheek, winked wickedly, put
a paw on my shoulder and spoke.
“Gay doings in this department, eh, Tarver?”
“We needn’t discuss them,” I said. “I give in. I will marry your
sister.”
“That’s awkward,” he answered. “In fact, you’ve run the time too fine,
old man. You can’t now. Why, when I came home from town to-day and
kissed Primrose as usual and asked her what she’d been doing, d’you
know what she said?”
“It doesn’t interest me.”
“Yes, I think it will, Tarver. She answered, with a sob, that she had
been strewing pale lilies on your grave.”
“On my _what_!” I screamed.
“Your grave, dear old boy! The last doctor gave in three days ago, and
as the whole committee were then of one opinion, there seemed naturally
nothing to do but to inter you. The people at your office sent a wreath
of cheap hardy annuals, and your executors told me to-day that you had
cut up rather better than they expected. You notice I choose to appear
in this black monkey; that is a compliment to you. In fact, you’re
dead, Tarver--dead as a door-nail. It’s your own fault, and be blessed
if I know what programme to arrange for you now.”
Of course I saw that it was no good asking to go back to my earthly
tabernacle if the wretched thing was six feet underground. That must
simply mean being buried alive. I looked at Robinson speechlessly, and
I think my expression touched him, for he spoke again.
“Poor old bounder! No, no; I’m getting at you, my son. It isn’t as bad
as all that, really. I wouldn’t let ’em bury you. But the position must
come to a climax pretty soon. Your landlady’s getting sick of it, and
your nephew--the youngster to whom you have left everything--is simply
clamouring to have you buried.”
Even marriage with Primrose Robinson presented a bright picture
compared to the last.
“I tell you, then, that I will give in; I will wed Miss Robinson; I
will do as you desire; only let me get back. I’m evidently wanted at
home. I shall lose my official appointment and everything,” I said.
“All right,” answered Robinson, cheerfully. “They’re going to measure
you for your last resting-place to-night, so if you start sharp you’ll
be there in time to see some fun. Are you ready to go?”
Before I had replied to this ironical question, I found myself at home
in bed, while several medical men were in the room, all talking at once.
“It’s murder, I tell you,” said one.
Whereupon I sat up and asked for brandy-and-water.
* * * * *
I should write no more, but it is only fair to explain how matters
ultimately fell out. As a man of honour I offered my heart and hand to
Primrose Robinson in due course; and she refused them! She admitted
that she had loved me once, but even she drew the line at catalepsy,
and she declined absolutely to marry a man who might fall into a
trance at any moment. So her brother’s esoteric machinations on her
behalf really defeated his own object. At least, thus it appeared to
me. Providence seldom really fails, only it takes its own time, and
from the point of view of a business man, is dilatory and too casual.
Providence, in fact, exhibits those faults that attach to any monopoly.
* * * * *
Six months after these unparalleled events I met Robinson in the City,
and he asked me to lunch with him, an invitation which I accepted,
feeling it better to run no more risks. He talked of the past, and said:
“I suppose you thought that when dear Primrose declined you she gave
you the true reason for so doing?”
“Yes,” I answered, “it struck me that Providence came in there.”
“Not at all,” he said. “She had found another and a better man. They
were thrown together during the period of your temporary extinction. In
his case it was love at first sight. A fine young fellow. I like him.”
“Who?” I asked with interest.
“Your nephew, the young man who will inherit your little property.”
“Never! He raised heaven and earth to have me buried. I have cut him
out of my will,” I replied.
“Yes, I know,” said Robinson, “but, if you think of it quietly and take
my advice, you will put him back again. As my brother-in-law he will
have claims on me.”
Of course I put him back, but I didn’t go to the wedding; and when they
sent cake I flung it into the dustbin; and if Robinson dies before I
do, I shall change my will again.
So let there be no more nonsense about not believing in Mahatmas. The
things exist, and nearer than Thibet too. There is one of them on the
Stock Exchange, at any rate, and his name is John Robinson. Tax him and
he will probably deny it; but don’t push him too far, or you may find
out the truth of my assertion to your cost.