He looked across at the Editor, who was a rare visitor, and
hoped he was all right. The Editor began a question. "Tell you
presently," said the Time Traveller. "I'm funny! Be all right in a
minute."
He put down his glass, and walked towards the staircase door.
Again I remarked his lameness and the soft padding sound of his footfall, and
standing up in my place, I saw his feet as he went out. He had nothing on them
but a pair of tattered blood-stained socks. Then the door closed upon him. I
had half a mind to follow, till I remembered how he detested any fuss about
himself. For a minute, perhaps, my mind was wool gathering. Then,
"Remarkable Behaviour of an Eminent Scientist," I heard the Editor
say, thinking (after his wont) in headlines. And this brought my attention back
to the bright dinner-table.
"What's the game?" said the Journalist. "Has he
been doing the Amateur Cadger? I don't follow." I met the eye of the
psychologist, and read my own interpretation in his face. I thought of the Time
Traveller limping painfully upstairs. I don't think any one else had noticed
his lameness.
The first to recover completely from this surprise was the
Medical Man, who rang the bell the Time Traveller hated to have servants
waiting at dinner for a hot plate. At that the Editor turned to his knife and
fork with a grunt, and the Silent Man followed suit. The dinner was resumed.
Conversation was exclamatory for a little while, with gaps of wonderment; and
then the Editor got fervent in his curiosity. "Does our friend eke out his
modest income with a crossing? or has he his Nebuchadnezzar phases?" he
inquired. "I feel assured it's this business of the Time Machine," I
said, and took up the Psychologist's account of our previous meeting.
The new
guests were frankly incredulous. The Editor raised objections. "What was
this time travelling? A man couldn't cover himself with dust by rolling in a
paradox, could he?" And then, as the idea came home to him, he resorted to
caricature. Hadn't they any clothes-brushes in the Future? The Journalist too,
would not believe at any price, and joined the Editor in the easy work of
heaping ridicule on the whole thing. They were both the new kind of journalist
very joyous, irreverent young men. "Our Special Correspondent in the Day
after To-morrow reports," the Journalist was saying, or rather shouting,
when the Time Traveller came back. He was dressed in ordinary evening clothes,
and nothing save his haggard look remained of the change that had startled me.
"I say," said the Editor hilariously, "these
chaps here say you have been travelling into the middle of next week! Tell us
all about little Rosebery, will you? What will you take for the lot?"
The Time Traveller came to the place reserved for him without
a word. He smiled quietly, in his old way. "Where's my mutton?" he
said. "What a treat it is to stick a fork into meat again!"
"Story!" cried the Editor.
"Story be damned!" said the Time Traveller. "I
want something to eat. I won't say a word until I get some peptone into my
arteries. Thanks. And the salt."
"One word," said I. "Have you been time
travelling?"
"Yes," said the Time Traveller, with his mouth full,
nodding his head.
"I'd give a shilling a line for a verbatim note,"
said the Editor. The Time Traveller pushed his glass towards the Silent Man and
rang it with his finger nail; at which the Silent Man, who had been staring at
his face, started convulsively, and poured him wine. The rest of the dinner was
uncomfortable. For my own part, sudden questions kept on rising to my lips, and
I dare say it was the same with the others. The Journalist tried to relieve the
tension by telling anecdotes of Hettie Potter. The Time Traveller devoted his
attention to his dinner, and displayed the appetite of a tramp. The Medical Man
smoked a cigarette, and watched the Time Traveller through his eyelashes. The
Silent Man seemed even more clumsy than usual, and drank champagne with
regularity and determination out of sheer nervousness. At last the Time
Traveller pushed his plate away, and looked round us. "I suppose I must
apologize," he said. "I was simply starving. I've had a most amazing
time." He reached out his hand for a cigar, and cut the end. "But
come into the smoking-room. It's too long a story to tell over greasy
plates." And ringing the bell in passing, he led the way into the
adjoining room.
"You have told Blank, and Dash, and Chose about the
machine?" he said to me, leaning back in his easy chair and naming the
three new guests.
"But the thing's a mere paradox," said the Editor.
"I can't argue to-night. I don't mind telling you the
story, but I can't argue. I will," he went on, "tell you the story of
what has happened to me, if you like, but you must refrain from interruptions.
I want to tell it. Badly. Most of it will sound like lying. So be it! It's true
every word of it, all the same. I was in my laboratory at four o'clock, and
since then . . . I've lived eight days . . . such days as no human being ever
lived before! I'm nearly worn out, but I shan't sleep till I've told this thing
over to you. Then I shall go to bed. But no interruptions! Is it agreed?"
"Agreed," said the Editor, and the rest of us echoed
"Agreed." And with that the Time Traveller began his story as I have
set it forth. He sat back in his chair at first, and spoke like a weary man.
Afterwards he got more animated. In writing it down I feel with only too much
keenness the inadequacy of pen and ink and, above all, my own inadequacy to
express its quality.
You read, I will suppose, attentively enough; but you
cannot see the speaker's white, sincere face in the bright circle of the little
lamp, nor hear the intonation of his voice. You cannot know how his expression
followed the turns of his story! Most of us hearers were in shadow, for the
candles in the smoking-room had not been lighted, and only the face of the
Journalist and the legs of the Silent Man from the knees downward were
illuminated. At first we glanced now and again at each other.
After a time we
ceased to do that, and looked only at the Time Traveller's face.
No comments:
Post a Comment