Mr. Tillotson's room was about ten feet below the level of the soil of South Holloway. A little grey light percolated8 through the area bars, forced a difficult passage through panes9 opaque10 with dirt, and spent itself, like a drop of milk that falls into an inkpot, among the inveterate11 shadows of the dungeon12. The place was haunted by the spur smell of damp plaster and of woodwork that has begun to moulder13 secretly at the heart. A little miscellaneous furniture, including a bed, a washstand and chest of drawers, a table and one or two chairs, lurked15 in the obscure corners of the den16 or ventured furtively17 out into the open. Hither Spode now came almost every day, bringing the old man news of the progress of the banquet scheme. Every day he found Mr. Tillotson sitting in the same place under the window, bathing, as it were, in his tiny puddle18 of light. "The oldest man that ever wore grey hairs," Spode reflected as he looked at him. Only there were very few hairs left on that bald, unpolished head. At the sound of the visitor's knock Mr. Tillotson would turn in his chair, stare in the direction of the door with blinking, uncertain eyes. He was always full of apologies for being so slow in recognising who was there.
"No discourtesy meant," he would say, after asking. "It's not as if I had forgotten who you were. Only it's so dark and my sight isn't what it was."
After that he never failed to give a little laugh, and, pointing out of the window at the area railings, would say:
"Ah, this is the plate for somebody with good sight. It's the place for looking at ankles. It's the grand stand."
It was the day before the great event. Spode came as usual, and Mr. Tillotson punctually made his little joke about the ankles, and Spode, as punctually laughed.
"Well, Mr. Tillotson," he said, after the reverberation19 of the joke had died away, "to-morrow you make your re-entry into the world of art and fashion. You'll find some changes."
"I've always had such extraordinary luck," said Mr. Tillotson, and Spode could see by his expression that he genuinely believed it, that he had forgotten the black hole and the black-beetles20 and the almost exhausted21 ten pounds that stood between him and the workhouse. "What an amazing piece of good fortune, for instance, that you should have found me just when you did. Now, this dinner will bring me back to my place in the world. I shall have money, and in a little while—who knows?—I shall be able to see well enough to paint again. I believe my eyes are getting better, you know. Ah, the future is very rosy22."
Mr. Tillotson looked up, his face puckered23 into a smile, and nodded his head in affirmation of his words.
"You believe in the life to come?" said Spode, and immediately flushed for shame at the cruelty of the words.
But Mr. Tillotson was in far too cheerful a mood to have caught their significance.
"Life to come," he repeated. "No, I don't believe in any of that stuff not since 1859. The 'Origin of Species' changed my views, you know. No life to come for me, thank you! You don't remember the excitement of course. You re very young Mr. Spode."
"Well, I'm not so old as I was," Spode replied. "You know how middle-aged24 one is as a schoolboy and undergraduate. Now I'm old enough to know I'm young."
Spode was about to develop this little paradox25 further, but he noticed that Mr. Tillotson had not been listening. He made a note of the gambit for use in companies that were more appreciative26 of the subtleties27.
"You were talking about the 'Origin of Species,'" he said.
"Was I?" said Mr. Tillotson, waking from reverie.
"About its effect on your faith, Mr. Tillotson."
"To be sure, yes. It shattered my faith. But I remember a fine thing by the Poet Laureate, something about there being more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in all the ... all the ...: I forget exactly what; but you see the train of thought. Oh, it was a bad time for religion. I am glad my master Haydon never lived to see it. He was a man of fervour. I remember him pacing up and down his studio in Lisson Grove28, singing and shouting and praying all at once. It used almost to frighten me. Oh, but he was a wonderful man, a great man. Take him for all in all, we shall not look upon his like again. As usual, the Bard29 is right. But it was all very long ago, before your time, Mr. Spode."
"Well, I'm not as old as I was," said Spode, in the hope of having his paradox appreciated this time. But Mr. Tillotson went on without noticing the interruption.
"It's a very, very long time. And yet, when I look back on it, it all seems but a day or two ago. Strange that each day should seem so long and that many days added together should be less than an hour. How clearly I can see old Haydon pacing up and down! Much more clearly, indeed, than I see you, Mr. Spode. The eyes of memory don t grow dim. But my sight is improving, I assure you; it's improving daily. I shall soon be able to see those ankles." He laughed like a cracked bell—one of those little old bells, Spode fancied, that ring, with much rattling30 of wires, in the far-off servants quarters of ancient houses. "And very soon," Mr. Tillotson went on, "I shall be painting again. Ah, Mr. Spode, my luck is extraordinary. I believe in it, I trust in it. And after all, what is luck? Simply another name for Providence31, in spite of the Origin of Species and the rest of it. How right the Laureate was when he said that there was more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in all the ... er, the ... er ... well, you know. I regard you, Mr. Spode, as the emissary of Providence. Your coming marked a turning-point in my life, and the beginning, for me, of happier days. Do you know, one of the first things I shall do when my fortunes are restored will be to buy a hedgehog."
"A hedgehog, Mr. Tillotson?"
"For the blackbeetles. There's nothing like a hedgehog for beetles. It will eat blackbeetles till it's sick, till it dies of surfeit32. That reminds me of the time when I told my poor great master Haydon—in joke, of course—that he ought to send in a cartoon of King John dying of a surfeit of lampreys for the frescoes33 in the new Houses of Parliament. As I told him, it's a most notable event in the annals of British liberty—the providential and exemplary removal of a tyrant34."
Mr. Tillotson laughed again—the little bell in the deserted35 house; a ghostly hand pulling the cord in the drawing-room, and phantom36 footmen responding to the thin, flawed note.
"I remember he laughed, laughed like a bull in his old grand manner. But oh, it was a terrible blow when they rejected his design, a terrible blow. It was the first and fundamental cause of his suicide."
Mr. Tillotson paused. There was a long silence. Spode felt strangely moved, he hardly knew why, in the presence of this man, so frail37, so ancient, in body three parts dead, in the spirit so full of life and hopeful patience. He felt ashamed. What was the use of his own youth and cleverness? He saw himself suddenly as a boy with a rattle38 scaring birds rattling his noisy cleverness, waving his arms in ceaseless and futile39 activity, never resting in his efforts to scare away the birds that were always trying to settle in his mind. And what birds! widewinged and beautiful, all those serene40 thoughts and faiths and emotions that only visit minds that have humbled41 themselves to quiet. Those gracious visitants he was for ever using all his energies to drive away. But this old man, with his hedgehogs and his honest doubts and all the rest of it—his mind was like a field made beautiful by the free coming and going, the unafraid alightings of a multitude of white, bright-winged creatures. He felt ashamed. But then, was it possible to alter one's life? Wasn't it a little absurd to risk a conversion42? Spode shrugged43 his shoulders.
"I'll get you a hedgehog at once," he said. "They're sure to have some at Whiteley's."
Before he left that evening Spode made an alarming discovery. Mr. Tillotson did not possess a dress-suit. It was hopeless to think of getting one made at this short notice, and, besides, what an unnecessary expense!
"We shall have to borrow a suit, Mr. Tillotson. I ought to have thought of that before."
"Dear me, dear me." Mr. Tillotson was a little chagrined44 by this unlucky discovery. "Borrow a suit?"
Spode hurried away for counsel to Badgery House. Lord Badgery surprisingly rose to the occasion. "Ask Boreham to come and see me," he told the footman, who answered his ring.
Boreham was one of those immemorial butlers who linger on, generation after generation, in the houses of the great. He was over eighty now, bent45, dried up, shrivelled with age.
"All old men are about the same size," said Lord Badgery. It was a comforting theory. "Ah, here he is. Have you got a spare suit of evening clothes, Boreham?"
"I have an old suit, my lord, that I stopped wearing in let me see was it nineteen seven or eight?"
"That's the very thing. I should be most grateful, Boreham, if you could lend it to me for Mr. Spode here for a day."
The old man went out, and soon reappeared carrying over his arm a very old black suit. He held up the coat and trousers for inspection46. In the light of day they were deplorable.
"You've no idea, sir," said Boreham deprecatingly to Spode you've no idea how easy things get stained with grease and gravy47 and what not. However careful you are, sir—however careful.
"I should imagine so." Spode was sympathetic.
"However careful, sir."
"But in artificial light they'll look all right."
"Perfectly48 all right," Lord Badgery repeated. "Thank you, Boreham; you shall have them back on Thursday."
"You re welcome, my lord, I'm sure." And the old man bowed and disappeared.
On the afternoon of the great day Spode carried up to Holloway a parcel containing Boreham's retired49 evening-suit and all the necessary appurtenances in the way of shirts and collars. Owing to the darkness and his own feeble sight Mr. Tillotson was happily unaware50 of the defects in the suit. He was in a state of extreme nervous agitation51. It was with some difficulty that Spode could prevent him, although it was only three o'clock, from starting his toilet on the spot.
"Take it easy, Mr. Tillotson, take it easy. We needn't start till half-past seven, you know."
Spode left an hour later, and as soon as he was safely out of the room Mr. Tillotson began to prepare himself for the banquet. He lighted the gas and a couple of candles, and, blinking myopically52 at the image that fronted him in the tiny looking-glass that stood on his chest of drawers, he set to work, with all the ardour of a young girl preparing for her first ball. At six o'clock, when the last touches had been given, he was not unsatisfied.
He marched up and down his cellar, humming to himself the gay song which had been so popular in his middle years:
"Oh, oh, Anna, Maria Jones!
Spode arrived an hour later in Lord Badgery's second Rolls-Royce. Opening the door of the old man's dungeon, he stood for a moment, wide-eyed with astonishment55, on the threshold. Mr. Tillotson was standing56 by the empty grate, one elbow resting on the mantelpiece, one leg crossed over the other in a jaunty57 and gentlemanly attitude. The effect of the candlelight shining on his face was to deepen every line and wrinkle with intense black shadow; he looked immeasurably old. It was a noble and pathetic head. On the other hand, Boreham's out-worn evening-suit was simply buffoonish58. The coat was too long in the sleeves and the tail; the trousers bagged in elephantine creases59 about his ankles. Some of the grease-spots were visible even in candlelight. The white tie, over which Mr. Tillotson had taken infinite pains and which he believed in his purblindness60 to be perfect, was fantastically lop-sided. He had buttoned up his waistcoat in such a fashion that one button was widowed of its hole and one hole of its button. Across his shirt front lay the broad green ribbon of some unknown Order.
"Queen of the tambourine, the cymbals, and the bones," Mr. Tillotson concluded in a gnat-like voice before welcoming his visitor.
"Well, Spode, here you are. I'm dressed already, you see. The suit, I flatter myself, fits very well, almost as though it had been made for me. I am all gratitude61 to the gentleman who was kind enough to lend it to me; I shall take the greatest care of it. It's a dangerous thing to lend clothes. For loan oft loseth both itself and friend. The Bard is always right."
"Just one thing," said Spode. "A touch to your waistcoat." He unbuttoned the dissipated garment and did it up again more symmetrically.
"Thanks, thanks," he said, protestingly, trying to edge away from his valet. "It's all right, you know; I can do it myself. Foolish oversight63. I flatter myself the suit fits very well."
"And perhaps the tie might...." Spode began tentatively. But the old man would not hear of it.
"No, no. The tie's all right. I can tie a tie, Mr. Spode. The tie's all right. Leave it as it is, I beg."
"I like your Order."
Mr. Tillotson looked down complacently64 at his shirt front. "Ah, you've noticed my Order. It's a long time since I wore that. It was given me by the Grand Porte, you know, for services rendered in the Russo-Turkish War. It's the Order of Chastity, the second class. They only give the first class to crowned heads, you know—browned heads and ambassadors. And only Pashas of the highest rank get the second. Mine's the second. They only give the first class to crowned heads...."
"Of course, of course," said Spode.
"Do you think I look all right, Mr. Spode?" Mr. Tillotson asked, a little anxiously.
"Splendid, Mr. Tillotson—splendid. The Order's, magnificent."
The old man's face brightened once more. "I flatter myself," he said, "that this borrowed suit fits me very well. But I don't like borrowing clothes. For loan oft loseth both itself and friend, you know. And the Bard is always right."
"Ugh, there's one of those horrible beetles!" Spode exclaimed.
Mr. Tillotson bent down and stared at the floor. "I see it," he said, and stamped on a small piece of coal, which crunched65 to powder under his foot. "I shall certainly buy a hedgehog."
It was time for them to start. A crowd of little boys and girls had collected round Lord Badgery's enormous car. The chauffeur66, who felt that honour and dignity were at stake, pretended not to notice the children, but sat gazing, like a statue, into eternity67. At the sight of Spode and Mr. Tillotson emerging from the house a yell of mingled68 awe14 and derision went up. It subsided69 to an astonished silence as they climbed into the car. "Bomba's," Spode directed. The Rolls-Royce gave a faintly stertorous70 sigh and began to move. The children yelled again, and ran along beside the car, waving their arms in a frenzy71 of excitement. It was then that Mr. Tillotson, with an incomparably noble gesture, leaned forward and tossed among the seething72 crowd of urchins73 his three last coppers74.
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1
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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percolated
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| v.滤( percolate的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；（思想等）渗透；渗入 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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moulder
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| v.腐朽，崩碎 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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19
reverberation
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| 反响； 回响； 反射； 反射物 | |
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beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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subtleties
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| 细微( subtlety的名词复数 )； 精细； 巧妙； 细微的差别等 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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surfeit
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| v.使饮食过度；n.(食物)过量，过度 | |
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frescoes
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| n.壁画( fresco的名词复数 )；温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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39
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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40
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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41
humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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42
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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43
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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46
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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47
gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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48
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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49
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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50
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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51
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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52
myopically
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| adv.目光短浅地 | |
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53
tambourine
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| n.铃鼓，手鼓 | |
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54
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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55
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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56
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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57
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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58
buffoonish
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59
creases
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
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60
purblindness
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| 半盲的 | |
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61
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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62
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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63
oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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64
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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65
crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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66
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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67
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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68
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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69
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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70
stertorous
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| adj.打鼾的 | |
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71
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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72
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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73
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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74
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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