Winsome Winnie and other New Nonsense Novels by Stephen Leacock (most read books of all time .TXT) đź“•
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- Author: Stephen Leacock
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Seated on a rock with their backs towards us were a man and a woman. The man was dressed in goatskins, and his whiskers, so I inferred from what I could see of them from the side, were at least as exuberant as mine. The woman was in white fur with a fillet of seaweed round her head. They were sitting close together as if in earnest colloquy.
"Cave people," whispered Edith, "aborigines of the island."
But I answered nothing. Something in the tall outline of the seated woman held my eye. A cruel presentiment stabbed me to the heart.
In my agitation my foot overset a stone, which rolled noisily down the rocks. The noise attracted the attention of the two seated below us. They turned and looked searchingly towards the place where we were concealed. Their faces were in plain sight. As I looked at that of the woman I felt my heart cease beating and the colour leave my face.[Pg 168]
I looked into Edith's face. It was as pale as mine.
"What does it mean?" she whispered.
"Miss Croyden," I answered, "Edith—it means this. I have never found the courage to tell you. I am a married man. The woman seated there is my wife. And I love you."
Edith put out her arms with a low cry and clasped me about the neck. "Harold," she murmured, "my Harold."
"Have I done wrong?" I whispered.
"Only what I have done too," she answered. "I, too, am married, Harold, and the man sitting there below, John Croyden, is my husband."
With a wild cry such as a cave man might have uttered, I had leapt to my feet.
"Your husband!" I shouted. "Then, by the living God, he or I shall never leave this place alive."
He saw me coming as I bounded down the rocks. In an instant he had sprung to his feet. He gave no cry. He asked no question. He[Pg 169] stood erect as a cave man would, waiting for his enemy.
And there upon the sands beside the sea we fought, barehanded and weaponless. We fought as cave men fight.
For a while we circled round one another, growling. We circled four times, each watching for an opportunity. Then I picked up a great handful of sand and threw it flap into his face. He grabbed a coco-nut and hit me with it in the stomach. Then I seized a twisted strand of wet seaweed and landed him with it behind the ear. For a moment he staggered. Before he could recover I jumped forward, seized him by the hair, slapped his face twice and then leaped behind a rock. Looking from the side I could see that Croyden, though half dazed, was feeling round for something to throw. To my horror I saw a great stone lying ready to his hand. Beside me was nothing. I gave myself up for lost, when at that very moment I heard Edith's voice behind me saying, "The shovel, quick, the shovel!" The noble girl had rushed back to our encampment[Pg 170] and had fetched me the shovel. "Swat him with that," she cried. I seized the shovel, and with the roar of a wounded bull—or as near as I could make it—I rushed out from the rock, the shovel swung over my head.
But the fight was all out of Croyden.
"Don't strike," he said, "I'm all in. I couldn't stand a crack with that kind of thing."
He sat down upon the sand, limp. Seen thus, he somehow seemed to be quite a small man, not a cave man at all. His goatskin suit shrunk in on him. I could hear his pants as he sat.
"I surrender," he said. "Take both the women. They are yours."
I stood over him leaning upon the shovel. The two women had closed in near to us.
"I suppose you are her husband, are you?" Croyden went on.
I nodded.
"I thought you were. Take her."
Meantime Clara had drawn nearer to me. She looked somehow very beautiful with her[Pg 171] golden hair in the sunlight, and the white furs draped about her.
"Harold!" she exclaimed. "Harold, is it you? How strange and masterful you look. I didn't know you were so strong."
I turned sternly towards her.
"When I was alone," I said, "on the Himalayas hunting the humpo or humped buffalo——"
Clara clasped her hands, looking into my face.
"Yes," she said, "tell me about it."
Meantime I could see that Edith had gone over to John Croyden.
"John," she said, "you shouldn't sit on the wet sand like that. You will get a chill. Let me help you to get up."
I looked at Clara and at Croyden.
"How has this happened?" I asked. "Tell me."
"We were on the same ship," Croyden said. "There came a great storm. Even the Captain had never seen——"
"I know," I interrupted, "so had ours."[Pg 172]
"The ship struck a rock, and blew out her four funnels——"
"Ours did too," I nodded.
"The bowsprit was broken, and the steward's pantry was carried away. The Captain gave orders to leave the ship——"
"It is enough, Croyden," I said, "I see it all now. You were left behind when the boats cleared, by what accident you don't know——"
"I don't," said Croyden.
"As best you could, you constructed a raft, and with such haste as you might you placed on it such few things——"
"Exactly," he said, "a chronometer, a sextant——"
"I know," I continued, "two quadrants, a bucket of water, and a lightning rod. I presume you picked up Clara floating in the sea."
"I did," Croyden said; "she was unconscious when I got her, but by rubbing——"
"Croyden," I said, raising the shovel again, "cut that out."
"I'm sorry," he said.
"It's all right. But you needn't go on. I[Pg 173] see all the rest of your adventures plainly enough."
"Well, I'm done with it all anyway," said Croyden gloomily. "You can do what you like. As for me, I've got a decent suit back there at our camp, and I've got it dried and pressed and I'm going to put it on."
He rose wearily, Edith standing beside him.
"What's more, Borus," he said, "I'll tell you something. This island is not uninhabited at all."
"Not uninhabited!" exclaimed Clara and Edith together. I saw each of them give a rapid look at her goatskin suit.
"Nonsense, Croyden," I said, "this island is one of the West Indian keys. On such a key as this the pirates used to land. Here they careened their ships——"
"Did what to them?" asked Croyden.
"Careened them all over from one end to the other," I said. "Here they got water and buried treasure; but beyond that the island was, and remained, only the home of the wild gull and the sea-mews——"[Pg 174]
"All right," said Croyden, "only it doesn't happen to be that kind of key. It's a West Indian island all right, but there's a summer hotel on the other end of it not two miles away."
"A summer hotel!" we exclaimed.
"Yes, a hotel. I suspected it all along. I picked up a tennis racket on the beach the first day; and after that I walked over the ridge and through the jungle and I could see the roof of the hotel. Only," he added rather shamefacedly, "I didn't like to tell her."
"Oh, you coward!" cried Clara. "I could slap you."
"Don't you dare," said Edith. "I'm sure you knew it as well as he did. And anyway, I was certain of it myself. I picked up a copy of last week's paper in a lunch-basket on the beach, and hid it from Mr. Borus. I didn't want to hurt his feelings."
At that moment Croyden pointed with a cry towards the sea.
"Look," he said, "for Heaven's sake, look!"
He turned.
Less than a quarter of a mile away we could[Pg 175] see a large white motor launch coming round the corner. The deck was gay with awnings and bright dresses and parasols.
"Great Heavens!" said Croyden. "I know that launch. It's the Appin-Joneses'."
"The Appin-Joneses'!" cried Clara. "Why, we know them too. Don't you remember, Harold, the Sunday we spent with them on the Hudson?"
Instinctively we had all jumped for cover, behind the rocks.
"Whatever shall we do?" I exclaimed.
"We must get our things," said Edith Croyden. "Jack, if your suit is ready run and get it and stop the launch. Mrs. Borus and Mr. Borus and I can get our things straightened up while you keep them talking. My suit is nearly ready anyway; I thought some one might come. Mr. Borus, would you mind running and fetching me my things, they're all in a parcel together? And perhaps if you have a looking-glass and some pins, Mrs. Borus, I could come over and dress with you."
* * * * *
[Pg 176]
That same evening we found ourselves all comfortably gathered on the piazza of the Hotel Christopher Columbus. Appin-Jones insisted on making himself our host, and the story of our adventures was related again and again to an admiring audience, with the accompaniment of cigars and iced champagne. Only one detail was suppressed, by common instinct. Both Clara and I felt that it would only raise needless comment to explain that Mr. and Mrs. Croyden had occupied separate encampments.
Nor is it necessary to relate our safe and easy return to New York.
Both Clara and I found Mr. and Mrs. Croyden delightful travelling companions, though perhaps we were not sorry when the moment came to say good-bye.
"The word 'good-bye,'" I remarked to Clara, as we drove away, "is always a painful one. Oddly enough when I was hunting the humpo, or humped buffalo, of the Himalayas——"
"Do tell me about it, darling," whispered Clara, as she nestled beside me in the cab.
[Pg 177]
(Being one chapter—and quite enough—-from the Reminiscences of an Operating Plumber)
[Pg 179]
"Personally," said Thornton, speaking for the first time, "I never care to take a case that involves cellar work."
We were sitting—a little group of us—round about the fire in a comfortable corner of the Steam and Air Club. Our talk had turned, as always happens with a group of professional men, into more or less technical channels. I will not say that we were talking shop; the word has an offensive sound and might be misunderstood. But we were talking as only a group of practising plumbers—including some of the biggest men in the profession—would talk. With the exception of Everett, who had a national reputation as a Consulting Barber, and Thomas, who was a vacuum cleaner ex[Pg 180]pert, I think we all belonged to the same profession. We had been holding a convention, and Fortescue, who had one of the biggest furnace practices in the country, had read us a paper that afternoon—a most revolutionary thing—on External Diagnosis of Defective Feed Pipes, and naturally the thing had bred discussion. Fortescue, who is one of the most brilliant men in the profession, had stoutly maintained his thesis that the only method of diagnosis for trouble in a furnace is to sit down in front of it and look at it for three days; others held out for unscrewing it and carrying it home for consideration; others of us, again, claimed that by tapping the affected spot with a wrench the pipe might be fractured in such a way as to prove that it was breakable. It was at this point that Thornton interrupted with his remark about never being willing to accept a cellar case.
Naturally all the men turned to look at the speaker. Henry Thornton, at the time of which I relate, was at the height of his reputation. Beginning, quite literally, at the bottom[Pg 181] of the ladder, he had in twenty years of practice as an operating plumber raised himself to the top of his profession. There was much in his appearance to suggest the underlying reasons of his success. His face, as is usual with men of our calling, had something of the dreamer in it, but the bold set of the jaw indicated determination of an uncommon kind. Three times President of the Plumbers' Association, Henry Thornton had enjoyed the highest honours of his chosen profession. His book on Nut Coal was recognized as the last word on the subject, and had been crowned by the French Academy of Nuts.
I suppose that one of the principal reasons for his success was his singular coolness and resource. I have seen Thornton enter a kitchen, with that quiet reassuring step of his, and lay out his instruments on the table, while a kitchen tap with a broken washer was sprizzling within a few feet of him, as calmly and as quietly as if he were in his lecture-room of the Plumbers' College.
"You never go into a cellar?" asked Fortes[Pg 182]cue. "But hang it, man, I don't see how one can avoid it!"
"Well, I do avoid it," answered Thornton, "at least as far as I possibly can. I send down my solderist, of course, but personally, unless it is absolutely necessary, I never go down."
"That's all very well, my dear fellow," Fortescue cut
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