Short Stories of Various Types
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Various >> Short Stories of Various Types
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But pretty Polly Gookin felt not thus. The pair were now promenading
the room--Feathertop with his dainty stride, and no less dainty
grimace, the girl with a native maidenly grace just touched, not
spoiled, by a slightly affected manner which seemed caught from the
perfect artifice of her companion. The longer the interview continued,
the more charmed was pretty Polly, until within the first quarter of an
hour (as the old magistrate noted by his watch) she was evidently
beginning to be in love. Nor need it have been witchcraft that subdued
her in such a hurry: the poor child's heart, it may be, was so very
fervent that it melted her with its own warmth, as reflected from the
hollow semblance of a lover. No matter what Feathertop said, his words
found depth and reverberation in her ear; no matter what he did, his
action was very heroic to her eye. And by this time, it is to be
supposed, there was a blush on Polly's cheek, a tender smile about her
mouth, and a liquid softness in her glance, while the star kept
coruscating on Feathertop's breast, and the little demons careered with
more frantic merriment than ever about the circumference of his
pipe-bowl. Oh, pretty Polly Gookin! Why should these imps rejoice so
madly that a silly maiden's heart was about to be given to a shadow? Is
it so unusual a misfortune--so rare a triumph?
By and by Feathertop paused and, throwing himself into an imposing
attitude, seemed to summon the fair girl to survey his figure and
resist him longer if she could. His star, his embroidery, his buckles,
glowed at that instant with unutterable splendor; the picturesque hues
of his attire took a richer depth of coloring; there was a gleam and
polish over his whole presence betokening the perfect witchery of
well-ordered manners. The maiden raised her eyes and suffered them to
linger upon her companion with a bashful and admiring gaze. Then, as if
desirous of judging what value her own simple comeliness might have
side by side with so much brilliancy, she cast a glance toward the
full-length looking glass in front of which they happened to be
standing. It was one of the truest plates in the world and incapable of
flattery. No sooner did the images therein reflected meet Polly's eye
than she shrieked, shrank from the stranger's side, gazed at him a
moment in the wildest dismay, and sank insensible upon the floor.
Feathertop, likewise, had looked toward the mirror, and there beheld,
not the glittering mockery of his outside show, but a picture of the
sordid patchwork of his real composition stripped of all witchcraft.
The wretched simulacrum! We almost pity him. He threw up his arms with
an expression of despair that went farther than any of his previous
manifestations toward vindicating his claims to be reckoned human. For
perchance the only time since this so often empty and deceptive life of
mortals began its course, an illusion had seen and fully recognized
itself.
Mother Rigby was seated by her kitchen hearth in the twilight of this
eventful day and had just shaken the ashes out of a new pipe, when she
heard a hurried tramp along the road. Yet it did not seem so much the
tramp of human footsteps as the clatter of sticks or the rattling of
dry bones.
"Ha!" thought the old witch, "what step is that? Whose skeleton is out
of its grave now, I wonder?"
A figure burst headlong into the cottage door. It was Feathertop. His
pipe was still alight, the star still flamed upon his breast, the
embroidery still glowed upon his garments, nor had he lost in any
degree or manner that could be estimated the aspect that assimilated
him with our mortal brotherhood. But yet, in some indescribable way (as
is the case with all that has deluded us when once found out), the poor
reality was felt beneath the cunning artifice.
"What has gone wrong?" demanded the witch. "Did yonder sniffling
hypocrite thrust my darling from his door? The villain! I'll set twenty
fiends to torture him till he offer thee his daughter on his bended
knees!"
"No, mother," said Feathertop, despondingly; "it was not that."
"Did the girl scorn my precious one?" asked Mother Rigby, her fierce
eyes glowing like two coals of Tophet. "I'll cover her face with
pimples! Her nose shall be as red as the coal in thy pipe! Her front
teeth shall drop out! In a week hence she shall not be worth thy
having."
"Let her alone, mother," answered poor Feathertop. "The girl was half
won, and methinks a kiss from her sweet lips might have made me
altogether human. But," he added after a brief pause and then a howl of
self-contempt, "I've seen myself, mother! I've seen myself for the
wretched, ragged, empty thing I am. I'll exist no longer."
Snatching the pipe from his mouth, he flung it with all his might
against the chimney, and at the same instant sank upon the floor, a
medley of straw and tattered garments, with some sticks protruding from
the heap and a shriveled pumpkin in the midst. The eyeholes were now
lustreless but the rudely carved gap that just before had been a mouth
still seemed to twist itself into a despairing grin, and was so far
human.
"Poor fellow!" quoth Mother Rigby, with a rueful glance at the relics
of her ill-fated contrivance. "My poor, dear, pretty Feathertop! There
are thousands upon thousands of coxcombs and charlatans in the world
made up of just such a jumble of worn-out, forgotten and
good-for-nothing trash as he was, yet they live in fair repute, and
never see themselves for what they are. And why should my poor puppet
be the only one to know himself and perish for it?"
While thus muttering the witch had filled a fresh pipe of tobacco, and
held the stem between her fingers, as doubtful whether to thrust it
into her own mouth or Feathertop's.
"Poor Feathertop!" she continued. "I could easily give him another
chance, and send him forth again to-morrow. But no! His feelings are
too tender--his sensibilities too deep. He seems to have too much heart
to bustle for his own advantage in such an empty and heartless world.
Well, well! I'll make a scarecrow of him, after all. 'Tis an innocent
and useful vocation, and will suit my darling well; and if each of his
human brethren had as fit a one, 'twould be the better for mankind. And
as for his pipe of tobacco, I need it more than he."
So saying, Mother Rigby put the stem between her lips.
"Dickon," cried she, in her high, sharp tone, "another coal for my
pipe!"
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
The Red-Headed League
I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,[203-1] one day in the
autumn of last year, and found him in deep conversation with a very
stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman, with fiery red hair. With an
apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled
me abruptly into the room, and closed the door behind me.
"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson," he
said, cordially.
"I was afraid that you were engaged."
"So I am. Very much so."
"Then I can wait in the next room."
"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helper
in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he will
be of the utmost use to me in yours also."
The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of
greeting, with a quick, little, questioning glance from his small,
fat-encircled eyes.
"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his arm-chair and putting
his finger-tips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. "I
know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and
outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. You have
shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to
chronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish
so many of my own little adventures."
"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I
observed.
"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went
into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that
for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life
itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the
imagination."
"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting."
"You did, doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for
otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you, until your
reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now, Mr.
Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning,
and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular
which I have listened to for some time. You have heard me remark that
the strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with
the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where
there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed.
As far as I have heard, it is impossible for me to say whether the
present case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events
is certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to.
Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommence
your narrative. I ask you, not merely because my friend, Dr. Watson,
has not heard the opening part, but also because the peculiar nature of
the story makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your
lips. As a rule, when I have heard some slight indication of the course
of events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other similar
cases which occur to my memory. In the present instance I am forced to
admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique."
The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some
little pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside
pocket of his great-coat. As he glanced down the advertising column,
with his head thrust forward, and the paper flattened out upon his
knee, I took a good look at the man, and endeavored, after the fashion
of my companion, to read the indications which might be presented by
his dress or appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore
every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese,
pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy gray shepherd's check trousers,
a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab
waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of
metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown
overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him.
Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man
save his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and
discontent upon his features.
Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his
head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances, "Beyond the
obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he takes
snuff, that he is a Freemason,[206-1] that he has been in China, and
that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce
nothing else."
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the
paper, but with his eyes upon my companion.
"How, in the name of good fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?"
he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did manual labor? It's
as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's carpenter."
"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than
your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more
developed."
"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?"
"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,
especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use
an arc-and-compass breastpin."
"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?"
"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five
inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you
rest it upon the desk?"
"Well, but China?"
"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist
could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo
marks, and have even contributed to the literature of the subject. That
trick of staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink is quite
peculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from
your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple."
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I thought
at first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was
nothing in it, after all."
"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake in
explaining. '_Omne ignotum pro magnifico_,'[207-1] you know, and my
poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so
candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?"
"Yes, I have got it now," he answered, with his thick, red finger
planted half-way down the column. "Here it is. This is what began it
all. You just read it for yourself, sir."
I took the paper from him, and read as follows:
To the Red-Headed League: On account of the bequest of the late
Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pa., U. S. A., there is now another
vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of
L4 a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed men who are
sound in body and mind, and above the age of twenty-one, are
eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven o'clock, to Duncan
Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope's Court, Fleet Street.
"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated, after I had twice read
over the extraordinary announcement.
Holmes chuckled, and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in
high spirits. "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?" said he.
"And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch, and tell us all about
yourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement had
upon your fortunes. You will first make a note, doctor, of the paper
and the date."
"It is _The Morning Chronicle_, of April 27, 1890. Just two months
ago."
"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?"
"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,"
said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; "I have a small pawnbroker's
business at Coburg Square, near the city. It's not a very large affair,
and of late years it has not done more than just give me a living. I
used to be able to keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and I
would have a job to pay him, but that he is willing to come for half
wages, so as to learn the business."
"What is the name of this obliging youth?" asked Sherlock Holmes.
"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth, either. It's
hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes;
and I know very well that he could better himself, and earn twice what
I am able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I
put ideas in his head?"
"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employe who comes
under the full market price. It is not a common experience among
employers in this age. I don't know that your assistant is not as
remarkable as your advertisement."
"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was such a fellow
for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to be
improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit
into his hole to develop his pictures. That is his main fault; but, on
the whole, he's a good worker. There's no vice in him."
"He is still with you, I presume?"
"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking,
and keeps the place clean--that's all I have in the house, for I am a
widower, and never had any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three
of us; and we keep a roof over our heads, and pay our debts, if we do
nothing more.
"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, he
came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very
paper in his hand, and he says:
"'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.'
"'Why that?' I asks.
"'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the League of the
Red-headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets
it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than there are men,
so that the trustees are at their wits' end what to do with the money.
If my hair would only change color, here's a nice little crib all ready
for me to step into.'
"'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very
stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having to
go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over the
door-mat. In that way I didn't know much of what was going on outside,
and I was always glad of a bit of news.
"'Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?' he asked,
with his eyes open.
"'Never.'
"'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the
vacancies.'
"'And what are they worth?' I asked.
"'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and it
need not interfere very much with one's other occupations.'
"Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for the
business has not been over-good for some years, and an extra couple of
hundred would have been very handy.
"'Tell me all about it,' said I.
"'Well,' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for
yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address where
you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, the League
was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very
peculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had a great
sympathy for all red-headed men; so, when he died, it was found that he
had left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with
instructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy berths to
men whose hair is of that color. From all I hear it is splendid pay,
and very little to do.'
"'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of red-headed men who would
apply.'
"'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it is really
confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started from
London when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn.
Then, again, I have heard it is no use your applying if your hair is
light red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fiery
red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would just walk in;
but perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of
the way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.'
"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my
hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that, if
there was to be any competition in the matter, I stood as good a chance
as any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so
much about it that I thought he might prove useful, so I just ordered
him to put up the shutters for the day, and to come right away with me.
He was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the business up, and
started off for the address that was given us in the advertisement.
"I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From
north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his
hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet
Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope's Court looked like a
coster's orange barrow. I should not have thought there were so many in
the whole country as were brought together by that single
advertisement. Every shade of color they were--straw, lemon, orange,
brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were
not many who had the real vivid flame-colored tint. When I saw how many
were waiting, I would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would
not hear of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and
pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up to
the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream upon the
stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but we
wedged in as well as we could, and soon found ourselves in the office."
"Your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarked Holmes, as
his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff.
"Pray continue your very interesting statement."
"There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a
deal table, behind which sat a small man, with a head that was even
redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came up,
and then he always managed to find some fault in them which would
disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy
matter, after all. However, when our turn came, the little man was much
more favorable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the door
as we entered, so that he might have a private word with us.
"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is willing to
fill a vacancy in the League.'
"'And he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'He has every
requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine.' He
took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair
until I felt quite bashful. Then he suddenly plunged forward, wrung my
hand, and congratulated me warmly on my success.
"'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'You will, however, I am
sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.' With that he seized
my hair in both his hands, and pulled until I yelled with the pain.
'There is water in your eyes,' said he, as he released me. 'I perceive
that all is as it should be. But we have to be careful, for we have
twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell you tales
of cobbler's wax which would disgust you with human nature.' He stepped
over to the window, and shouted through it at the top of his voice that
the vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below,
and the folk all trooped away in different directions, until there was
not a red head to be seen except my own and that of the manager.
"'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the
pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a
married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?'
"I answered that I had not.
"His face fell immediately.
"'Dear me!' he said, gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! I am sorry
to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation and
spread of the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. It is
exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.'
"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not
to have the vacancy after all; but, after thinking it over for a few
minutes, he said that it would be all right.
"'In the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might be fatal, but
we must stretch a point in favor of a man with such a head of hair as
yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?'
"'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,' said I.
"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said Vincent Spaulding. 'I
shall be able to look after that for you.'
"'What would be the hours?' I asked.
"'Ten to two.'
"Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. Holmes,
especially Thursday and Friday evenings, which is just before pay-day,
so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings.
Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would see
to anything that turned up.
"'That would suit me very well,' said I. 'And the pay?'
"'Is L4 a week.'
"'And the work?'
"'Is purely nominal.'
"'What do you call purely nominal?'
"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the
whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The
will is very clear upon that point. You don't comply with the
conditions if you budge from the office during that time.'
"'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,' said
I.
"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross. 'Neither sickness nor
business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your
billet.'
"'And the work?'
"'Is to copy out the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." There is the first
volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and
blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be ready
to-morrow?'
"'Certainly,' I answered.
"'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once
more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to
gain.' He bowed me out of the room, and I went home with my assistant,
hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good
fortune.
"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low
spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair
might be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I
could not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that any one could
make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything
so simple as copying out the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica.' Vincent
Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bed-time I had
reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning I
determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of
ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I
started off for Pope's Court.
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