Ian Hay

“ But one day a man from Pittsburgh, who had been born in Broxborough nearly forty years previously, and had relinquished his domicile and civil status therein by becoming an American citizen at the age of three, returned, rugged, prosperous, and beneficently sentimental, to revisit the haunts of his youth, and refresh his somewhat imperfect memories of his birthplace. ”

“ The Home of The Oracle proved to be one of a row—something between a villa and a cottage. The door was opened by my sharp-featured little friend.
“Walk in,” she said—“and wipe your boots.”
Mr. Baxter was in bed in the front parlour. As I had suspected, he had both legs with him—but one of these was inflamed and swollen.
“I always bring him in here when he's poorly,” explained the granddaughter (whose name I discovered later to be Ada Weeks) , “because he likes to be with his old books.” She favoured her patient with an affectionate glare. “He’s half silly about them.” ”

“ Ada Weeks produced a key from under her grandfather's pillow and unlocked one of the doors, revealing the books. They were all neatly covered in brown paper. There were no titles on the backs, but each book bore a number, in sprawling, irregular figures.
“There, sir!” announced my patient, with simple pride. “There you behold the accumulated wealth of a man who is just as wealthy as he wishes to be!”
“Rats!” remarked a sharp voice from the recesses of the library; but the old gentleman appeared not to hear.
“It dates from the lamented death of the late Archdeacon. ”

“ One could see that he felt his master ought to have known all about Cinchona.
“An interesting coincidence,” commented the old man gently. “The drug cinchona is, of course, well known scientifically, but classically, Cinchona the demi-god is hardly known at all. In fact, he is only mentioned once or twice in the whole of ancient literature. I have been dipping into my Homer,”—he indicated the familiar volume in his hand—“and I find—”
“May I look for myself?” asked Pettigrew suddenly; and before even Ada could spring to the old man's side he had snatched the book and opened it. ”

“ There were socially ambitious young shop-assistants, anxious to acquire a literary polish likely to impress the opposite sex. There were artisans who wished to advance them selves in the technique of their profession. There were heavy-handed, heavy-shouldered, rather wistful men, with muscles made lusty by hard physical labour, conscious of minds grown puny and attenuated for lack of intellectual nourishment. There were humble folk with genuine literary leanings, who came to consult Mr. Baxter's poems and essays, and sometimes shyly proffered compositions of their own for perusal and comment. ”

“ Poor soul, she's almost illiterate; and the printed word is a sacred mystery to such!”
“You are an authority on human nature, Mr. Baxter, I perceive.”
“You are kind to say so, sir. But I was a mere disciple of the late Archdeacon. It’s a strange thing, human nature,” he continued pensively. “I have studied it all my life. My recreation is to help it—and it needs all the help it can get. I am at home every evening, and folk look in quite regularly to ask for my guidance on some literary, historical, or scientific point of interest. ‘Consulting The Oracle,’” they are kind enough to call it. ”

“ Pettigrew,” he said. “I do not know whether you are familiar with ancient Greek—”
“No,” said Mr. Pettigrew grimly, looking up from the book, “I am not. But I am familiar with modern German. This book is printed in German!”
“The marginal comments are in German, of course,” said the old man quickly. “The thoroughness of German research is proverbial. Give me back the book, pray!” I noticed he was breathing very shortly.
Ada Weeks settled the question by wrenching the volume out of Pettigrew's hand and locking it into The Liberry.
“You can go!” she announced. “We only entertain gentlemen here.” ”

“ The peculiar thing about Baxter is that, though he will read or quote from any book in his library for your delectation, he practically never permits any one to take the book out of his hands. No human eye, for instance, has ever fallen upon the printed pages of Baxter's Homer. ”

“ Of course he may have been allowed to dust the books in the library too. Anyhow, during his period of service in that household he contrived to amass an enormous quantity of more or less useless book-learning. He is regarded hereabouts as quite a savant. His erudition makes him respected by those who have none, and his library of miscellaneous rubbish gives him the status of a man of property.”
“It’s not all rubbish. He has a Shakespeare and a Southey, at least. ”

“ And—where the Broxborough Pantheon had once reared its stucco pseudo-Doric façade upon the market-square, there was nothing but an untidy hoarding masking a heap of charred débris, and labelled, “Site of proposed new premises of the Broxborough Pantheon.” The label appeared to have been there for some years.
John Crake of Pittsburgh made inquiries, and the truth was revealed. The old Pantheon had ceased to exist for nearly five years, and the new Pantheon, in the present condition of the rate-payers' pockets, seemed unlikely ever to exist at all. ”

“ Pettigrew handed me my bottle.
“One of our characters, that old fellow,” he said, with that little air of civic pride which marks the country-townsman booming local stock. “Quite a poor man, but possesses an extensive library—quite extensive. His learning is at the service of his fellow citizens. He likes to be called The Oracle. Supposing you want to know something about Shakespeare, or Julius Cæsar, or Wireless Telegraphy, or Patagonia, you go to Baxter. You press the button and he does the rest! Lives a bit in the clouds, of course ”

“ Here's one—‘The Amateur Architect.’ It’s queer how fussy people can be about house-planning, and ventilation, and drainage, and things like that, especially when they know they’ve got to live all their lives in a house where they have no more say in the ventilation and drainage than my aunt’s cat! Grampa had to learn nearly the whole of this book, they wanted so many different bits of it. Well, I think we have fuel enough now for a start. ”

“ I announced, in what I have always hoped is a breezy voice, “you people really must keep your debates academic. Here you are, all flying straight up in the air over some twopenny ha'penny point of scholarship, and exciting one of my most valued patients”—I patted Baxter solemnly on the shoulder—“to an attack of insomnia! You must n’t do it, you know—especially just now!”
“What do you mean, just now?” asked Ada quickly. She shot an apprehensive glance at her grandfather's drawn features.
“I mean this. You know the opening of Crake Hall takes place on Saturday?” ”

“ He is not a young man, or a strong man; and I want to have him in first-class trim for his appearance on Saturday. Home to bed, all of you!”
“Outside!” commanded Miss Weeks; and shepherded the entire company into the passage, closing the door behind her.
Baxter and I were left alone. I took my stand on the worn hearth-rug, with my back to the fire, lingering over the lighting of my pipe with the uneasy selfconsciousness of the Englishman who has just participated in a scene. My old friend's thin hands were extended upon the arms of his chair ”

“ He said every blessed book was to be destroyed, and that’s all there is about it. Mr. McAndrew is burning rubbish outside: I’ve told him we’ve got some more for him. Let's get it over, and go back to Grampa—sir,” concluded Ada suddenly, remembering somewhat tardily that she was addressing her employer.
We unpacked the books. First came some musty theological tomes.
“He knew a lot out of them,” remarked Ada. “Used to fire it off at the Rector, and people who did n’t believe in religion, or could n’t. He picked it all up from his old Archdeacon, though, long before I came to him.” ”

“ It is difficult to educate children so reared. They have no permanent place of abode; no particular school district is responsible for such little vagrants. So I grew up illiterate. My uncle died. I earned my living as best I could. ”

“ Penton? Thank you: that indeed will be an intellectual treat. I will peruse your manuscript at leisure, and comment upon it at our next meeting. ... The Agnostics still bothering you, Mr. Clamworthy? Well, I am no theologian; but for sheer old fashioned common sense I don’t think you can beat Paley's ‘Evidences of Christianity.’ The late Archdeacon used to say that he always came back to Paley in the end. Ada, my dear, that passage I marked in Volume Forty-Seven! Now friends, “The Tempest’”
After that the Presentation Shakespeare would be opened, and Mr. Baxter would declaim selected passages. ”

“ He bided there thirty years, and the Archdeacon never repented of his bargain. Good servants is scarce.”
McAndrew paused impressively, to allow this last truth to sink in, and continued.
“I jalouse the way Baxter got an so weel with the Archdeacon was the interest he took in the library. He was never oot of it, unless he was pitten oot. It wasna so much that he would read the books as worship them. He would take them oot and hold them in his hands by the hour, or sit back on a chair and glower at their backs on the shelves. So Mistress Corby's dochter that married on the ironmonger tellt me.” ”