Mr. Wells

“ Wells was really a little abashed.
[218] “Good boy!” cried Dr. Paul. “It takes an artist to do a thing up brown. You didn’t live four years in Paris for nothing, Marc.”
Mary Lee, with housewifely care, insisted that the remains of the feast should be packed away for future use and then while the older ladies rested under the shade of the trees, the younger ones declared for exploring the surroundings. They broke up into separate parties which went in different directions to meet later for the trip home.
Mr. Wells tossed his sketching kit into his canoe and looked a little hesitatingly at Nan. ”

“ Presently two oblongs of yellow light appeared through the trees, and the square tower of a church loomed through the gloaming. "I shall keep my hand on your shoulder" said the Voice, "all through the village. Go straight through and try no foolery. It will be the worse for you if you do."
"I know that," sighed Mr. Marvel, "I know all that."
The unhappy-looking figure in the obsolete silk hat passed up the street of the little village with his burdens, and vanished into the gathering darkness beyond the lights of the windows. ”

“ Voules as a watchful, blue eye of intense forcefulness. It was the eye of a man who has got hold of a situation. He was a fat, short, red-faced man clad in a tight-fitting tail coat of black and white check with a coquettish bow tie under the lowest of a number of crisp little red chins. He held the bride under his arm with an air of invincible championship, and his free arm flourished a grey top hat of an equestrian type. Mr. Polly instantly learnt from the eye that Mr. Voules knew all about his longing for flight. ”

“ It all merged with the effect of Miriam in Mr. Polly’s mind.
Her thoughts found speech. “One did ought to be happy in a shop,” she said with a note of unusual softness in her voice.
It seemed to him that she was right. One did ought to be happy in a shop. Folly not to banish dreams that made one ache of townless woods and bracken tangles and red-haired linen-clad figures sitting in dappled sunshine upon grey and crumbling walls and looking queenly down on one with clear blue eyes. Cruel and foolish dreams they were, that ended in one’s being laughed at and made a mock of. ”

“ In the first place, I have shown that, if words mean anything, Mr. Wells does actually wish us to believe that his God is not a figure of speech, but a person, an individual, as real and independent an entity as the Kaiser or President Wilson. ”

“ She, now and then, looked toward Rivers with a shy, yet wistful glance, and he looked back with a big, hearty smile that seemed to warm her very soul.
We piled into the big touring car and made a quick run to the Puritan Building.
Then we all went to my office first. Norah did the honors as prettily as any hostess in her own home, and her ready tact helped Olive to overcome her dread of the place.
“Well,” said Rivers, at last, “what are we waiting for? I thought we were to go over to Mr. Gately’s rooms. Perhaps Miss Raynor and Mrs. Vail would prefer to stay here with Miss MacCormack.” ”

“ He makes a curious remark as to the personage whom he calls "the benevolent atheist," which is, I take it, his [Pg 109] nickname for the man who is not much interested in midway Gods between himself and the Veiled Being. This hapless fellow-creature, says Mr. Wells, "has not really given himself or got away from himself. He has no one to whom he can give himself. ”

“ The dog cart was in charge of a loafer, and the horse and the whip were adorned with white favours, and the back seat was confused but not untenable with hampers. “Up we go,” said Mr. Voules, “old birds in front and young ones behind.” An ominous group of ill-restrained rice-throwers followed them up as they mounted.
“Get your handkerchief for your face,” said Mr. Polly to his bride, and took the place next the pavement with considerable heroism, held on, gripped his hat, shut his eyes and prepared for the worst. “Off!” said Mr. Voules, and a concentrated fire came stinging Mr. Polly’s face. ”

“ Forrest which stood on the mantel shelf.
It was a sharp, cold January evening, and Jenny Wallen's soft cheek was glowing, and her eyes sparkling, as she tripped lightly up the stone steps, let herself into the warm hall-way, and peered into the parlor. No one was there. A bright coal fire blazed in the open grate. The pretty room looked cosy and inviting. The library beyond—"Wells's particular"—was dark. Mrs. Wells, said the maid, from the head of the kitchen stairs, had been home, but was gone over to the Lambert to meet Mr. Wells. So Jenny was alone. Some women lose courage at such times. ”

“ Mr. Wells, so far from being terrified by the sight of his friend's death, expressed a desire to have his own hastened; and, like unto Sir Thomas More, was merry to the last; for he cried, "Despatch, despatch, Mr. Topcliffe! Be you not ashamed to suffer an old man to stand here so long in his shirt in the cold? I pray God make you of a Saul a Paul, of a persecutor a Catholic." A murmur, hoarse and loud, from the crowd apprised us when all was over.
"Where is Muriel?" ”

“ Art greater and older than we."
The sun, at any rate, is not a figure of speech, and is a symbol which runs no risk of being mistaken for a portrait. If Mr. Wells would be content with some such "bright sciential idolatry," I would willingly declare myself a co-idolater. [Pg 135] But alas! he is the hierophant of the Invisible King, and prayer to that impotent potentate is to me a moral impossibility. I would rather face damnation, especially in the mild form threatened by Mr. Wells, which consists (pp. 148-149) in not knowing that you are damned. ”

“ He got down with raised eyebrows. "It's that," he said. The barman stood in front of the bar-parlour door which was now locked on Mr. Marvel, stared at the smashed window, and came round to the two other men.
Everything was suddenly quiet. "I wish I had my truncheon," said the policeman, going irresolutely to the door. "Once we open, in he comes. There's no stopping him."
"Don't you be in too much hurry about that door," said the anaemic cabman, anxiously.
"Draw the bolts," said the man with the black beard, "and if he comes—" He showed a revolver in his hand. ”

“ The funeral in the rather cold wind had proved wonderfully appetising, and every eye brightened at the sight of the cold collation that was now spread in the front room. Mrs. Johnson was very brisk, and Mr. Polly, when he re-entered the house found everybody sitting down. “Come along, Alfred,” cried the hostess cheerfully. “We can’t very well begin without you. Have you got the bottled beer ready to open, Betsy? Uncle, you’ll have a drop of whiskey, I expect.”
“Put it where I can mix for myself,” said Uncle Pentstemon, placing his hat very carefully out of harm’s way on the bookcase. ”

“ Dear, dear, she looks strong, but to be so easily upset, I fear something must be wrong—my daughter was never like that," and, shaking his head, he went to join the Dowager, who had a penchant for the clergy.
"You've heard nothing from your husband?" asked Miss Fitzgerald of Lady Isabelle, as she seated herself beside her.
"Nothing beyond a telegram telling me of his safe arrival in London."
"But surely his uncle was in extremis. He cannot live long."
"I do not know," she replied, "but it's very awkward. Oh, why won't you let me tell Mr. Stanley the truth?" ”

“ And then with some dim instinct of self-protection, she went and told her three best friends, great students of character all, of this remarkable phenomenon she had discovered on the other side of the wall.
“Look here,” said Mr. Polly, “I’m wild for the love of you! I can’t keep up this gesticulations game any more! I’m not a Knight. Treat me as a human man. You may sit up there smiling, but I’d die in torments to have you mine for an hour. I’m nobody and nothing. But look here! Will you wait for me for five years? You’re just a girl yet, and it wouldn’t be hard.” ”

“ If the true aim of romance is to find beauty and laughter and heroism in odd places, then Mr. Wells is a great romantic. His heroes are not knights and adventurers, not even members of the quasi-romantic professions, but the ordinary small tradesmen, whom the world has hitherto neglected. ”

“ He is in the last resort the master of his fate, and squares himself defiantly against the Destinies. Unlike the others, he has a literary sense, and has a strange fantastic culture of his own. Mr. Wells has never written anything more human or more truly humorous than the adventures of Mr. ”

“ The Secretary acquiesced, and then the Marchioness opened the attack in earnest.
"We—my daughter—has had the pleasure of seeing a great deal of you lately, Mr. Stanley."
"Er, yes," he replied, scenting danger. "Of course it's been a great pleasure to me."
"Still," she continued, "it is not usual for a young lady, unchaperoned, to walk in the park with a gentleman at this hour; a gentleman who is, shall we say, a mere acquaintance." ”

“ Indeed, so absorbed was she in this new acquaintance that she didn’t even see Zizi, who sat, as always, back and in the shadow.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” said Mrs. Vail, fluttering into a chair. “Just go on as if I were not here. I’m so interested, just let me listen! I won’t say a word. Oh, Olive dear, did you show Mr. Wise the letter?”
“No; it’s unimportant,” replied the girl.
“But I don’t think it is, my dear,” Mrs. Vail persisted. “You know it might be a—what do they call it?—a clew. Why, I knew a lady once——”
“A letter is always important,” said Zizi from her corner, and Mrs. ”

“ And because no one man, short of a superhuman at any rate, could ever perform all of its various and perplexing functions, Mr. Wells has his five assistants. In the event of his absence as well as that of any one of them the man below rises temporarily into his immediate superior's job. ”

“ His eye followed them until they had vanished.
“I can’t go back to Surbiton,” said the Young Lady in Grey.
“EIGH?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, catching at his moustache. This was an unexpected development.
“I want to write, you see,” said the Young Lady in Grey, “to write Books and alter things. To do Good. I want to lead a Free Life and Own myself. I can’t go back. I want to obtain a position as a journalist. I have been told—But I know no one to help me at once. No one that I could go to. There is one person—She was a mistress at my school. ”

“ Polly, pulling her arm. “It’s one up and two down on these blessed tiles.”
“It’s not what I’m used to,” she said.
“Stick to it!” said Mr. Polly, “live and learn,” and got to the ridge and grasped at her arm to pull her after him.
“I can’t jump, mind ye,” she repeated, pressing her lips together. “And old ladies like me mustn’t be hurried.”
“Well, let’s get as high as possible anyhow!” said Mr. Polly, urging her gently upward. “Shinning up a water-spout in your line? Near as you’ll get to Heaven.”
“I can’t jump,” she said. “I can do anything but jump.” ”

“ So Mr Pollard is getting it for me.”
“Well, anyway, Bill Halsey won’t bother Louis about that. Now, I tell you, Phyllis, it’s necessary that we get the boy away—smuggle him out of the country——”
“Out of the country!”
“Yes—Canada, Europe—anywhere. Or maybe it would be easier to hide him. Do you know of any country place—some friend’s house—no, they’d find him. Oh, what can we do?”
“It’s too big a question for us to handle. Two girls can’t take care of a case like this. I’ll ask Mr Pollard what to do.”
“Yes, that’s good. Mr Barry wouldn’t be very capable—but Mr Pollard is.” ”

“ I am a fairly strong man, and I have the poker handy—besides being invisible. There's not the slightest doubt that I could kill you both and get away quite easily if I wanted to—do you understand? Very well. If I let you go will you promise not to try any nonsense and do what I tell you?"
The Vicar and the Doctor looked at one another, and the Doctor pulled a face. "Yes," said Mr. Bunting, and the Doctor repeated it. Then the pressure on the necks relaxed, and the Doctor and the Vicar sat up, both very red in the face and wriggling their heads. ”

“ In this house!”
“I move we hear the story of the house to-night.—right now,” said Eve.
Milly clasped her hands over her ears, instead of, as usual, over her mouth, and cried, “No! I forbid it! Don’t let ’em, will you, Wynne?”
“Seems to me,” remarked Mr. Stebbins, “you folks don’t know your own minds! You want a ha’nted house, then when you git it, you’re too scared to hear the story of the ha’nt.”
“I’m not scared,” asserted Norma, “but somehow, a ha’nt sounds so much worse than a haunt. Doesn’t it, now?”
“It sure does,” agreed Braye. “A ha’nt is concrete, while a haunt is abstract.” ”

“ Voules. “Who says steak and kidney pie? You ’ave a drop of old Tommy, Martha. That’s what you want to steady you.... Sit down everyone and don’t all speak at once. Who says steak and kidney pie?...”
“Vocificeratious,” whispered Mr. Polly. “Convivial vocificerations.”
“Bit of ’am with it,” shouted Mr. Voules, poising a slice of ham on his knife. “Anyone ’ave a bit of ’am with it? Won’t that little man of yours, Mrs. Punt—won’t ’e ’ave a bit of ’am?...” ”

“ Wells’ could not, in 1636, as my imbecile friend supposes, [9] be ‘the Lecturer in Huntingdon,’ wherever else he might lecture. Besides Mr. Wells is not in danger of suppression by Laud, but by want of cash! Where Mr. Wells lectured, no mortal knows, or will ever know. Why not at St. Ives on the market-days? Or he might be a ‘Running Lecturer,’ not tied to one locality that is as likely a guess as any.
Whether the call of this Wells Lectureship and Oliver’s Letter got due return from Mr. Story we cannot now say ”

“ She has people?”
“Yes, sir. Parents and sisters. Oh, it’s a sorry thing for them.”
“It is so,” and then Wise let his perceiving eyes roam over the kitchen.
“Have you searched the floor well for anything that may have been dropped?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” the sheriff answered. “That’s all been done, Mr Wise. We’re plain country folks here, but we know a thing or two.”
“I’m sure of that,” Wise assented. “Did you look under the dresser and beneath that corner cupboard?”
“Well, no; we didn’t think it necessary to go so far as that.” ”