Man and Wife - Wilkie Collins (the gingerbread man read aloud txt) š
- Author: Wilkie Collins
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Arrived at the hotel, he sat down to write the letterādoubtedāand tore it upādoubted againāand began againādoubted once moreāand tore up the second letterārose to his feetāand owned to himself (in unprintable language) that he couldnāt for the life of him decide which was safestāto write or to wait.
In this difficulty, his healthy physical instincts sent him to healthy physical remedies for relief. āMy mindās in a muddle,ā said Geoffrey. āIāll try a bath.ā
It was an elaborate bath, proceeding through many rooms, and combining many postures and applications. He steamed. He plunged. He simmered. He stood under a pipe, and received a cataract of cold water on his head. He was laid on his back; he was laid on his stomach; he was respectfully pounded and kneaded, from head to foot, by the knuckles of accomplished practitioners. He came out of it all, sleek, clear rosy, beautiful. He returned to the hotel, and took up the writing materialsāand behold the intolerable indecision seized him again, declining to be washed out! This time he laid it all to Anne. āThat infernal woman will be the ruin of me,ā said Geoffrey, taking up his hat. āI must try the dumb-bells.ā
The pursuit of the new remedy for stimulating a sluggish brain took him to a public house, kept by the professional pedestrian who had the honor of training him when he contended at Athletic Sports.
āA private room and the dumb-bells!ā cried Geoffrey. āThe heaviest you have got.ā
He stripped himself of his upper clothing, and set to work, with the heavy weights in each hand, waving them up and down, and backward and forward, in every attainable variety o f movement, till his magnificent muscles seemed on the point of starting through his sleek skin. Little by little his animal spirits roused themselves. The strong exertion intoxicated the strong man. In sheer excitement he swore cheerfullyāinvoking thunder and lightning, explosion and blood, in return for the compliments profusely paid to him by the pedestrian and the pedestrianās son. āPen, ink, and paper!ā he roared, when he could use the dumb-bells no longer. āMy mindās made up; Iāll write, and have done with it!ā He sat down to his writing on the spot; actually finished the letter; another minute would have dispatched it to the postāand, in that minute, the maddening indecision took possession of him once more. He opened the letter again, read it over again, and tore it up again. āIām out of my mind!ā cried Geoffrey, fixing his big bewildered blue eyes fiercely on the professor who trained him. āThunder and lightning! Explosion and blood! Send for Crouch.ā
Crouch (known and respected wherever English manhood is known and respected) was a retired prize-fighter. He appeared with the third and last remedy for clearing the mind known to the Honorable Geoffrey Delamaynānamely, two pair of boxing-gloves in a carpet-bag.
The gentleman and the prize-fighter put on the gloves, and faced each other in the classically correct posture of pugilistic defense. āNone of your play, mind!ā growled Geoffrey. āFight, you beggar, as if you were in the Ring again with orders to win.ā No man knew better than the great and terrible Crouch what real fighting meant, and what heavy blows might be given even with such apparently harmless weapons as stuffed and padded gloves. He pretended, and only pretended, to comply with his patronās request. Geoffrey rewarded him for his polite forbearance by knocking him down. The great and terrible rose with unruffled composure. āWell hit, Sir!ā he said. āTry it with the other hand now.ā Geoffreyās temper was not under similar control. Invoking everlasting destruction on the frequently-blackened eyes of Crouch, he threatened instant withdrawal of his patronage and support unless the polite pugilist hit, then and there, as hard as he could. The hero of a hundred fights quailed at the dreadful prospect. āIāve got a family to support,ā remarked Crouch. āIf you will have it, Sirāthere it is!ā The fall of Geoffrey followed, and shook the house. He was on his legs again in an instantānot satisfied even yet. āNone of your body-hitting!ā he roared. āStick to my head. Thunder and lightning! explosion and blood! Knock it out of me! Stick to the head!ā Obedient Crouch stuck to the head. The two gave and took blows which would have stunnedāpossibly have killedāany civilized member of the community. Now on one side of his patronās iron skull, and now on the other, the hammering of the prize-fighterās gloves fell, thump upon thump, horrible to hearāuntil even Geoffrey himself had had enough of it. āThank you, Crouch,ā he said, speaking civilly to the man for the first time. āThat will do. I feel nice and clear again.ā He shook his head two or three times, he was rubbed down like a horse by the professional runner; he drank a mighty draught of malt liquor; he recovered his good-humor as if by magic. āWant the pen and ink, Sir?ā inquired his pedestrian host. āNot I!ā answered Geoffrey. āThe muddleās out of me now. Pen and ink be hanged! I shall look up some of our fellows, and go to the play.ā He left the public house in the happiest condition of mental calm. Inspired by the stimulant application of Crouchās gloves, his torpid cunning had been shaken up into excellent working order at last. Write to Anne? Who but a fool would write to such a woman as that until he was forced to it? Wait and see what the chances of the next eight-and-forty hours might bring forth, and then write to her, or desert her, as the event might decide. It lay in a nut-shell, if you could only see it. Thanks to Crouch, he did see itāand so away in a pleasant temper for a dinner with āour fellowsā and an evening at the play!
CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.
GEOFFREY IN THE MARRIAGE MARKET.
THE interval of eight-and-forty hours passedāwithout the occurrence of any personal communication between the two brothers in that time.
Julius, remaining at his fatherās house, sent brief written bulletins of Lord Holchesterās health to his brother at the hotel. The first bulletin said, āGoing on well. Doctors satisfied.ā The second was firmer in tone. āGoing on excellently. Doctors very sanguine.ā The third was the most explicit of all. āI am to see my father in an hour from this. The doctors answer for his recovery. Depend on my putting in a good word for you, if I can; and wait to hear from me further at the hotel.ā
Geoffreyās face darkened as he read the third bulletin. He called once more for the hated writing materials. There could be no doubt now as to the necessity of communicating with Anne. Lord Holchesterās recovery had put him back again in the same critical position which he had occupied at Windygates. To keep Anne from committing some final act of despair, which would connect him with a public scandal, and ruin him so far as his expectations from his father were concerned, was, once more, the only safe policy that Geoffrey could pursue. His letter began and ended in twenty words:
āDEAR ANNE,āHave only just heard that my father is turning the corner. Stay where you are. Will write again.ā
Having dispatched this Spartan composition by the post, Geoffrey lit his pipe, and waited the event of the interview between Lord Holchester and his eldest son.
Julius found his father alarmingly altered in personal appearance, but in full possession of his faculties nevertheless. Unable to return the pressure of his sonās handāunable even to turn in the bed without helpāthe hard eye of the old lawyer was as keen, the hard mind of the old lawyer was as clear, as ever. His grand ambition was to see Julius in Parliament. Julius was offering himself for election in Perthshire, by his fatherās express desire, at that moment. Lord Holchester entered eagerly into politics before his eldest son had been two minutes by his bedside.
āMuch obliged, Julius, for your congratulations. Men of my sort are not easily killed. (Look at Brougham and Lyndhurst!) You wonāt be called to the Upper House yet. You will begin in the House of Commonsāprecisely as I wished. What are your prospects with the constituency? Tell me exactly how you stand, and where I can be of use to you.ā
āSurely, Sir, you are hardly recovered enough to enter on matters of business yet?ā
āI am quite recovered enough. I want some present interest to occupy me. My thoughts are beginning to drift back to past times, and to things which are better forgotten.ā A sudden contraction crossed his livid face. He looked hard at his son, and entered abruptly on a new question. āJulius!ā he resumed, āhave you ever heard of a young woman named Anne Silvester?ā
Julius answered in the negative. He and his wife had exchanged cards with Lady Lundie, and had excused themselves from accepting her invitation to the lawn-party. With the exception of Blanche, they were both quite ignorant of the persons who composed the family circle at Windygates.
āMake a memorandum of the name,ā Lord Holchester went on. āAnne Silvester. Her father and mother are dead. I knew her father in former times. Her mother was ill-used. It was a bad business. I have been thinking of it again, for the first time for many years. If the girl is alive and about the world she may remember our family name. Help her, Julius, if she ever wants help, and applies to you.ā The painful contraction passed across his face once more. Were his thoughts taking him back to the memorable summer evening at the Hampstead villa? Did he see the deserted woman swooning at his feet again? āAbout your election?ā he asked, impatiently. āMy mind is not used to be idle. Give it something to do.ā
Julius stated his position as plainly and as briefly as he could. The father found nothing to object to in the reportāexcept the sonās absence from the field of action. He blamed Lady H olchester for summoning Julius to London. He was annoyed at his sonās being there, at the bedside, when he ought to have been addressing the electors. āItās inconvenient, Julius,ā he said, petulantly. āDonāt you see it yourself?ā
Having previously arranged with his mother to take the first opportunity that offered of risking a reference to Geoffrey, Julius decided to āsee itā in a light for which his father was not prepared. The opportunity was before him. He took it on the spot.
āIt is no inconvenience to me, Sir,ā he replied, āand it is no inconvenience to my brother either. Geoffrey was anxious about you too. Geoffrey has come to London with me.ā
Lord Holchester looked at his eldest son with a grimly-satirical expression of surprise.
āHave I not already told you,ā he rejoined, āthat my mind is not affected by my illness? Geoffrey anxious about me! Anxiety is one of the civilized emotions. Man in his savage state is incapable of feeling it.ā
āMy brother is not a savage, Sir.ā
āHis stomach is generally full, and his skin is covered with linen and cloth, instead of red ochre and oil. So far, certainly, your brother is civilized. In all other respects your brother is a savage.ā
āI know what you mean, Sir. But there is something to be said for Geoffreyās way of life. He cultivates his courage and his strength. Courage and strength are fine qualities, surely, in their way?ā
āExcellent qualities, as far as they go. If you want to know how far that is, challenge Geoffrey to write a sentence of decent English, and see if his courage doesnāt fail him there. Give him his books to read for his
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